Extracts

Pink Ice Creams – Jo Woolaston

When I read the blurb for Pink Ice Creams, I was disappointed to realise that I wouldn’t have time to read it in time to review it on the blog tour, so you can imagine how happy I was when Jo Woolaston kindly provided me with an extract from the book to share with you all. Many thanks to Jo, and to Rachel at Rachel’s Random Resources for inviting me to be a part of the blog tour.

BLURB:

Intent on fixing her broken marriage and the alcohol-fuelled catastrophe that is her life, Kay Harris arrives at her grim and grey holiday let, ready to lay to rest the tragedy that has governed her entire adulthood – the disappearance of her little brother, Adam.

But the road to recovery is pitted with the pot-holes of her own poor choices, and it isn’t long before Kay is forced to accept that maybe she doesn’t deserve the retribution she seeks. Will the intervention of strangers help her find the answers she needs to move on from her past, or will she always be stuck on the hard shoulder with no clear view ahead and a glove box full of empties?

Pink Ice Creams is a tale of loss, self-destruction, and clinging on to the scraps of the long-lost when everyone else has given up hope.

Pink Ice Creams - eBook Cover

EXTRACT:

Kay’s excessive drinking brings its own set of problems – memory loss and drunken encounters with strangers who she must then try to extricate herself from. But not all strangers remain so. Pete is not exactly the catch of the century but, if she lets him into her ordinarily closed world, perhaps he could be the diversion that leads her away from it for the better, who knows. But for now, he is just a pair of unfamiliar feet sticking out of the end of her bed…

So do the feet belong to Sanctimonious Sean or Brother Bollock-Head? Maybe neither, there was that toothless old geezer who drew a cartoon of my arse on the bar with spittle and a split finger nail.

‘Not seen you around these parts.’

‘Is that the same as ‘do you come here often’?’

‘On your holidays are ya?’

‘Yes, but not looking for romance.’

‘Drink?’

‘No thanks. And my arse is not that big.’

‘Well, a peanut here and a peanut there and you’ve got yourself a cracking pair of tits.’

People with so few teeth shouldn’t eat peanuts, I can barely read the answers on his quiz sheet under the debris. Quito, whatever that is. Question nine.

I knew Beachy Head was in Sussex not Dorset, and I would have said something but felt such an idiot after saying Di Caprio when I meant Da Vinci so whoever is in my bed I haven’t exactly lured here with my sparkling intellect. I need a plan. If I sneak out of bed and go out, he might get up and leave, avoiding any morning after awkwardness. But then if I move he might wake up. How old are his feet? They’re a bit manky but the toe-nails aren’t yellow and curled up, just a bit unkempt. If I stay still and pretend to be asleep then when he wakes up he can sneak out. But what if he’s pretending to be asleep and waiting for me to sneak out of bed and go out, so that he can get up and leave? Bloody hell Kay, just get up

There, he didn’t even move a muscle, where are my clothes? Quiet, quiet… Eeeeee… sssshhh ssh, ow ow ow, what a stupid place to put a radiator! Same toe as yesterday too, no wonder it hurts, the nail is split right down the middle.

Whoever he is he’s a heavy sleeper, that clang was loud enough to wake the dead. Is he breathing? My God, is he alive? Waking up with a stranger is one thing but waking up with a corpse is another thing entirely, what was that? Oh thank God, thank God! He farted, hallelujah! Jesus, oh for heaven’s sake get out of the bedroom quick, that is quite ripe. Stale ale.

“Mornin’”

Oh no, he’s the conversational type.

“Got any Marmite?”

“No.”

“Bacon? My mouth tastes like a sewer, that landlord ain’t cleaned his pipes for years.”

But you just have, and in my bed you stinky-arsed cretin.

“…Sean..?”

“Pete. The other Bollock-Head. The handsome one.”

“I’m Kay.”

“Oh I know. I know all about you, Jesus, I got your life story last night, over and over and over again.”

What was I worried about? No awkwardness here. Just simple, polite conversation taking place amidst the rancid stench-fog of a complete stranger’s innards.

“Well if a bacon butty is off the cards you can just make us a cuppa.”

“No I won’t. I’m sorry, but… I’d like you to leave.”

“Charmin’! You wouldn’t have got home if it wasn’t for me. I only stayed to make sure you didn’t choke on your own vomit, which incidentally is all down my Sunday best. My soaking wet Sunday best from jumping in the brook to save your bloody mobile phone.”

“You should have slept in the bunk room.”

“I’m not six! I was tired and I was pissed, it was the best option available even if it did mean sleeping next to a jabbering crackpot. And I may be neither Leonardo Di Caprio nor Da Vinci, but I can assure you I wouldn’t offer you a walk home again for all the thanks I get.”

He is clearly more adept at manoeuvring around a tight space than me, and is clothed and taking his leave far quicker than I thought imaginable.

“I’m sorry… about the Marmite.”

“Lost my appetite, you don’t get much ventilation in these places, eh? Fuckin’ reeks in here.”

I follow him to the door, all thanks and sorrys and questions about what may or may not have occurred between us sticking in my throat. The sooner he goes the better. I can put this out of my mind, whatever this was. He hesitates at the door. No, please, just go. GO!

“We didn’t… you know”

“Know what?’”

“Me and you. There was none of… that.”

“Oh thank God!”

“Steady on, I’m not that bad!”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m married. Happily married.”

“Ha!”

“What do you mean, ‘Ha’?”

“He’s left ya, or if he hasn’t – he will.”

“We had a row, but it’s just temporary.”

“You reckon? After what you’ve done I wouldn’t go near you with a barge pole.”

PURCHASE LINKS:

Hopefully that little snippet has sparked your interest as much as it has mine. If it has you can order your copy of the book here:

Amazon UK – Paperback

Amazon UK – Kindle

Amazon.com – Paperback

Amazon.com – Kindle

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Pink Ice Creams Bio Pic

Jo Woolaston lives in Leicestershire, England with her extreme noise-making husband and two lovely sons. She tries to avoid housework and getting a ‘proper job’ by just writing stuff instead – silly verse, screenplays, shopping lists…

This sometimes works in her favour (she did well in her MA in TV Scriptwriting, gaining a Best Student award in Media and Journalism – and has had a few plays produced – that kind of thing) but mostly it just results in chronic insomnia and desperate tears of frustration. Pink Ice Creams is her first novel, she hopes you liked it.

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To find out more about Pink Ice Creams, why not head over to the other blogs taking part in the tour.

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Extracts

Just Rose – L.T. Marshall

The wonderful L.T. Marshall has kindly let me share an extract from her book for my stop of the Just Rose blog tour today. Thank you so much Leanne for inviting my to get involved.

BLURB:

The unexpected death of Rose’s beloved aunt ends up being a driving force in her uneventful life. She gives up her lonely, unfulfilled big city existence for the country home and life from cherished childhood memories.

But can it live up to them?

All she wants is to find her place in the world; the happiness and independence she has been searching for. With her little dog Muffin by her side and a much-needed new friend, it does seem possible – until an encounter with the handsome local Laird of the Munro Estate sends her spiraling from young professional woman to hormonal bundle of goo.

Their chemistry is undeniable, but with him not seemingly on the market, this might not be the place for her after all.

Thrust into the world of country living, will Rose ever find true love?

In this roller coaster of emotions and a whole lot of country charm, one thing is for sure: Rose is certainly not going to be bored anymore!

39306172_208731339995602_7427067381949661184_n

EXTRACT:

‘You sound like Rob. He lived in Glasgow for a couple of years when he went to uni to study business, he said he couldn’t wait to come home and just get back to home life, the town, and the manor.’

It hit Rose then, that one tiny word at the end of a sentence. Manor. This was Abigail Munro. She was the Laird’s sister!

Running through the scene earlier in her head and piecing the fragments together in a split second, she felt her stomach lurching as it clicked into place. That familiar smile. That black hair, and although the eyes were not grey, she had his eyes. That same cheeky look when he smiled. The hint of dimples when she smiled. Just like his. That flawless skin and attractive bone structure. The easy confidence and the upper-class dialect which wasn’t common around here.

Surely, he couldn’t be? Could he?

He’d been leaving the Munro estate, and he did say, ‘Most people know I have a bad view of the road.’ Or something along those lines. Rose felt the colour drain from her face as it sunk in that her first encounter of the day with the asshole, had not been just any asshole, but this lovely girl’s brother and the Laird of her new home town. The Laird, who had invited her to his ball!

‘Are you okay?’ The look of concern on Abby’s face only struck it home, so alarmingly like his.

Damn!

Even the same question as he’d yanked open her car door. They were so alike it was traumatising; Rose feigned a smile and then let her head drop into her palms, groaning aloud. She felt like a moron, prize ‘A’ idiot, and this sudden dawning of events had her reeling with regret. She felt Abby’s hand touch her arm, concerned her new friend was having some sort of mental breakdown.

‘I met him,’ she mumbled, covering her face, and trying to rub away the realisation. The urge to pour her own hot chocolate over her head swiftly coming over her.

‘Rob?’ She could almost hear the surprise in Abby’s tone.

‘Yes. He almost killed me with his car this morning and then …’’

If that has caught your attention, you can purchase a copy of the book here.

Coming soon!June 2017 Release! (1)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Author Leanne Marshall, better known as L.T.Marshall, is an aspiring romance writer from the UK who is fast scaling the charts as an Author. She has a passion for telling stories filled with dramatic twists and turns, deep emotional issues and gripping characters.

An advocate against all forms of abuse.

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GIVEAWAY:

Coming soon!June 2017 Release! (5)

Win one of 5 eBooks of the standalone Romance Just Rose by entering the giveaway using the link below.

Just Rose is a cosy romance set in the highlands of Scotland with undertones of mental health awareness and well worth a read. Five chances to get the book so don’t delay and click away.

ENTER HERE!

Don’t forget to pay a visit to everyone else who is taking part in this fab tour.

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Extracts

Gap Years – Dave Holwill – Extract from Chapter One

I am so excited to have a second stop on the Gap Years blog tour, and absolutely thrilled to be able to share an extract from the start of chapter one of the book with you all. Thank you so much to Dave Holwill for allowing me to share this.

Gap_Years_Front

Shit, Dad was right.

Why does Dad have to be right?

Why am I so annoyed that I am wrong?

That’s not what’s important here.

Priorities Sean, that car just came out of nowhere, and your twelve year old stepsister is in a hedge.

Not on her bike, in the hedge, upside down and not screaming anymore. It’s been less than a month since we met, and I’ve killed her.

Brilliant.

Why didn’t they stop? The car should have stopped, pulled over and checked we’re alright before apologising – and helping. It didn’t, it swerved round me, the dog’s lead went completely taut and my bike stopped (I didn’t, I am soaring over the car in a slow, graceless arc). Dad told me not to tie the dog to the bike, and not to take Melody on the road. He loves all three of us – I assume, he hasn’t mentioned it to me – but he will probably love them a little more than me when he hears about this.

I look down at the flattened dog, and Melody’s legs poking from the hedge. With a twitch of toes and squeal of joy she leaps out in a single bound.

‘Come on Whizzy, get up.’ A crackle of green light streaks from her finger. The blood pooling in the road regroups and streams back into the dog, who re-inflates, runs a few circles around Melody then sits next to her with his best good boy bark, tail thumping against the pot-holed lane.

‘Sean, come down from there and let’s carry on,’ Melody groans, as another flash from her fingers turns our bikes from mangled wrecks to two new, perfect specimens. I try to land but am unable, I am soaring ever higher, floating on a gentle summer thermal towards the sun, the sun has a face, it is smiling at me, beckoning me closer with short stubby yellow arms. I feel its warmth across my face, it smells like hot tarmac.

Tarmac, I remember now.

I am unconscious.

Melody is not a wizard.

The dog is almost certainly dead.

I landed on my head.

The balance of my life is now dependant on whether or not the helmet I hope I am still wearing was worth the extra twenty quid it cost. I suppose this flying towards the sun is some kind of rubbish visualisation of me clinging to/escaping from life. After all these contactless years I finally get to spend some time with Dad and his family and I’ve killed most of them/us. Well played Sean, well played.

I am metaphorically dragged back down to the road and reality. I open my eyes to a wheel flashing past. It’s a big wheel and very close. This is a truck, I am still lying in the road, why is nobody stopping? I pull myself to my feet, and check my limbs. All moving, a bit achy, probably just bruises. Good news, I walk towards the dog, at least I try, before my right leg gives way and I cascade to the ground.

‘Hey, are you alright man?’ A voice, finally somebody has stopped.

‘Apparently not, how many fingers am I holding up?’ I ask, waving my hand.

‘Three, but that’s not how it works, how many am I holding up?’ He thrusts his hand in my face.

‘Oh yeah, that’s true, three?’ I venture, I can see three, I hope I’m right.

‘Three it is,’ he laughs. ‘You’ll be fine, come on then.’ He picks me up off the road and helps me over to the verge. I recognise him now. I’ve seen him around. He looks like he came straight from a Grateful Dead concert, all long hair, beard and tie-dyed shirts. I see him quite a lot when I’m cycling about, he goes everywhere on a big old heavy dutch bike – which in Devon is madness, these hills are hard enough work on my super-lightweight road bike – usually with a basket full of cider, in a big floppy straw hat and flip flops. I don’t think he’s a serious cyclist, but I do think he can’t afford a car.

‘My sister,’ I say, ‘she’s… she’s…’

‘Already seen to her,’ he says, ‘in the recovery position and breathing, you got a phone I can use? Or you want to call it in yourself?’

‘You haven’t called an ambulance?’

‘Hey man, I needed to check you were both breathing.’ He looks offended, I feel bad now. ‘And anyway, I don’t have a telephone, no need for one, happier without.’

‘Okay, I can do it,’ I say, fumbling in my back pouch for my phone. I make the 999 call, my companion proving invaluable in pinpointing our location.

‘And the dog?’ I ask, once I know the ambulance is coming, I don’t think I want to hear the answer.

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If that has grabbed your attention, you can find out more about Gap Years, and Dave Holwill over on my review from 15th February here. Don’t forget to have a look at the other blogs taking part.

Extracts

Isolation Junction – Jennifer Gilmour

I am sure most of you have realised by now that I am a huge fan of Jennifer Gilmour and all the amazing work she is doing. If you haven’t already realised, where have you been??? (Also, you can find my previous posts regarding Jennifer here, here, and here. I am delighted to be taking part in the blog tour for Isolation Junction today, and thrilled to be able to share an extract of the book with you.

IJ - NEW COVER Isolation Junction

EXTRACT FROM CHAPTER SIX:

Sat back downstairs, Darren was muttering to himself. Rose could hear some of what he was saying but was trying her hardest to ignore him and zone out but when he said his behaviour was Rose’s fault because they hadn’t had sex for ages, she was devastated and disgusted all in one. He just loved sticking the knife in, over and over again. He was relentless.

Darren carried on, ‘I mean … we’re meant to be married, but that doesn’t mean anything these days.’ Rose’s heart was starting to race. ‘All my mates are getting it.’

That was it, Rose couldn’t listen to him anymore, she stormed into the kitchen and started to wash the pots. A distraction was needed and keeping busy was therapeutic to Rose.

Darren gave it just the right amount of time before following her – just long enough for Rose to think that she was going to get away with her defiance.

‘How dare you walk out when I’m talking to you?’

‘Talking at me, more like.’ Not caring about his reaction, Rose bit back at him.

‘Sorry, what did you say?’ he grunted. ‘I didn’t quite hear that; do you want to say it to my face?’

Rose was giggling inside, this was so pitiful and felt like they were in the playground at school bickering over the smallest of things. Rose carried on washing-up and ignored him. Then, as she leant over to grab a tea-towel, he gripped Rose’s wrist and pulled her towards him, something Rose wasn’t expecting.

‘Sorry …’ he said, taking a long pause, ‘…what … did … you … say … to me?’

Her heart was racing, and her breathing became erratic, his eyes filled with something akin to mania and Rose was terrified. Pulling her top in his fist he dragged her towards him and screamed in her ear, ‘Do I need to ask you again?’

Rose closed her eyes as he spat at her. Holding her breath, she didn’t want him to know she had a shake in her breathing and she looked around the kitchen, anywhere other than his eyes. There was a knife block on the sideboard right beside her, it would be over in minutes and it would be so easy if only she could grab the knife and stab him.

She’d thought about this plenty of times before, the opportunities would present themselves, but she’d never take them. However, if she had to do something in self-defence she’d do it, and this situation felt more concerning than others had. Rose knew it was because she’d tried to stand up for herself for once and he was trying to put her back in her place.

Darren was pressing Rose up against the fridge-freezer, holding her wrists tight by her sides. He could do anything he wanted to, and Rose would powerless against his force and he knew it.

As much as he belittled Rose’s body, he still wanted to abuse it – Rose had lost count of the nights she’d wake up to find him having sex with her. There would be a bit of a struggle as she tried to stop him, but he carried on – Rose was his wife and sex was his right, what Rose wanted, or didn’t want, was irrelevant.

The way he was breathing, the way he was holding her, the way his eyes flashed made Rose realise this time, there was something different about him.

ABOUT ISOLATION JUNCTION:

block the road

First published in 2016, Jennifer has republished a second edition with the changes in Domestic Violence Awareness Month.

This is the republication of Isolation Junction and what a difference it is. A make over with a new book cover, new content, with Pict Publishing, third person only (as opposed to third and first in first edition) and the incidents in correlating order.

BLURB:

Rose is the mother of two young children, and finds herself living a robotic life with an abusive and controlling husband. While she struggles to maintain a calm front for the sake of her children, inside Rose is dying and trapped in ‘Isolation Junction’.

She runs an online business from home, because Darren won’t let her work outside the house. But through this, she meets other mums and finds courage to attend networking events, while Darren is at work, to promote her business.

It’s at one of these events that Rose meets Tim, a sympathetic, dark-haired stranger who unwittingly becomes an important part of her survival.

After years of emotional abuse, of doubting her future and losing all self-confidence, Rose takes a stand. Finding herself distraught, alone and helpless, Rose wonders how she’ll ever escape with her sanity and her children. With 100 reasons to leave and 1,000 reasons she can’t will she be able to do it? Will Tim help her? And will Rose find peace and the happiness she deserves? Can Rose break free from this spiralling life she so desperately wants to change?

Based on true events.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

IJ - Jennifer Gilmour

Born in the North East, Jennifer is a young, married mum with three children.  In addition to being an author, she is an entrepreneur, running a family business from her home-base. Her blog posts have a large readership of other young mums in business.

From an early age, Jennifer has had a passion for writing and started gathering ideas and plot lines from her teenage years.  A passionate advocate for women in abusive relationships, she has drawn on her personal experiences to write this first novel. It details the journey of a young woman from the despair of an emotionally abusive and unhappy marriage to develop the confidence to challenge and change her life and to love again.  

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Make sure you stop by the other blogs taking part in this amazing tour.

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Extracts

A House Divided – Extract from Chapter One

AHD ebook cover (small)

Hayley Price was dead, and Jennifer Sinclair was going to get the blame.

Never mind that Hayley took her own life. Never mind that someone in Bronzefield Prison had provided her with the tool. And never mind that the prison staff had taken their eyes off a woman on suicide watch.

As far as the media was concerned, Hayley’s death was the fault of Jennifer Sinclair, Prisons Minister.

Today Jennifer would be making a statement in the House of Commons, explaining why Hayley had been allowed to die. And it needed to be good. The prison governor’s job was at stake – of course – but so was her own.

It was five am, and Jennifer was up early, taking advantage of the quiet of her London flat. Little disturbed her from outside: the milkman making his way along the street below, a couple of late night revellers ending yesterday instead of beginning today. Inside, all was quiet. Her husband Yusuf hadn’t stirred when she’d slipped out of bed and her two sons were fast asleep in sleeping bags on the living room floor, staying in London for a special occasion.

She sat on the floor of the kitchen, the only uninhabited room, and stared at the sheet of paper. Her civil servants had insisted on drafting a full speech, but she knew she’d do better with notes. Thinking on her feet had got her this far; hopefully it wouldn’t fail her now.

She glanced at the oven clock. Not long before Hassan would wake to realise it was his tenth birthday. She didn’t want him to find her sitting on the floor.

She pushed herself up, rubbing her cramped legs, and crept towards the bedroom. It was a treat having the whole family here – normally they’d be at home in her Birmingham constituency – but the timing of this crisis was far from ideal.

She reached the door to the bedroom and heard movement behind her.

“Mummy?”

She looked round. Hassan was sitting up, rubbing his eyes. His older brother Samir was still snoring.

She pushed the speech from her mind. “Morning, darling. Happy birthday.”

His eyes widened and he let out a shriek. He threw off the sleeping bag and jumped up, pushing past her to wake his dad.

“Daddy! Wake up!” he cried. Jennifer followed him into the bedroom.

Yusuf sat up in bed and feigned a yawn.

“Hello? Why would anyone want to get up this early on a Wednesday?”

“Daddy!” Hassan repeated, and jumped on him. Grunts came from beneath the duvet. Jennifer sat on the end of the bed and gave Hassan a hug. 

Yusuf leaned in and wrapped his arms round both of them. “Anyone would think it was a special day,” he groaned, pulling back and throwing Jennifer a wink.

Hassan shrieked. “Daddy! It’s my birthday!”

Yusuf threw back the quilt, grabbing Hassan in one swift movement and tickling him. Hassan shrieked with delight. 

Yusuf laughed. “Go and get your brother, Mr Early Waker.”

Hassan nodded and sprang for the door, confident in the knowledge that when he returned, there would be presents.

Five minutes later he dragged Samir into the room.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” Samir moaned, yawning.

“You can’t sleep in on my birthday,” Hassan replied.

Samir shrugged. Four years older than his brother, he was becoming skinny, gangly even. His skin was pale with fatigue and he had dark circles under his eyes. He would have been up late watching YouTube videos on his phone, Jennifer knew. He tried to hide it but the glow from beneath his duvet – or sleeping bag – was a dead giveaway.

“Hello, love,” she said, reaching out towards him. “Come and sit with us while Hassan trashes the place.”

She shifted into the middle of the bed, making room. Samir glanced at her then perched on the edge of the mattress. He pulled his sleeping bag around his shoulders.

Jennifer pushed aside the stab of rejection and shifted her attention to Hassan, who was scrabbling under the bed for presents. Samir dived onto his brother, pretending to grab the presents first. Hassan pushed him off.

“Come on Samir,” said Yusuf. “It’s Hassan’s day.” 

Samir scowled and Hassan emerged from under the bed, his face flushed. He passed a present to his brother. “It’s OK. He can help me.”

Jennifer threw Yusuf a smile. That was just like Hassan, always wanting to share with his brother.

“Go on then,” she laughed. “Get ripping.” Yusuf lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips, his eyes fixed on her face. The boys ignored them, intent on tearing open wrapping paper. Yusuf squeezed her hand, then dropped it and joined in with the boys, pushing wrapping paper to the floor. Jennifer sat back and watched, smiling to herself. Seeing her boys enjoy moments she’d never had as a child felt like an accomplishment.

Then her eyes glazed over and she turned away, the boys’ cries fading. 

She couldn’t stop thinking about that damn speech.

Thank you so much to Rachel McLean for allowing me to share this extract with you all. I hope it has tempted you to check this great book out for yourselves.

PURCHASE LINKS:

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