by Unknown
I struggled to pull the shaper over one foot and then almost landed on my arse trying to get the other foot in the correct whole. I spent another five minutes trying to shuck the bloody thing up over my hips. Just getting in to the thing was like a full blown workout at the gym and I could feel sweat starting to bead between my breasts.
I’d got one arm in and the strap over my shoulder when the phone rang. Bloody typical. I hobbled over to the bedside table and groaned when I caught sight of the caller ID.
“Hi mum” I said as I rammed the phone between my head and my shoulder, trying desperately to pull the other strap up my arm and on to my shoulder. My boobs were hanging out of the front and I repositioned myself as mum started speaking. I couldn’t breathe in this bloody thing.
“Jen, hi baby, just thought I’d catch up with you and make sure you’re coming for tea tomorrow.”
Even at twenty six, mum still insisted on one meal a week with the entire family. And I mean the entire family. It wasn’t enough that myself and my three older brothers all came over, she had to invite my aunt and her brood as well. I wondered briefly if there was any chance of my getting a life-threatening disease between now and then and realised it was highly improbable. I just couldn’t catch a break.
“I’ll be there!” I said with false cheerfulness. “You know how I love your home cooking, mum! I wouldn’t miss it!” I put my hand over the mouthpiece and did a silent scream.
“Oh good, darling. There’s a favour I need to ask you though. Would you mind taking me shopping tomorrow? Your dad has an important business meeting to attend.”
Something in her voice put me on alert, even while I silently screamed again.
“Sure mum, no problem. Is everything ok?”
There was silence for a full minute. I knew then there was something going on and I wasn’t going to like it.
“I’ll tell you about it tomorrow, sweetheart. It’s nothing for you to worry yourself about now.”
I tried to sit down on the bed and realised that my body wouldn’t bend. I gave it up as a bad job.
“Mum, if there’s anything wrong, you can tell me” I said softly.
“No, darling, it can wait. Will Becky be coming with you tomorrow?” she asked.
“Would you rather we were alone?” I asked, really worried now.
“No, no! Bring Becky. She can come shopping too, if she wants to.”
I snorted. Not a chance, even if I paid her. “Ok then. What time do you want to go shopping?” I asked, silently praying she’d say about 11 o'clock. I liked my lie-ins on Saturdays.
“About nine o'clock ok for you?” she asked. I groaned.
“Sure, no problem,” I said, again with false cheer.
“Ok, then darling, I’ll see you then. I’ve got to go now; your dad wants his dinner. See you tomorrow, love you!”
And with that she rung off and I was left looking at the receiver. I wasn’t used to hearing mum worried about anything. Usually, she was a bit of a battle-axe.
“Cooeee!” shouted Beth as her heels clattered across the hall and in to the kitchen. Damn, I was late!
Throwing down the phone, I pulled the dress over my head as quickly as I could and walked like a sailor down the stairs. The legs still wouldn’t bend at the hip and I felt a bit like a Michael Jackson zombie in the Thriller video. I hoped this thing loosened up as I wore it or I would be looking a complete dork tonight.
I walked into the kitchen to find Becky and Monty cavorting on the floor.
“You’ll get covered in dog hair!” I warned as I tried to push my feet into a pair of black pumps without falling over.
“Ahh, you’re worth it aren’t you, schnookums?” she said to Monty, rubbing his tummy.
Monty laughed as she tickled him then sprang up on to his paws. “If you’re leaving me home alone, the least you can do is leave the TV on!” he said to me.
Monty was a television addict even before he could talk but now, the fact that he obviously could understand what was going on worried me.
“Absolutely not!” I said, looking at him. “You won’t turn it off at the nine pm watershed, how on earth do I know what you’ll be watching!”
He rolled his eyes and looked at me. “I’m three and a half. In your years, that makes me twenty four years old. I’m old enough to watch anything I want!” he said.
“He’s right, you know!” Becky chipped in. I huffed and made my way in to the living room, catching the sly wink between the two of them. BBC1 should be safe enough, I suppose.
About the Author
Sharon Karaa is a mass of contradictions but two facets of her character have always battled for supremacy; her logical self (let’s call him Frank, he’s male, I know that makes no sense but hey, this is my story!) and her artistic side (lets her call Misty). Until recently, Frank won every battle, forcing Sharon into a life based on most probable outcome and to give him his credit, it has led to a fairly comfortable if rather boring life, so far. Then Misty took up kick boxing and gave Frank a good kick in the goodies.
Sharon is a full time IT professional from the North East of England, a place where you have to dig deep to find the magic, but it’s there
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Books by Sharon Karaa
The Last Challenge – (Northern Witches Series Book 1)
I thought I was normal, I really did, aside from the fact I had a penchant for naming the many facets of my personality. I was unlucky, I’ll grant you, but other than that, just your average twenty-five year old virgin.
Then my long dead ancestor turned up with a four-hundred year appetite, a passion for G-strings, and a scorching hot, male witch in tow.
Throw in an unadulterated bitch of a familiar, three spirits baying for my blood, a six inch tall Geordie man, and my best friend Selina, and before you could say “bubble, bubble” I was strapped onto the front of the roller coaster of my life, heading straight to Hell in a hand basket.
And the brakes were shot to pieces…
A Familiar Problem – (Northern Witches Series Book 2)
Let me give you a word of advice, be careful what you wish for. Trust me, I’m a demon, I know these things.
So how did I end up being a familiar? It wasn't easy, I can tell you! Making it snow in Hell was just the start of it. And where did it get me? Earth, that's where, and I'll tell you now, compared to Hell, it's...well, hellish!
Saved by a posse of witches, I made myself a new home, with friends (yes, believe it or not, demons can have friends!), but would my new life be enough for me or was there more I was missing? Life on earth seemed to be pretty damn boring at times.
Then along came two of the sexiest males a girl could ever dream of. The problem? One was an angel and the other was a demon.
Life was just about to get complicated.
Bite The Big One!
He told me he was a gardener; a landscape gardener, no less. Not once did me mention “slash vampire slayer”. I’m pretty sure if he had, the sexy eyes and bulging biceps wouldn’t have looked quite so appealing. Mind you, who was I to talk?
When I was a child, I wanted to be a ballet dancer, or a gymnast, or even a swordfish (admittedly I was suffering from hallucinations brought on by a fever at the time). I never, ever, in my wildest moments, thought that when I grew up, I’d be the chronicle of the dead. Nor would I have wanted to. The dead don’t keep office hours and certainly don’t respect your privacy when you’re on the loo. And they don’t pay. I had to resort to selling sex aids to geriatrics just to keep a roof over my head.
On the plus side, I was never out of work. There was always a queue of them (the dead that is, not geriatrics). Wherever you turned they were there, waiting their turn, w
anting to pass on the messages they hadn’t had the forethought to pass on before they did. But someone didn’t want one of the messages to be delivered. Someone who wasn’t entirely in the land of the living themselves. Someone who was willing to go to extreme lengths to shut me up.
On top of all that, I had to spend my days dodging the ill-conceived spells my best friend cast in her quest to ensure I achieved the ultimate in sexual satisfaction (my advice? Don’t tell your friend if you’ve never had a Big O, especially if she’s a witch!). And now my dog’s back-answering me as well. As if I didn’t have enough to cope with, what with my father’s mid-life crisis and being stalked by said vampire slayer.
Someone please give me fate’s address…I feel a strongly worded letter coming on!
Acknowledgements
Many thanks go to my favourite little people - Benjamin, Kaleb, Macy and Lucy, who made me believe that someone did find my stories entertaining. I do hope they weren’t suffering in silence!
To my own two little witches, Samantha and Sophie, for crooked little fingers, spells and dancing while we clean. You are my inspiration.
To Anissa and Rochine, for believing in beetles with two hundred and thirty seven legs, and for all of their encouragement. It really means a lot to me. For those of you who don’t know, Rochine was responsible for the sheep in this book, I take no responsibility.
To Martin for being such a good sport. I hope that’s still the case when you’ve read you are now a female prostitute, and to Matthew for encouraging me to enter competitions.
Again, thanks go to my wonderful sister, Selina, for being my number one fan and for actually taking the time to read the books. Thanks go also to my wonderful husband for not reading them. Well…other than the naughty bits .
And finally, to all of my friends and family who have supported me, but mostly to you, for reading this book, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it.
Copyright
This ebook edition published 2014 Copyright © Sharon Karaa.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.