NOTE:
This book is for adults only
Singleton
by Luke
Mallory
Singleton, is Luke Mallory's debut novella. The author is seeking
reviews so please consider leaving a review after reading your copy.
Luke also has several other books available. Click on the covers below to download your copies. Colorful, contemporary and full of real-life
characters, each Diary Entry episode
is told in the first person by Luke Mallory in his own inimitable style. Diary Entry episodes 1, 2, 3, and 4 are available
individually or you can get all five of Luke's books in one volume, Naughty Box 1.
All of Luke's books
contain strong language and scenes of a sexual nature.
Description
Ever since he was a
boy, John Singleton has had only one goal in life: to not be single.
John is a just a
piano-playing kid with a kind heart when he meets Catherine, his first true
love. After she suddenly moves to another city, John struggles to find a
balance through his teenage years as his quest for love is joined by lust. On
the verge of failing his high school diploma, he bounces back into life and
love. But not for long. Following a string of disappointments in his twenties,
John's kind heart becomes a broken and bitter one as he embarks on a series of
meaningless flings.
Just when he is
ready to give up on love, fate offers one final twist to achieve his goal...
Naughty, sexy, smart
and funny, Singleton
is the sparkling debut novella by Luke Mallory. Don't miss it!
Excerpt
My name is John Singleton – an unfortunate name if ever there was one, I
admit. However, I have always done my best to defy my name and not be, well, single.
I was a fresh-faced, fair-haired lad of just six years of age when I first told
a girl that I loved her. I was the youngest of four brothers (still am, come to
think of it) and I had overheard them declare their undying love for their
girlfriends, so it felt correct that I should do the same. Unfortunately, no
girls in the first grade agreed with this notion – especially not Emma
Antonelli, who was the object of my affection. In a land of pasty-faced,
freckle-faced children like me, she was a tanned senorita. A doll. An exotic
import from Italy.
The Ferrari of the first grade! The prettiest thing I had ever seen. One day,
as we played chasing at lunchtime, I passed her a note on which was scribbled
the immortal line:
‘I LOVE U’
Proud of my imperfect punctuation and with a beating heart, I watched
Emma read it in the playground. Her dark eyes grew wide and my expectation
swelled. But there was no trace of a smile. Just fear, disgust and then
laughter as she showed it to her friends. Then my friends. And just about anyone else who was nearby. Perhaps she
didn’t like my handwriting? Either way, the children pointed and laughed at me
and, for a few minutes, it was a miserable time in my life. But I didn’t cry. I
was too much of a big boy for that…though I did stomp away and kick a football
very hard – something I didn’t know I could do so well. My hopes were dashed
and for the next few years, I was destined to be girl-less.
‘I hate girls,’ all my guy friends complained in those early years.
‘They’re icky.’ To be one of the gang, I nodded my head in agreement. But
secretly I thought the opposite. I love
girls! Emma Antonelli, meanwhile, never spoke to me again. She grew up,
became a model and, if nothing else, confirmed my good taste. Rejected, I
concentrated on other things that kids do and continued kicking footballs as
hard as possible. I played the piano, too, and by ten, I was mastering some
fancy pieces by Mozart, Chopin, Satie and the rest of them. When my piano
teacher wasn’t listening, I loved banging out Beetles classics.
I, John Singleton of London,
England, kissed a girl when I was twelve years old. In fact, I quickly made a
habit of it. Her name was Catherine and she lived a block north of me. Each
morning, I used to see her walking past my house to school. Not my school – by
then, I was in an all-boys institution. Lucky me. Catherine was tall and
skinny. Always wore a red cardigan over a white blouse, I remember. Her black
hair was tied in a ponytail – its colour matched her black skirt. Her pale skin
matched her white leggings. I thought she was beautiful. She had such an erect
and proud walk – it was most unlike anything I had ever seen. She was, I think,
the first girl that I looked at beyond her face. There was a body, too!
One day in summer, I was cycling my bicycle near her house when someone
suddenly shouted:
‘John!’
I turned to see Catherine standing there. Her brown eyes staring. Her
hands covering her mouth – as if she couldn’t believe she had uttered my name.
I hit the brakes and almost went over my handlebars. I had no idea that she
knew my name. I hopped off the bicycle and, across the street, noticed two
other girls running away. Laughing. Obviously Catherine’s friends.
Ambush!
Before the thought gained a foothold, Catherine grabbed my wrist and led
both boy and bicycle down a quiet lane beside her home.
‘You’re the boy who plays the piano, aren’t you?’ she asked.
Dumbstruck, I merely nodded.
She smiled nervously and clutched the handlebars of my bike. ‘I always
listen to you. Your mother leaves the window open and I can hear you play. You
play ever so lovely.’
‘The Beetles…’ I said presumptuously.
‘No. The soft music…’
Satie…
She looked up to the heavens in search of inspiration. ‘Yes, you play
everything so nicely. Sometimes I sit on the street outside and just listen.’
She shrugged her shoulders as if to indicate her speech was done.
I nodded again. My eyes were wide. My mouth open. I probably looked
petrified. In hindsight, she did too.
She searched the ground. ‘Would…you like to kiss me?’ she asked with a
voice as fragile as crystal.
Would I!
Given my shyness up until that moment, she probably didn’t expect me to
lunge straight in and kiss her smack on the lips. But that’s exactly what I
did. Both of us had our mouths firmly closed and out eyes firmly open. Staring
point blank at each other.
I broke away and let my mouth fall open again – shocked by what had just
taken place. So was she. Though no longer at point blank distance, we seemed to
stand there staring at each other, digesting what had just taken place. But
then something magical happened: Catherine smiled. And I smiled.
‘Do it again!’ she whispered.
I did it again. This time was no different from the first and I could see
her eyes roll up to heaven again, deep in thought. She broke away.
‘In the movies, they always close their eyes,’ she explained, and then
she let her eyelids fall – a Jennifer Connelly in the making. She looked like a
princess, I remember thinking.
I closed my eyes, too, and I blindly moved in. It was then I became aware
of her perfume. If the colour pink had a scent, this sweet perfume was surely
it. I felt my lips touch hers. That kiss – our third – was the kiss that I
measured all others against thereafter. It was soft, tender and lingering. It
felt pure. It was indescribable.
That night, when I lay down to sleep, I was elated. In the morning,
Catherine’s sweet perfume adorned my pillow. I hugged it and inhaled the scent
– something I would do over and over again that day. Though my eyes were closed
in thought, it felt like they had been truly opened for the first time…
Luckily, I got to practice my kissing technique with Catherine all that
summer. When I told her I loved her, it was greeted with a huge smile,
twinkling eyes, the tightest hug I had ever felt and a momentous, ‘I love you too!’ It was love in its
most innocent state. For Catherine’s birthday, I learned a new piano piece: ‘Je
Te Veux’ by Erik Satie. I was so proud to invite her to my house and sit her
down on a lonely chair while I began to play the romantic waltz at our upright
piano. As my fingers tickled the ivories, the joyous music filled the room and
my heart. I was on cloud nine and I didn’t make a single mistake. As I hit the
final happy note, I looked at Catherine and smiled.
‘Happy Birthday–’ I started to say, but I was cut short.
To my utter astonishment, Catherine broke down into floods of tears. Then
she ran to me and wrapped her limbs around my neck and sobbed uncontrollably.
She was shaking.
‘That’s the nicest thing anyone has…’ she managed to say before the tears
flowed again.
She wouldn’t let go of me, even as I walked her home later that evening.
As the sun began to set, I watched as she finally skipped away into her house,
turning at the last moment.
‘I love you, John!’ she called out, her voice echoing about the street.
With a final smile – a vision etched into my mind – the door closed.
Suddenly Catherine was gone. Not just for that evening but for ever. Her
family moved away and until this day, I don’t know where they went. According
to the neighbours, her father had rented their home and the lease had come to
an end. There was no warning – just that emotional birthday. There were no
letters exchanged and, as the years passed, I knew if I met her walking down
the street, I probably wouldn’t even recognise her – something I’ve always
regretted. It was such a sad feeling. Yet, Catherine, as she was then, would be
in my thoughts for the rest of my life. I hoped I featured somewhere in hers.
The following September when I returned to school, I didn’t mention
Catherine to any of my friends. The lads wouldn’t have appreciated Catherine’s
twinkling eyes or pink perfume. Or Satie and ‘Je Te Veux,’ which, I would later
find out, meant ‘I Want You.’ We were tough guys. Well, children, actually.
But, whatever about it, I had attained a new confidence which I would take into
all arenas. Suddenly I was a great soccer player. Suddenly I was a singer. A
maths whiz. A budding scientist. My confidence knew no bounds and I wanted to
try everything. Catherine had done that. But she was gone and, hiding away in
my bedroom, I shed a few tears. I wasn’t so interested in the piano after that…
Review
While this is not my usual reading fare, I was looking to read in a new
genre and Singleton
was my choice. Good choice! I'm thinking you'd call the book New Adult, but I'm
no expert on genres...
This book is different, because it follows John Singleton's quest to
overcome what he considers "his unfortunate name." John wants to fall
in love with the perfect woman. Not a bad goal, as goals go. He starts looking
for "perfect" in the first grade, and with strike-out after
strike-out in the years that follow, he never gives up. Until he grows up. This
book is humorous, tender, insightful, and engrossing. I was rooting for John
all through the book. Sometimes watching him lurch between love interests was
pretty painful, but he always came out the better for trying.
Not a long book, but a thoroughly entertaining one.
(Singleton
is worth reading if only for the "Praise for Luke Mallory" quotes in
the front of the book. Laugh out loud funny.)
About the Author
Luke Mallory was born in Dublin, Ireland. After completing his university
degree (some businessy thing) he meandered over to Paris, France and briefly
worked as a trader. Unsure as to why he did this, he made his way back to
Ireland, took off his shirt and started writing books. Following the launch of
his debut novella, Singleton, Luke has put his shirt back on - something his employers are
particularly happy about.
Luke is currently working in an antiques store while he plans his first
full-length novel. Indeed, he can often be seen scribbling away at an unsold
Victorian writing desk in the store, much to his employer's annoyance. After
work, Luke regularly walks the famous pier in Dun Laoghaire. He definitely does
not do this during work hours.
A fan of Girls, Guinness, Rugby, Girls, Nightclubs and Dayclubs if there
is such a thing, Luke Mallory's modus operandi is to make the most out of life.
If he can make a few others smile and laugh at the same time, then it's all the
better!
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