Amy and her best friend Alice are seventy. It’s 1989 and the world has changed out of all recognition from when they were growing up together in the old town of Spinton in Kent.
This new series will detail the daily lives of the two friends as they reminisce about their earlier lives. Amy will also record some of the shorter mysteries she was involved in. Mysteries that never made the Amy Rowlings Golden Age crime series.
So, here’s chapter one to give you a taste of what to expect. There will be two short mysteries per book. The first is The Jazz Singer.
Seventy Summers
Chapter One
Reunion
‘Mollison Farm, Alice speaking.’ A series of beeps sounded in her ear, then a female voice was heard.
‘Hello Alice speaking, this is Amy speaking.’
‘AMY!’ Alice almost shouted. ‘Have you come home? How long have you been back? When can you come to see me…? Or I’ll come to see you… it’s been so long.’ Alice’s voice cracked as she spoke.
‘One year, two months and six days, not that I’ve been counting,’ Amy said. ‘How are things at the farm?’
‘Oh, never mind the farm. I’ve got so many questions.’
‘I don’t have enough change for questions, dear heart. I’m using my last twenty p coin. I just wanted to wish you a very happy birthday.’
‘At least tell me where you are. Are you back home in Nottingham? No, of course you aren’t or you wouldn’t be calling from a telephone box… How is Alicia? Has she rec…’ Alice stopped speaking as she heard a series of pips, then the line went dead.
‘Damn,’ Alice said as she replaced the handset on the base.
I’ll wait a bit. She might call again if she gets hold of some change.
Five minutes later, she got to her feet as she heard the back door open. Hurrying through the kitchen doorway from the lounge, she threw her hands up in delight as she saw her lifelong best friend standing by the big oak table in the farmhouse kitchen. ‘Is it really you?’ she yelled as she scurried across the kitchen and threw herself into Amy’s open arms.
‘I’ve missed you so much,’ she sobbed.
Amy squeezed tight as her own tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry it’s been so long. I’ve thought about you every day.’
It was a full three minutes before the two women let go of each other and began to wipe the tears from their faces.
‘Happy seventieth birthday, dear heart,’ Amy said, patting the gaily wrapped present she had placed on the table. ‘Is the kettle on? I’m parched.’
Still dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, Alice crossed the kitchen, picked up the electric kettle and shook it. Then, deciding it needed a top up, she filled it at the tap above the big Belfast sink that had been in place for over sixty years. ‘It’s not fair. I didn’t get to see you on your seventieth.’
‘I was hoping to have been back for that, but Alicia’s recovery took longer than they thought it might. She was in a bad way after that road accident.’
Alice dropped three tea bags into the pot and tapped her foot as she waited for the kettle to boil. ‘Is she all right now? I so wanted to fly out to see her myself, but I couldn’t leave the farm. I was in the middle of negotiating selling off the top pastures to the council. They want to build a new school.’
‘Alicia’s made a remarkable recovery. She won’t play netball at top flight level again though, but as she said, that’s a small price to pay. She was lucky to survive the impact.’ Amy’s face lost a lot of its colour as she thought about how close to death her daughter had come. Continue reading
The storm broke mid-afternoon, finally bringing an end to the oppressive humidity. The heavy, lead-coloured clouds that had hung over the town for days, holding in the heat like a vast, iron, saucepan lid, swirled and churned, lit up here and there by flashes of lightning as if announcing the appearance of the Valkyrie from Wagner’s opera.
Torrents of water ran down the hill from High Street onto Middle Street, washing away the accumulated dust and cigarette ends that had lain undisturbed for weeks. At the Ironworks, sweaty, grime-covered men stepped out into the rain, removed their shirts and raised their hands in the air to welcome the downpour.
In Witchy Wood, a four-acre mass of holm oaks, lindens, sycamores and aspens, interspersed with thick tangles of blackthorn and hawthorn, a lightning strike hit the eaves of a long abandoned cottage causing the eastern end to collapse, opening up an old storeroom that had been hidden away behind a crumbling stone wall and a thick covering of wisteria for decades.
‘Thank goodness!’ Amy Rowlings exclaimed as a deafening thunderclap sounded overhead. Even with every available window open inside the London Connection fashion shop, the customers and staff mopped their brows with already sodden handkerchiefs. The atmosphere had been oppressive since the doors opened at nine o’clock that morning. The humid air enveloped her like a heavy shroud as the strategically placed electric fans whined and strained, only moving the sultry air from one place to another.
Amy resisted the urge to wring out her sopping handkerchief and dropped it instead into the waste bin at the side of the counter. She still had a clean one in her bag after buying two new ones from Jimmy Cousins’ market stall earlier in the day.
Amy worked two and a half days a week at the shop where her keen eye for fashion and her sympathetic manner when quietly explaining to a customer that the particular tight fitting dress she had her heart set on buying wasn’t quite the dress for her, was greatly appreciated. The rest of the week was spent behind her sewing machine at Handsley’s Garments, a clothing factory known locally as ‘The Mill’ because it was once a cotton mill driven by a long-dismantled water wheel that had powered the factory in the late eighteenth century.
Amy wasn’t a clock watcher by any means and thoroughly enjoyed both of her jobs, but today had been stressful, with a stream of bad-tempered customers, all intent on finding someone to complain to about the conditions inside the shop.
At five-thirty, Amy breathed a big sigh of relief and after ushering the last grumbling, sweating, middle-aged lady of the day out of the front door, she hurried through to the staff room, where she half-filled the sink with lukewarm water from the tap and plunged her face into it.
‘Move over,’ Jill, the trainee seamstress said, nudging Amy aside in her hurry to get her own face into the water.
Amy put her head back, looked up at the ceiling and allowed the refreshing water to run onto her neck. After reaching for a towel, she dried her face and stuck her head out of the open window, relishing the cooling breeze that had replaced the stagnant heat. ‘If it’s your turn to lock up tonight, Jill, don’t forget to close all the windows or Josie will arrive to find she has no stock left on Saturday morning.’
Jill pulled her head out of the sink and reached out for the towel that Amy was offering. ‘You’re so lucky getting every Saturday off, Amy. I’d like just one Saturday a month to myself.’
‘Ah, but you get every Wednesday afternoon off,’ Amy replied. ‘When I leave here at one, I have to get the bus straight to The Mill. I have to be at my machine for half past. I don’t even have time for lunch.’
‘It’s still better than working on Saturdays.’ Jill patted at her damp hair as she looked forlornly at Amy. ‘Everywhere closes for half a day on Wednesdays. There’s nothing to do except walk around the blooming market. My young man, Sidney, works through the week, but he gets Saturday afternoons off. Not that he can see me until the evenings. He has to spend his half day watching Spinton United playing blooming football.’ She sighed. ‘He’d much rather be spending that time with me.’
Amy shook her head and smiled to herself. ‘I bet the poor lad has to go to the pub at lunchtime too, just to pass the time.’
Jill sniffed. ‘Yes, but I know he’d much rather be spending time with me than with his mates. He gets to see them all week at work.’
‘Who has the keys tonight?’ Josie, the manager said as she walked through from the shop.
‘Me, madam,’ Jill said, holding out her hand for the large bunch of keys.
‘Make sure you close all the windows. Don’t forget what happened when Jenny Harris forgot to lock up properly. We found a tramp on the floor of the fitting room when we opened up the next morning.’
‘I’ll make sure everything is safe and secure,’ Jill replied, giving the Guides salute. She dropped her hand to her side quickly as Josie gave her a stern eye.
‘Make sure you do.’
At the front of the shop, Amy waited as Josie used her spare set of keys to unlock the half-glass doors, then stepped smartly outside as the manager prepared to lock them again.
‘I’m tempted to wait across the road and check that she has locked up properly,’ Josie said as Amy hung her bag over her arm and turned towards the street. ‘She’s meeting her young man later tonight, so she’ll be in a hurry to get away.’
‘She’ll do a proper job, Josie,’ Amy said with a quick nod of her head. ‘She knows she’s lucky to be working here.’
‘You’re right, of course,’ Josie replied. ‘I still haven’t forgotten that tramp though. I had to get Elsie the cleaner to disinfect the entire shop. I almost convinced myself that I’d picked up head lice.’
Amy laughed. ‘Right, I’ll get off then. See you next Wednesday.’
Josie put her hand on Amy’s arm. ‘I really wish I could convince you to work here full time, Amy. You know how much the customers love you.’
‘You wouldn’t think so today. I took the worst of the flak from ill-tempered so and sos.’
‘The customer is always right. Isn’t that our motto?’
‘It is,’ Amy replied flatly. ‘Even when they insist they can fit their size eighteen frames into a size twelve dress.’
Josie grinned. ‘Ah, but you explain why it isn’t possible so inventively.’
Amy smiled back and turned to walk across the street to get her bus. ‘Oops, sorry,’ she said as she bumped into a tall, dark-haired man, wearing a shiny suit and an extremely crumpled shirt.
‘Just the lady I was hoping to find,’ the man said. His eyes lit up as he smiled at her.
‘Bodkin? What are you doing here? I didn’t think I was seeing you until tomorrow.’
‘That was the plan, but things can change quickly,’ Bodkin replied. ‘Especially when there’s an unexplained death to investigate.’ He paused, nodded to Josie, then took Amy by the arm. ‘You know your way around the Witchy Wood, I take it?’
‘Of course. Alice and I spent a lot of our summers in there when we were young.’
Bodkin grinned. ‘Good, you’ll know that long abandoned cottage on the west side of the wood, then?’
Amy nodded. ‘We used to call it the Creepy Cottage. No one’s lived there in my lifetime. It’s pretty much a ruin.’
‘It’s even more of a ruin now,’ Bodkin said. ‘An end wall has fallen in during the big storm this afternoon. When it was over, a dog walker and his pooch discovered something very interesting.’
Bodkin was silent as he led Amy towards his Morris car that he’d parked just around the corner.
Amy dug him in the ribs. ‘Come on, Bodkin, stop teasing. What did they find?’
‘A skeleton,’ the inspector replied. ‘A skeleton that may have suffered a brutal attack while it was still attached to a living body… or at least, that’s how it appears. There is severe skull damage.’
‘’How it appears?’ Couldn’t the wall have done the damage when it collapsed?’
‘I doubt it,’ Bodkin said as he unlocked the passenger side of the car and opened the door to allow Amy to climb in. ‘There’s a rusty old pickaxe buried in it.’
The last week in August is always the worst week of the year for me as it holds so many sad memories. In two days time it will be nine years since I came home to find that Doreen had succumbed to the hypertension neither of us knew she had. It was the worst moment of my life. There was no preparation, I had only nipped out for twenty minutes. We didn’t know she was ill. The worst thing was not having the chance to say goodbye.
Three days before I found her I had released Out of Control. I was a children’s writer back then and that was my first attempt at a story for adults. I gave up writing that day and didn’t write a word in anger until five years later when I was off work with an internal injury that would keep me housebound for three months, and someone started whispering in my ear with an idea for a brand new series.
So, nine years on I’ve moved back to a cheap little terraced house in my home town and I still talk to her photograph a few times a day. I was never a believer in the afterlife, at least not the one promised us in the bible and (apologies to the God Squad) I still think that’s a load of nonsense, but… I have become a bit of a believer in multiple universes and the quantum theory that says there are an unlimited number of them and what happened to us in this one won’t have happened in millions of others. Maybe when we die we slip into one of these alternative universes or to another dimension. I don’t believe death is the end anymore. That spark of electricity.. the soul… whatever, has to go somewhere.
I know Doreen is watching over me somehow. I can feel it and I know she is helping me get through. We’ll meet again one day. Until then, she’s up on the shelf or slipping in to see me when I’m asleep. I’m sure she’s doing what she can to inspire the Amy mysteries as she was such a big fan of Agatha’s characters and Amy exists in the same timeline as them. I’m wondering if it’s her that talks to me in the strange dimension between sleep and wakefulness. I’ve always blamed Amy for it.
I’ll mark the day as usual with a short post but this week I’ll be trying to get the ideas down that have been whispered in my ear over the weekend for inclusion in the Seventy Summers book that I started to write last week. Last night I was given the plot for the first of the short mysteries that will be included and I’ve now worked out the structure of the books. There will be at least six of them and they’ll all be shorter than the Amy mysteries, around 60k. Each book will contain two short mystery stories that will slot in alongside the story of Alice and Amy’s daily lives at 70 years old. Doreen sadly never got anywhere near that age but she seems keen for me to get these books written before I slip into whichever universe or dimension it is, to join her.
Thanks Dor. I hope you know how much people enjoy the stories you help me with. See you soon.
Amy Rowlings on the Spinton Saturday Market. Summer 1939.
Amy Rowlings. Locations.
I hope that any of my regular readers will find this article of interest but it is especially aimed at readers from my hometown of Ilkeston, Derbyshire, who might have a feeling in the back of their minds that one or two of the locations in my books feel rather familiar. There’s a reason for that. They almost certainly are.
I am an Ilkeston born writer who came back to live in the old industrial town after a forty-year absence and although the place has obviously changed during that time; I was delighted to find that many of the locations I remembered from my youth were still there, albeit repurposed.
When I set about writing the Unspoken series, and soon after, the Amy Rowlings mysteries, I needed a place to set them in. The obvious answer would have been my hometown, but I had a few problems with that as both series would eventually move from the nineteen thirties into the nineteen forties when, of course, the country would be at war and although Stanton Ironworks was regularly targeted by the Luftwaffe, I wanted to be able to feel closer to the events when I wrote about how my characters lived during those dreadful years. Kent seemed to be an ideal location to set the books, as, being right on the English channel, the people living there would have been on the front line had the Nazis ever managed to invade. It was also the ideal place for my characters to find the odd unexploded bomb or watch the aerial dogfights that took place during the battle of Britain, something that is mentioned in the Unspoken series by way of diary entry from the farm owner, Alice.
All this was in the future.
The first book, Unspoken, was a dual timeline family saga set in both 1938 and 2019. The characters came easily to me. What I needed now was a setting.
I chose Kent, north of Gillingham, quite close to the banks of the River Medway and as this was going to be a series of stories that revolved around an old mill factory, I decided to call it Spinton.
Spinton grew in my mind as I began to write the first book and by the time Murder at the Mill, the first Amy Rowlings novel had been written, the town had enlarged considerably as I drew inspiration from old Ilkeston to bring it to life.
Spinton has a lot of garments and hosiery factories, just like Ilkeston. The Mill, the factory Amy Rowlings, supersleuth works at, is based on Rutland Mill (Rutland Garments) on Market Street in Ilkeston. I used to walk past the place every day on my way to Hallcroft School. I considered using Charnos as it was in Hallam Fields and I was born and grew up there, but that factory was only built in 1932 and I had something a little older in my mind when I was writing about it.
The Sunshine Café that Amy has a coffee in every Saturday morning is based on Ilkeston’s oldest traditional Cafe, The Corner Café although it is still known by many as Doug’s Café. Doug was the owner when I spent my early teenage years listening to the 60’s music on the jukebox.
The Carnegie Library on the marketplace was lifted up and transported all the way to Kent, as was the Town Hall. The buildings are right next to each other in Spinton, but they are on opposite sides of the market square in reality. The taxi rank outside the library is in exactly the same spot in Spinton.
St John the Evangelist Church is St Mary’s, although I had to add a larger graveyard that could hold a couple of broken down mausoleums. I also needed a lychgate, but as St Mary’s doesn’t have one, I stole the one from Holy Trinity at Mapperley Village. The slate and gravel paths and walkways are an invention. We don’t have ragstone here.
The canal is our very own Nutbrook canal. I grew up very close to it and it was always going to be in the books. I remember swimming in ‘ot waters,’ at the side of the ironworks when I was very young, and we spent a lot of time playing daredevil, running across the lock gates.
The Spinton Ironworks are, of course, Stanton Ironworks. I was born on Crompton Street slap bang in the middle between the ironworks and the coke ovens. I transported the lot to Kent, ready for the murder mystery series. There is also an abandoned brickworks just like the one I used to play in. Crompton Street became Ebeneezer Street in the process.
The Silverstream, mentioned in Murder on the Medway, is the Nutbrook which used to meander across the fields at the back of our house when we moved from Crompton Street to Kirk Hallam after the flood of 1960.
The Roxy cinema is the Scala cinema, although I moved it and put it where the Ritz is.
For High Street, Main Street and Middle Street, look no further than Bath Street, South Street and Market Street. The police station on Middle Street in the books is actually based on the old police station that used to be on Wharncliffe Road.
Long Lane, where Alice’s farm and Amy’s cottage are located, is based on a mix of Low’s Lane and Quarry Hill, and the Old Bull pub, although not the same internally, is the Bull’s Head on Little Hallam Hill. Other pubs mentioned in the books are loosely based on the Ilkeston pubs in the market square.
Spinton Station is what used to be Ilkeston Town Station at the bottom of Bath Street.
Spinton Post Office is wholly based on the old Ilkeston Post Office. Now Hogarth’s pub.
Spinton Market is Ilkeston Market, complete with the bus stops we used to have back in the day.
Witch Wood, in the latest Amy Rowlings mystery, is based on Shipley Wood.
Russell Park (Murder on the Medway and The Murder Awards) is an amalgamation of Manor Floods nature reserve and the Ilkeston Recreation ground.
Whilst none of the characters in the books are based on real people and none of the storylines are based on actual events, I have used the memory of my time growing up on Crompton Street to help generate them. I particularly remember how strong the women were back in the day. How they coped with the daily struggle to put food on the table for their families. The menfolk used to think they wore the trousers and boasted about it in the Stanton Hotel on payday, but in reality, it was the women who ran things. They made all the major decisions; whether the rent could be paid, whether the slate at the shop further up the street could be utilised that week, and whether a shilling or two could be paid into the club for a hamper and presents at Christmas. Those women were the pillars of the community. They put their family in front of any personal ambition. The men just went to work and came home to find a dinner on the table as soon as they opened the back door. Many were also guilty of lashing out if their wives had the temerity to speak up for themselves when their partner got back from the pub.
I have yet to incorporate the Ilkeston Charter Fair into the books, but it will make an appearance one day.
Brigden’s Nearly New women’s fashion store and the London Connection fashion shop aren’t based on anywhere in Ilkeston.
There are probably a lot of other Ilkeston references in the books. If you find one, please feel free to mention it.
T. A. Belshaw
Flood. Crompton Street where I was born.Copyright Ilkeston Pioneer
Flood Our family was evacuated that day.Copyright Ilkeston Pioneer
Flood Dec 1960. Crompton Street next to a flooded ironworks.Copyright Ilkeston Pioneer
Baptist Church Will be mentioned in book 7
Corner Cafe. Amy;’;s Saturday morning treat.
LIbrary Entrance
Library. All the Rowlings family are big readers.
Market Place. Mentioned in every book.
Old Post Office. Amy has a savings bok.
The Ritz cinema; Location of the Roxy.
Rutland garments. The Mill, where Amy works.
Rutland Mill
Scala Cinema. The Roxy.
St Mary’s. Ancient church but I needed a lychgate for book 2.
South St. High Street in the books.
Town Hall
Nutbrook Canal
Nutbrook Canal. mentioned in 2 books so far, described in detail in Death at the Lychgate.
Lock
Footbridge over railway Hallam Fields. Will be mentioned in book six.
Seventy Summers, the short story novella about my characters Amy Rowlings and lifelong friend Alice Mollison will be started on soon. Look out for posts and clips from the book on this page.
Amy Rowlings and Alice Mollison her best friend for life are reunited on Alice’s 70th birthday. The book will share snippets of their lives and mysteries that Amy was involved in that were not covered in the two series, Unspoken and The Amy Rowlings Mysteries.
Seventy Summers (An unbreakable bond) is the new short story compilation featuring conversations between a seventy year old Amy Rowlings and her lifetime friend Alice Mollison. The stoirs will feature snippets of their lives not covered in either the Unspoken or Amy Rowlings Mysteries series.
Amy Rowlings, the star of the 1930s based murder mystery series now has her own website. The site is live, but a lot more will be added over the next few weeks. Readers can look forward to news of future releases and glimpses inside the plot for the next book in the series, Ten Years After. There will also be a new short story serial featuring Amy and Alice 50 years on from the events detailed in the novels.
It’s here. The first copy off the presses of Murder on the Medway in paperback. My bulk author copy order will be going in tomorrow so if there are readers who want a signed copy just get in touch.
On Saturday, June 1st I will be signing books at the inaugural Leek Loves Book Festival at the Churnet Room in the town centre. I’d love to see you there if you can make it.
I am delighted to announce that the paperback version of Murder on the Medway, the FOURTH instalment of the Amy Rowlings Mysteries is released today. Linky thingy https://mybook.to/D0WVXG To celebrate I have released a new poster. Signed copies available from me on request. In other news my occasional author newsletter will be dropping into inboxes today. If you’d like to subscribe, there’s a popup link on this website. If you miss that, please get in touch with your email address.
Murder on the Medway, the FOURTH Amy Rowlings Golden Age mystery is now available in eBook form on Amazon. The paperback will follow in the next couple of weeks. As always, signed copies will be available on request.
The book tells the story of amateur sleuth Amy, a Hercule Poirot fan and Inspector Bodkin with whom she has begun to form a relationship outside of the investigations. In Murder on the Medway, a young woman’s body is found in the reed beds on the banks of the Medway River. WHODUNNIT? WEll, you;ll have to read it to work your way through a number of possible susupects.
I’d like to thank Sumaira and Nikki at SpellBound books for all their hard work. A book isn’t just a solo project, it’s a team effort and I’m very thankful to these two fabulous ladies.
I’d also like to thank my Arc readers for getting a few of those all important early reviews in. I’m so pleased you enjoyed the book.
Released on April 30th by SpellBound Books. Here’s a little video I made of my seven days of promotion for the fourth Amy Rowlings mystery, Murder on the Medway.
The latest promo material for the upcoming release of the FOURTH Amy Rowlings Mystery. Murder on the Medway are now available. They will be sent out with signed copies of the paperback version of the book but collectors can get hold of them by getting in touch. Postal charges will apply.
All Amy Rowlings Golden Age Crime mysteries are only 99p on Amazon. Free to read on Amazon Prime or with a Kindle Unlimited account. Murder at the Mill, the book that introduces Amy Rowlings is also available in audiobook read by the wonderful actress Gemma Lawrence. Linky Thingy here
Murder on the Medway, the fourth book in the Amy Rowlings Golden Age mystery series is now available to pre-order from Amazon.
The book will be officially released on April 30th 2024 so if you’d like to pre-order a copy so you’ll be sure to get it on release day, here’s the back of the book blurb and the pre-order link.
MURDER ON THE MEDWAY.
An Amy Rowlings Mystery.
July 1939
WHODUNIT?
Amateur sleuth, Amy Rowlings and Inspector Bodkin are spending a pleasant afternoon at the side of the gurgling, Silverstream, when the body of young Effie Watkins is discovered in the reed beds.
An overstretched Bodkin is desperate for some extra help at the police station and the last thing he needs is another murder to solve.
All the early clues point towards the exclusive Highwater Boat Club and against the wishes of Bodkin, Amy and her best friend Alice decide to go undercover at the club’s posh annual ball.
Amy soon finds that party girl Effie wasn’t exactly the flavour of the month, especially among the wives and girlfriends. Hercule Poirot fan Amy, builds a list of suspects which includes the club captain and some of the pillars of the local business community.
As the investigation intensifies, Bodkin is forced to confront the ghosts of his own past and Amy is left to reflect on the strength of their relationship.
Today, Sumaira, my publisher, received the first-ever copies of the Murder at the Mill audiobook in CD format. This is the version that Ulverscroft, who took up the rights to the book will send to UK libraries via its Ulibrary service. The digital version of the book will be available through Audible and all other audiobook online companies on Monday April 1st 2024. Readers who bought, or decide to buy, the eBook version for 99p will be able to add on the audiobook for just £2,99. The book is narrated by the wonderful Gemma Lawrence who you may have seen on TV in episodes of Luther, Casualty, Holby and Father Brown amongst many other appearances.
I’d like to thank Ulverscroft for taking up the option on Murder at the Mill but I’d like to thank Nikki East and Sumaira Wilson from SpellBound books in particular for all the work they put in to make this possible.
Hi everyone. If you’d like to download my short story which was featured in the charity anthology 100 Stories For Haiti, please click the link to get the PDF Dinner for Two
A) Murder on the Medway is the fourth book in the Amy Rowlings, Golden Age, Cosy Crime Mystery series.
Q) What’s it about?
A) The book tells the story of the murder of a young party girl, Efie Watkins whose body is found in the reed beds at the side of the river Medway.
Q) Okay. So, who is Amy Rowlings?
A) Amy Rowlings is a young amateur sleuth who works at the Mill, a clothing factory in the fictional industrial town of Spinton. Amy is a movie buff. a collector of American records and a huge Hercule Poirot fan who uses his techniques when investigating crimes alongside the handsome police inspector, Bodkin.
Q) What era are the books set in?
A) The books are set in the late 1930s.
Q) What were the previous books in the series?
A) Murder at the Mill, Death at the Lychgate, and The Murder Awards. All published by SpellBound Books Ltd. You can find them here. Amazon Linky thing.
Q) What formats are the books available in?
A) The books are available in eBook, priced at an incredible 99p. They are also available in paperback (signed on request) and are FREE to read with a #KindleUnlimited account. On April 1st, the first book in the series will be released in audiobook format by Soundings, part of the Ulverscroft group. The book is narrated by the wonderful TV, stage, and film. actress, Gemma Lawrence.
Q) When will the new title be published?
A) Murder on the Medway will be published by SpellBound Books on April 30th 2024.
The audio version of Murder at the Mill read by the fabulous Gemma Lawrence will be released by Soundings on April 1st. It is available to pre-order from amazon or audible
Here’s a first look at the initial promo images from the upcoming Amy Rowlings Mystery. Murder on the Medway which will be released in April.
The scenes are from the Highwater Boat Club Ball which Amy and her best friend Alice are invited to. The two girls are the stars of he show but where on earth did those fabulous dresses come from? The Amy Rowkings Mysteries. On Amazon. Click here.
I am beyond delighted to announce that SpellBound Books Ltd has revealed the wonderful cover for the latest Amy Rowlings mystery. Murder on the Medway. The cover was designed, as usual by the hugely talented, Nikki East and is the perfect continuation of the art deco theme that graced the earlier books in the series.
Murder on the Medway is the fourth book in the Amy Rowlings, Golden Age, mystery series and will be released in the spring of 2024.
Thank you Nikki and thank you Sumaira Wilson of SpellBound books for all she does.
I haven’t seen much of Mrs 3DU over the holiday as, once I’d done my Christmas shop, I parked the car up outside my house and left it there for a week. I did another small shop on the Saturday morning before the New Year but she had already dragged Mrs 4DU around the supermarket on the Friday, though she did get her to ‘nip out’ for a few last-minute bits for her on New Year’s Eve.
I have news about Mrs 3DU’s daughter’s car, but I’ll add that bit at the end.
As usual, I received all the news from the street gossip collective which includes, Mrs 4DU, Mrs 5DU, MRs 2DD and Mrs ATSADAB (Across The Street And Down A Bit.) Surprisingly, we have recently had a new member added to our ranks. I say surprisingly because she lives right down at the bottom of the street, so she has now become Mrs BOTS. I have no idea how she gets all the news as she’s miles away from the rest of us. We are all pretty much clustered together near the top end of the street. She must be getting the gossip via tom-tom drums or something… mind you, Mrs 4DU does have a log burner, so she might be sending out smoke signals. Continue reading
I am delighted to announce that Soundings, the huge audiobook company have taken up the rights to publish Murder at the Mill. Soundings is owned by Ulverscroft, the biggest audiobook distributor in the UK. They also own ULibrary, a company which connects to every library in the UK providing them with audio and large print books. They distribute and make audiobooks for all the biggest book publishers and have many imprints of their own. It doesn’t get much bigger than them. Thanks so much, Sumaira Wilson from SpellBound Books Ltd for negotiating with Ulverscroft and getting me such a fab deal. They did mention the Amy series so MATM may just be the start for Amy Rowlings on audio. Soundings use the biggest names for narration so I can’t wait to see who they ask to read for them. oh… there was also a tidy advance on royalties as part of the deal. Whooo! Amy is taking off https://www.ulverscroft.com/ .
It’s finally here. The THIRD book in the Amy Rowlings Mystery Series, The Murder Awards was released in the early hours of this morning. (Nov 5th 2023) in eBook format by SpellBound Books. I’d like to thank Sumaira and Nikki from SpellBound for all their hard work, the lovely production and the fabulous cover. The books is available at present in eBook format and is free to read on Kindle Unlimited with a subscription. The paperback version will be available in a couple of weeks.
In The Murder Awards, Amy and her handsome crime fighting partner (are they an item or aren’t they) Inspector Bodkin, are on hand at an awards presentation at the Spinton Town Hall, when the recipient of the Businessman of the Year award, Nelson Kelly, is found stabbed to death after leaving the stage to answer a telephone call.
Will Amy and Bodkin be able to find a way through the morass of lies and corruption to bring to justice a brutal killer?
The 2024 calendars and bookmarks for the next Amy Rowlings and Unspoken books have arrived. Please get in touch if you’d live anything signing and posting.
Today marks the day that The Murder Awards, the third Amy Rowlings mystery is made available to pre-order for eBook and Kindle Unlimited. The paperback version will be available during the third week in November. Hopefully signed copies will reach you by Christmas.
About the Murder Awards.
The Murder Awards
May 1939
When Amy Rowlings and Inspector Bodkin are invited to a black-tie civic awards ceremony at the Town Hall, they expect to be met with the usual boring speeches and toe-curling sycophancy, but when the recipient of the night’s ‘Businessman Of The Year Award’, Nelson Kelly, is found stabbed to death after being called from the stage to answer the telephone, the evening begins to liven up.
Nelson’s company has just won a lucrative contract to build a new armaments factory and many of the town’s elite, having backed a rival bidder, aren’t happy at missing out.
When the CID department at the local police station is suddenly reduced in manpower, Bodkin is told he will have to manage the murder investigation alone.
Into the breach steps young Amy Rowlings, the twenty-one-year-old with a mind every bit as sharp as her fictional hero, Hercule Poirot.
Amy, an avid crime fiction reader, movie buff and collector of American records, brings her insight and intelligence to the aid of the overstretched inspector as he attempts to find a way through the morass of lies, deception and corruption.
Once again, Amy must utilise all the investigative techniques she has learned from Agatha Christie’s famous detective to help bring a brutal killer to justice.
Trixie. Amy’s mortal enemy. The blonde bombshell lives in the same apartment block as Inspector Bodkin and she always flaunts her assets whenever he’s around.
The Murder Awards. book three in the Amy Rowlings Mystery Series. Available to pre-order from Amazon on Tues 17th October 2023.
The Murder Awards is published by SpellBound Books on November 5th 2023.
The Murder Awards is the third Amy Rowlings mystery. Catch up with the first two, Murder at the Mill and Death at the Lychgate for just 99p on Amazon Uk. Also available in eBook, paperback and on Kindle Unlimited.
Work is well underway on the latest addition to the Unspoken series. Relative Strangers is set a year after the events in my last Unspoken book, Betrayal. The new story will appear as a novella and will feature many of the characters from that novel. Jane Dixon-Smith, my fabulous cover designer has come up trumps again and I’ll share the cover with you when it is finalised.
The Unspoken series is a dual timeline family saga told over four books so far. The novels can be found on Amazon UK.
Amy Rowlings, the feisty, fiercely independent young amateur sleuth. Amy is a movie buff, a collector of American music and an avid crime reader. Particularly the novels of her hero Agatha Christie.
The Murder Awards is published by SpellBound Books on November 5th 2023.
The Murder Awards is the third Amy Rowlings mystery. Catch up with the first two, Murder at the Mill and Death at the Lychgate for just 99p on Amazon Uk. Also available in eBook, paperback and on Kindle Unlimited.
Crooner PC Ferris. Friend of Amy and Bodkin, singing in the Milton Cocktail Bar.
The Murder Awards is published by SpellBound Books on November 5th 2023.
The Murder Awards is the third Amy Rowlings mystery. Catch up with the first two, Murder at the Mill and Death at the Lychgate for just 99p on Amazon Uk. Also available in eBook, paperback and on Kindle Unlimited.
The announcement of the publication of the third Amy Rowlings Mystery, The Murder Awards by SpellBound Books on 5th November 2023 means my mailbox is once again pretty full of questions from my readers about the forthcoming book.
For those unfamiliar with the mysteries, Amy Rowlings, our amateur sleuth is a machinist at a North Kent factory nicknamed, The Mill. Amy is a collector of American music, a movie buff and an avid reader of crime fiction, particularly the novels of Agatha Christie. Amy is 21, pretty, and has formed a close relationship with the handsome inspector Bodkin of the fictitious, Spinton Police. The first three novels are set in pre-war England in 1939. War is looming, though the events leading up to the Second World War only play a small part in the back story of the books.
So, on to the questions.
Q. What is the best thing about writing crime stories during this period in history?
A. I like the freedom an author gets when he/she doesn’t have to worry about using, DNA, CCTV or Social Media and phone records, all of which seem to provide the clues that lead to the capture of the perpetrator. None of those things existed in 1939, so it’s always down to the voracity and ingenuity of the investigating team to find the clues without the use of modern technology. I also like the fact that the post mortems of the time only gave investigators a limited amount of information about the deaths.
Q. What is the worst thing about writing crime stories during this period in history?
A. Getting the facts right. A lot of research has to be done before the book can be sent to the publisher. Attitudes, living conditions, retail products, fashion, music and the films of the day all have to be meticulously researched. Because Alice, Amy’s best friend, lives on a farm, particular attention has to be taken regarding farming practices, equipment, machinery, and even the vehicles that were in use at the time. The method of dispatching the victim also has to be carefully researched. It’s no good allowing the murderer to use a poison or medication that couldn’t be detected in the body back then, for instance.
Q. Do you find it difficult to describe the attitudes and language used by the characters in the story?’
A. Not really, as I was born only 14 years or so after the events I’m describing, so social attitudes, much of the language used, and even the food we ate was very similar. Smoking was rife and many characters in the books smoke cigarettes or a pipe. I deliberately chose to make all of my lead characters, non-smokers, though all of them like a drink or two on a Saturday night. Attitudes to women didn’t really change at all until the 1960s when the fledgling women’s liberation movement began to put pressure on the lawmakers. In the late 1930s a woman’s place was in the home and any money they did make from their employment, although desperately needed, was looked upon as pin money. Domestic violence was rife, and even in the better off households, the man was considered the master of all he surveyed, although it was universally acknowledged in private that it was women who held everything together at home.
Q. Why doesn’t Amy join the police force?
A. Simple answer. She would only have been allowed to join as a female policewoman and her main duties would have been making tea, standing silently by when women suspects were being questioned, or being assigned to look after the children of crime victims while the investigation went on around them. At that time, women couldn’t question witnesses and had no power of arrest. Amy would not have been happy in that role and she would never have been allowed to join the CID. This did not really change until the 1970s, but even then their presence was only grudgingly accepted by the men in the force, and their pay was well below what male officers earned when performing the same roles. Amy was far too independently minded to accept such constraints.
Q. Which part of the novels do you enjoy writing the most?
A. As has been said in a few of my reviews, these stories are as much a social commentary as murder mysteries. I do enjoy watching the investigation evolve in front of my eyes, but I also enjoy writing about the dire conditions a lot of people had to endure during that period. Slum housing was the norm in many of the industrial towns at the time. Spinton was no different and I do like to get myself, and Amy involved in their struggle for survival.
You can find the Amy Rowlings mysteries here. Ebook, Paperback and Kindle Unlimited. The Amy Rowlings Mysteries.
If you have a question for the author, please get in touch in the comments section of find me on Facebook.
Businessman Francis Drake and Advertising Agent Lorna Wetherby. The Murder Awards, the third Amy Rowlings Golden Age mystery. OUT NOV 5th. ‘The stories are as much as social commentary as a murder mystery.’
The Murder Awards. The third Golden Age, Cosy Crime Amy Rowlings Mystery. Published by SpellBound Books. Nov 5th 2023.
Living in abject poverty. Karen and her daughter Beth scratch a meagre living doing other people’s washing. Read their touching back story in The Murder Awards, the third Amy Rowlings Golden Age mystery. OUT NOV 5th. ‘The stories are as much as social commentary as a murder mystery.’
The Murder Awards. The third Golden Age, Cosy Crime Amy Rowlings Mystery. Published by SpellBound Books. Nov 5th 2023.
Today, 15th Sept 2023 marks the eighth anniversary of my beautiful wife’s funeral. Doreen, if you’re reading. You’re still missed as much as that first day.
I’d like to mark the anniversary by posting the poem that I wrote for her. It was read on the day by my daughter, Tamsyn who did a wonderful job. I was a gibbering wreck and couldn’t have got the title out let alone the rest of the poem.
Anyway, here it is. To you, Doreen. Until we meet again in one of those multi-universes or dimensions we all move into after we pass.
In just under 8 weeks time, Amy Rowlings will be setting about solving the latest mystery to cross her path. The eagerly awaited, Murder Awards will be released in eBook format by SpellBound Books Ltd on November 5th. The paperback will follow shortly afterwards which means there should be plenty of time to order author signed copies for Christmas.
Every Amy Rowlings story is as much a social commentary as a murder mystery.
If you haven’t yet met Amy, you will find her previous mysteries here. At only 99p they’re a bit of a bargain. https://bit.ly/3UgN6hc
Here’s the back of the book material to give you a taster.
The Murder Awards
May 1939
When Amy Rowlings and Inspector Bodkin are invited to a black tie, civic awards ceremony at the Town Hall, they expect to be met with the usual boring speeches and toe-curling sycophancy, but when the recipient of the night’s ‘Businessman Of The Year Award’, Nelson Kelly, is found stabbed to death after being called from the stage to answer the telephone, the evening begins to liven up.
Nelson’s company has just won a lucrative contract to build a new armaments factory and many of the town’s elite, having backed a rival bidder, aren’t happy at missing out.
When the CID department at the local police station is suddenly reduced in manpower, Bodkin is told he will have to manage the murder investigation alone.
Into the breach steps young Amy Rowlings, the twenty-one-year-old with a mind every bit as sharp as her fictional hero, Hercule Poirot.
Amy, an avid crime fiction reader, movie buff and collector of American records, brings her insight and intelligence to the aid of the overstretched inspector, as he attempts to find a way through the morass of lies, deception and corruption.
Once again, Amy must utilise all the investigative techniques she has learned from Agatha Christie’s famous detective to help bring a brutal killer to justice.
I would like to thank the organisers, support staff, the book buying public and my fellow attending authors for making the Tales on Trent Author Book Signing Event such a fantastic experience. It was truly wonderful to get to speak to so many people and I know I have made some new friends in the author community.
Special thanks go to organisers Claire Birkin and Hayley Bibbey. Also to author, promoter and panel host, Donna Morfett who, despite the loss of her voice, still managed to host all those meet the author sessions on stage.
Much fun was had at the after event party in the Glebe. As if he hadn’t been noticeable enough in his flouro-yellow suit during the evet, Author Darren Walker upstaged everyone again by appearing at the party in a kilt. Well done mate.
I can’t end without mentioning the forces of nature that are James Biddulph and his wonderful nine year old granddaughter, Nunu, who stole all our hearts. Amongst her other remarkable achievements, Nunu runs her own library from a telephone box, she also does a lot of work in the community getting books to families that otherwise would never get to see one. She is quite a remarkable young lady and has the wonderfully supportive grandfather she so thoroughly deserves.
Thanks for the company my fellow writers, Esther Chilton, her partner Greame Cummings and the fabulous author Jon Richter among many others. Many thanks to the members of the public who took time to speak to me at my table, big wave to Isobelle Cate, and last but not least, huge thanks to Claire’s mum for supplying me with the copious amounts of coffee that helped get me through the day.
Looking forward to next year already.
My table
The wonderful Nunu with her new books donated by the authors at the event.
Nuno with her fantastically supportive, flamboyant grandad, James Biddulph and the always understated, Darren Walker
Over the years I’ve read hundreds of murder themed novels. My favourites were from the Golden Age of murder mysteries, books set in the twenties, thirties and forties. One thing about the vast majority of the famous authors at the time, was the disparaging attitude they took towards the working class. No one had a good word to say about them, they were always portrayed as, rude, subservient, uneducated or just plain criminally minded and I include the wonderful Agatha Christie in that criticism. It’s easy to see why they did it. The working class wasn’t their intended audience. Their books were aimed squarely at the middle classes. Dorothy L Sayers even made her investigator a lord and he hated anything to do with the smelly, unwashed. They have to be forgiven though, they were all wonderful writers and their books were just, of a time.
The first 50 copies of Betrayal have arrived and I’ll be signing and posting them out to my fab readers over the next few days. A second order will be placed soon if anyone else would like a signed copy of my latest novel, the fourth book in the Unspoken series.
My latest author newsletter (August 2023) is now available to download.
This month I talk about the uncertainly I felt when I was writing my latest novel, Betrayal. There is also news of a book signing event I’m attending in September. If you’d like to subscribe there is a button on the top left hand side. To easily unsubscribe, lick the link at the bottom of the page.
BETRAYAL. Unspoken Family Saga. Series two, book one.
I am delighted to announce the release of the eBook version of my latest novel, Betrayal. The Unspoken saga continues with book one of the second series.
Betrayal.
Jessica Griffiths is in a relationship with police sergeant Christopher Kent, and for once, things are going well, despite the country being placed into lockdown by the government as they attempt to slow down the spread of Coronavirus.
Great Aunt Marjorie is back from her ill-fated cruise. Now living alone, she is visited by Iris of the Afterlife Society, who is convinced that the spirit of her dead sister, Martha is attempting to make contact. As lockdown approaches, she is befriended by her kindly neighbour, Selena who moves in with Marjorie, after all, two can live almost as cheaply as one, especially when you aren’t the one paying the bills. Jess is initially delighted at the arrangement, but is Selena really the sweet old lady she appears to be?
Nicola Griffiths, Jessica’s mother is still battling her alcohol demons but finds love in the form of Lenny Relish, an ex-con, jailed for manslaughter, but freed from prison on licence. Nicola is besotted but Lenny has some seriously dodgy acquaintances.
As the country eases into lockdown, Jessica gets news that will test her relationship with Christopher to the limit. Is he really the lover that will finally break the circle of the Mollison family man curse? Will she finally rid herself of her ex, the narcissistic, Calvin? And why has the beautiful, but menacing, Leonora, suddenly reappeared?
Today, I started work on Book1 of the second Unspoken series trilogy. The novel will be called, The Betrayal and will continue the adventures of Jessica, Nicola and Aunt Marjorie as the family begin to heal after the ill fated cruise that Marjorie and her older sister Martha had embarked upon.
I’m hoping to see publication of the new novel sometime in the mid to late summer, 2023.
As an appetiser, here’s the short, opening chapter.
THE BETRAYAL
Chapter One
Here she is now,’ Jessica Griffiths said excitedly to Detective Sergeant, Christopher Kent as they stood behind the flimsy metal barrier at the arrivals point at Heathrow airport’s terminal three.
Jessica stood on her tiptoes and waved at the confused-looking elderly woman as she came out of the exit, followed by a young man pulling a caged, trolley containing five large pieces of luggage. Perched precariously on top, was a huge, florescent orange travel bag.
Aunt Marjorie was seventy-six with short, silver hair. She wore an unbuttoned, knee-length beige mac over a pretty, flower-patterned, print dress. She was carrying a small, clear, plastic fronted box which contained a helmeted, London police doll. Perched on top of her silver hair was white, baseball cap with a picture of Mount Fuji and the famous Bullet Train. Underneath, in inch high letters was the word Shinkansen.
Marjorie stopped so quickly that the young man pushing the trolley almost crashed into her. She stood under the arrivals sign with her hand shading her eyes as she looked into the crowd of friends and relatives that had come to meet the passengers arriving on the Japan Airways flight.
‘She looks so lost and lonely,’ Jessica whispered to herself as she pushed her way past an excited, Japanese family group and shouted at the top of her voice.
‘Auntie Marjorie! It’s Jessica.’
Marjorie did a double take when she heard the familiar voice, and as Jessica appeared out of the crowd, her eyes filled with tears and her lip began to tremble.
As the latest Amy Rowlings mystery, The Murder Awards hurtles towards its conclusion, SpellBound Books Ltd have issued a publication date of November 5th 2023. Thank you Sumaira Wilson from SpellBound for the social media reveal yesterday.
I am now in the happy position to be able to reveal the cover, designed once again by the fabulous Nikki East.
The Murder Awards
May 1939
When Amy Rowlings and Inspector Bodkin are invited to a black tie, civic awards ceremony at the Town Hall, they expect to be met with the usual, boring speeches and toe-curling sycophancy, but when the recipient of the night’s ‘Businessman Of The Year Award’, Nelson Kelly, is found stabbed to death after being called from the stage to answer the telephone, the evening begins to liven up.
Nelson’s company has just won a lucrative contract to build a new armaments factory and many of the town’s elite, having backed a rival bidder, aren’t happy at missing out.
When the CID department at the local police station is suddenly reduced in manpower, Bodkin is told he will have to manage the murder investigation alone.
Into the breach steps young Amy Rowlings, the twenty-one-year-old with a mind every bit as sharp as her fictional hero, Hercule Poirot.
Amy, an avid crime fiction reader, movie buff and collector of American records, brings her insight and intelligence to the aid of the overstretched inspector, as he attempts to find a way through the morass of lies, deception and corruption.
Once again, Amy must utilise all the investigative techniques she has learned from Agatha Christie’s famous detective to help bring a brutal killer to justice.
I am absolutely delighted to announce that I am one of the attending authors at the Tales on Trent Book Signing Event at the King’s Hall, Stoke on Trent on Sept 2nd 2023. Don’t be shy, come and say hi if you are attending.
I am delighted to announce the release of my first ever audiobook. Hopes and Fears, my wartime, home front, winter themed novel, narrated by the wonderful Deborah Balm, was released on the 17th January 2023. The audiobook is available on Amazon and iTunes at £7.99 and for 1 credit for Audible members.
FEATURING AMY ROWLINGS!
Christmas 1940. Despite the rationing and the Blackout, excitement at Mollison Farm is building as Alice and her workforce prepare for the annual Christmas Eve party. The snow has arrived, bang on time.
And this year, Alice has a big secret.
She has invited her evacuee children’s mother to spend a few precious days with her kids at Christmas, but disaster strikes and Alice is given the shock news that Rose’s home is now nothing more than a pile of bricks and the woman herself is missing, lost in the Blitz.
Amy, Alice’s best friend is despatched to the capital in a race against time, to find Rose and if possible, get her out of London.
As the search intensifies and the bombs start to fall again, Amy meets Rose’s sleazy husband Terry, a draft dodger, and Kevin, the ARP man with something to hide.
Meanwhile, on the farm, Stephen and Harriet discover the truth about their mother’s disappearance and Alice finds herself having to deal with the consequences.
The snow will fall and the farmyard carols will be sung, but will it be a happy Christmas on Mollison Farm?
Reviews
‘A very sweet and heart-warming read, perfect for the Christmas period, but enjoyable at any time. I loved the story and the cosy mystery vibe. ‘ Lynda Checkley.
‘In short, this is a race against time, with the backdrop of World War 2, and heavy snow, interspersed with wonderful characters a brilliant story and great ending. I may have shed a tear.’ Donna Morfett.
‘I loved the settings which were described so perfectly that I could have jumped into the book in amongst everything and not felt out of place.’ Kirsty Lock.
Hopes and Fears is the perfect audiobook to listen to in your favourite chair with a hot drink as the ice and snow covers the streets outside.
My author newsletter for January 2023 is now available to view. Should you wish to subscribe there is a link to do so. You will not be bombarded with spam and your email details will be safe. This month you have a chance to win a signed paperback copy of my novel, Hopes and Fears. Please follw the link
I am delighted to announce the book tour for the third in the Tracy’s Hot Mail series, What Tracy Did Next, The Kiss and Tell Diaries.
Organised once again by the fab Zoe-Lee O’Farrell and her wonderful team of reviewers, the tour kicks off on the 9th January 2023. http://zooloosbooktours.co.uk
What Tracy did next is the usual mix of emails sent to her best friend Emma but this time we also get a few WhatsApp messages and posts copied from her last year at school diary and her first ever holiday diary.
TRACY RETURNS!
The gossip machine is back with more juicy titbits as Tracy casts her all-seeing eye over the lives of the people around her.
Tracy is in a quandary. Should she accept Detective Sergeant Neil Hartley’s marriage proposal? Is she truly ready for a life of domesticity while there are so many men she hasn’t met yet, so many places she hasn’t been, so many clothes she hasn’t tried on.
A lover of cloned, market stall fashion and the Primark sales rail, Tracy is still working the promotions circuit under the guidance of her uber-iffy agent, Shayne Slider.
What on earth are Faliraki Flaps? What really happened when Tracy went on holiday with her best friend, Emma? Get an insight into what she got up to in her last year at school as Tracy dips into her personal diaries and lifts the lid on her most intimate secrets.
What Tracy Did Next. An eye-opening giggle fest.
I am delighted to announce that the audiobook version of my Unspoken Christmas novel, Hopes and Fears is now complete.
Narrated by the extraordinary Deborah Balm, the title should be available on Audible by mid January.
I’d like to take this opportunity to thank Deborah for all her hard work and the speed with which she delivered such an exceptional production.
She is a very talented lady and I cannot recommend her highly enough.
For those thinking of putting their own books on audible, here’s a sample of her work on my book below. Her website, which contains many more samples can be found here. https://www.deborahbalm.com/
The book is also available in eBook and paperback formats. AMAZON LINKY THINGY You can also read for FREE with a Kindle Unlimited account.
I am delighted to announce the release of the fourth Tracy’s Hot Mail novella. Tracy’s 20’s Hot Mail.
HOW DID THAT HAPPEN!
Tracy is shocked to find that she’s hit her mid-twenties. Worried about her sagging boobs and her broadening bottom, she has scary visions of being thirty, middle aged and unable to get any celebrity work.
Fed up of the endless battles between her Marxist father and a grandmother that makes Attila the Hun look like Tinky Winky from the Teletubbies, she decides it’s time to flee the nest and moves into an ex-council flat on the rough side of town.
Deciding to hold a sophisticated dinner party, Tracy struggles to compile the perfect guest list. More problems arise when she is unable to follow a Nigella Bites recipe.
Will the party go with a bang? Will the people on her hastily assembled guest list hit it off? Why is that ‘tart’ Olivia suddenly in her thoughts? And what could possibly go wrong when Tracy lands a starring role in a remake of the pottery scene from the film, Ghost?
Tracy’s 20’s Hot Mail. Older doesn’t always mean wiser.
The book is available NOW on Amazon. eBook or paperback. FREE on Kindle Unlimited.
I would like to take this opportunity to wish all of my wonderful readers a Happy Christmas and a peaceful and prosperous New Year.
I’d also like to add a little bit of exciting news.
My Winter themed novel, Hopes and Fears is, at this moment, being recorded as an audiobook by the hugely talented, Deborah Balm. The recording should be available early in the New Year.
2022 has been a good year for me book wise. I have released four books including two, new Tracy’s Hot Mail novellas and two Amy Rowlings mysteries that were published by SpellBound Books and sales have gone pretty well.
As a bonus, this month I got a mention in the fab Donna Morfett’s books of the year list and I was the recipient of an award and trophy, bestowed by the wonderful, Tales on Tuesday book group. I was honoured to be awarded the title, Professor of Poisons, following my authors talk to the group earlier in the month. The title was awarded because of my collection of research books on the subject and my use of three different poisons in my cosy crime novel, Death at the Lychgate.
Huge thanks to Donna for her support and to Claire Birkin and all the wonderful members of the Tales on Tuesday group for the fab award. Professor of Poisons has now been added as a by-line to my author name.
This was my fist effort at romance writing and was included in the bestselling, charity anthology, 100 Stories for Haiti, back in the day.
Dinner for Two
Has that clock stopped? No, my watch says the same time. Stop looking every thirty seconds, will you?
Maisie Connolly, this is your bloody fault. If it all goes wrong, I’ll never speak to you again.
Right, check the food, Sarah, it’s fine, you know it’s fine, you only checked it two minutes ago. Wine, where’s the bloo…okay, it’s on the table, should be room temperature by now. Maisie Connolly, if this wine isn’t as good as you promised you’ll be wearing it tomorrow. At twelve quid a bloody bottle it ought to be dynamite.
Check the mirror, sigh, I’m sure those lines round your mouth are getting deeper; you’ll need cement to fill them in if they get any worse.
What’s that? Was that a car? Dare you peek through the window? You don’t want him to catch you looking. Count to thirty and listen for the car door closing… thirty, no, can’t have been him.
I hope he likes classical music; those free CDs from the Sunday papers were worth keeping after all. Classical is a bit more sophisticated than Simply Red.
Hang on, daft girl; Simply Red is fine for that close up chat on the sofa later in the evening. Damn, where the hell is it?
Had to be in the bloody car, didn’t it? Right then, that’s Mozart for dinner and Mick Hucknall for afters, lovely.
Twenty-five past eight. This has to be the longest night of my life, are we stuck in a time warp or something?
Hope he likes the dress; check the mirror, not too much cleavage, not too short. Come on, Sarah, you’ve been through all this; it took you two hours to choose it. What if he comes in a suit though? Are you formal enough? No time to do anything about it now. I bet he wears a sodding suit.
Let’s hope it goes better than last time, eh? Note to self, if you spill the red wine over his trousers, don’t dab at his crotch with a napkin.
Why did you do that? You should have left it at a horrified, ‘sorry.’ It was his house; he could quite easily have nipped through to change. He ended up being more embarrassed than you did, and why did you keep bringing it up throughout the meal? Oh my God, then you go and lose a contact lens in the Beef Stroganoff.
I am one of the authors appearing at the 2023 Tales on Trent Multi Genre Author event. Signing opportunities on the day may be limited to how many books I can realistically take with me, so if you are attending and would like to pre order any of my novels I’ll make sure you get your copy at the event.
Books
Unspoken Trilogy.
Unspoken. the Legacy. The Reckoning,
Hopes and Fears. Unspoken Christmas story. Featuring Amy Rowlings
Amy Rowlings Mysteries.
Murder at the Mill. Death at the Lychgate.
Tracy’s Hot Mail Series.
Tracy’s Hot Mail. Tracy’s Celebrity Hot Mail. What Tracy Did Next. Tracy’s twenties Hot Mail.
The Little Christmas Tree and Other Stories. The first new Trevor Forest children’s book to be published for five years is now available in eBook priced 99p and on Kindle Unlimited for FREE. Also available in paperback. Signed copies on requeast. A separate version of Faylinn Frost and the Snow Fairies is also available.
A small collection of short stories for kids of reading age or for parents to read to them at bedtime.
Stories include.
The Little Christmas Tree
Horace the Ogre
Harry’s Present
A Boxful of Wishes
Celia’s Question
Old Tom The Catnip King. (A poem about a lazy cat)
Clicking Gran. (Halloween Poem)
Faylinn Frost and the Snow Fairies (Full Book)
The Little Christmas Tree and Other Stories will be released on Amazon within the next few days. The book is for kids of reading age or kids too young to read themselves but like a good story read to them in bed.
The book comprises of Five short stories and One funny poem.
The Little Christmas Tree (the last pine tree before the north pole. A 3300 word Christmas story.)
Horace the Ogre.
Harry’s Present. (a very short Christmas story.)
A Box Full Of Wishes.
Celia’s Question. (a short Christmas story.)
Clicking Gran (my almost famous Halloween poem.)
Faylinn Frost and the Snow Fairies (Complete Book)
The paperback version of my Golden Age, cosy crime mystery, Death at the Lychgate was released by SpellBound Books Ltd on Oct 14th priced at just £8.99.
Signed author copies will be available on request by the beginning of November.
I’m delighted to announce the release on Amazon of What Tracy Did Next, the third book in the Tracy’s Hot Mail series.
TRACY RETURNS!
The gossip machine is back with more juicy titbits as Tracy casts her all-seeing eye over the lives of the people around her.
Tracy is in a quandary. Should she accept Detective Sergeant Neil Hartley’s marriage proposal? Is she truly ready for a life of domesticity while there are so many men she hasn’t met yet, so many places she hasn’t been, so many clothes she hasn’t tried on.
A lover of cloned, market stall fashion and the Primark sales rail, Tracy is still working the promotions circuit under the guidance of her uber-iffy agent, Shayne Slider.
What on earth are, Faliraki Flaps? What really happened when Tracy went on holiday with her best friend, Emma? Get an insight into what she got up to in her last year at school as Tracy dips into her personal diaries and lifts the lid on her most intimate secrets.
What Tracy Did Next. An eye-opening giggle fest.
Priced at a mere £1.99 for the eBook, that’s around a penny a chortle.
The sequel to Murder at the Mill is finally here. Death at the Lychgate was released by SpellBound Books Ltd on Sept 30th. Many thanks to Zoe from http://zooloosbooktours.co.uk for putting together such a fabulous collection of book bloggers for the tour.
AMY ROWLINGS RETURNS!
The book is set in Kent, during the spring of 1939.
AMY ROWLINGS RETURNS!
Sunday morning, and the body of Reverend Villiers has been found propped up on the vigil seat in the church’s lychgate. It appears that he has been poisoned.
When amateur sleuth and regular churchgoer, Amy Rowlings arrives she finds DI Bodkin already at the scene. Bodkin tells her about a cryptic scripture reference that has been scrawled in chalk on the stone slabs beneath the body. What the citation hints at, shocks everyone.
Amy, a huge Agatha Christie fan is determined to get involved in the investigation and despite a stern warning from the detective’s boss, Amy and Bodkin team up again to try to solve the most complex murder case he has ever been involved in. When the toxicology report comes back from the lab, the results only add to the mystery.
Meanwhile, Amy looks to her favourite Agatha Christie character, Hercule Poirot for help, and using his techniques, she narrows down the list of possible murderers to just nine suspects.
Never one to pass up on an exclusive (nor Thornton’s Continental chocs for that matter, but that’s another story) Maureen Vincent-Northam was delighted to be asked to dig deep into Tracy’s sack of fan mail for Writelinkers. Disregarding the less genteel communications (toad in the hole will never seem the same) Maureen has chosen letters from typical Tracy fans and the star herself tells her many, and varied, admirers what they really want to know.
Tracy is a rarity in this day and age: a young woman whose underwear is not always in free-fall. The woman whose Hotmail exchanges with best friend Emma is about to take the literary world by storm is driven by the same modest ambitions all young women have: fame, fortune and an alphamale celeb hanging onto her arm.
Which celebrity would you say is most in need of a make-over?
Chelsea Trumper, Broadbottom, Cheshire
Tracy: Hello Chelsea. Is your dad one of those annoying people like David Beckham who name their kids after places they’ve visited? It’s a good job little Brooklyn wasn’t conceived in Peckham isn’t it?
Are we talking hair, clothes, or everything?
I think Janet Street Porter’s teeth could do with a serious file down. If I was her, I’d have them pulled and get a nice, new, even set of dentures put in. She could sell her real teeth to ivory poachers. That might save an elephant’s life and not only would she look better, she’d have something to feel good about.
Kim Kardashian really should do something about that arse and Brad Pitt looks like he’s been dragged through a dozen hedges, backwards. I wouldn’t mind having the job of tidying him up though.
If I had to choose someone that needs a total makeover, I’d go for that tart, Olivia. She looks like a slut on drugs at the moment. Her clothes look like she’s slept in them for a month and her makeup looks like its been applied with a pastry knife. That hair has to go; I bet there’s at least a dozen combs, two styling wands and a colony of bats in there. I saw her once in the queue outside Slappers nightclub. It was pissing down with rain but she didn’t need an umbrella, nothing got past that hair. I heard a rumour that David Attenborough is going in with a film crew soon.
Another one I’d like to see sorted out is Russell Brand. He’s a right scruffy bugger and has exactly the same hair as Olivia. What is it with these people, have they never heard of shampoo?
Why do you think you’ve been so unlucky with romance?
Ron Lovall, Herts
Tracy: Hi, Ron. Unlucky? I think I’ve been incredibly lucky. I’ve managed to get rid of the useless swine without too much trouble. Some women get stuck with a bloke for life. Imagine what Simon will be like in a few years time? He’s already porn obsessed. By the time he’s twenty-five he’ll be sneaking around in the fog wearing nothing but a dirty old mac and a pair of trainers. I reckon I had a lucky escape there.
As for Tim, I think I was lucky there too. He wants to be a farmer. That would mean me being a farmer’s wife. Sod that for a lark. I really can’t see me in wellies and a smock, can you? Some people are meant to wake up at the crack of dawn to the smell of cow shit, and some aren’t. I’m definitely in the second category. I would look ridiculous trying to dodge the cowpats in my fake Lanvin sandals, and the closest I ever want to come to a pig, is when it’s been sliced and fried and lying in a roll with some brown sauce.
You’d make a perfect WAG. Have you ever pursued a gorgeous footballer – or even Wayne Rooney?
Tiffany Pratt, Isle of Dogs
Tracy: Hi Tiffany. I think I’m too young for Wayne, he’d be more likely to go for Gran, and I’m not on the game so he wouldn’t be interested in me. I did go out with a footballer once, but he only played for the local pub team and I only went out with him because I wanted to prove a point to the Ginger minger he was seeing at the time.
Dad says I should become a WAG, but Gran says there’s a reason they call them that. They’re all dogs.
Given these two choices, would you rather be stinking rich or mega famous?
Windsor, London
Tracy: Is that you Prince William? Nice to hear from you again. How’s the chopper? Still getting it up, I hope.
Hmm, tough question. I suppose if I had to choose I’d go for mega famous as I could always drop in on a celebrity mate if I had no money and I needed somewhere to crash for the night. Not that there would be many nights like that. Most celebs seem to cop-off with someone after they’ve been to one of those glitzy parties and I don’t think I would be any different. Anyway, if I was mega famous and skint, I could always go to a party wearing something a bit naughty and get interviewed by the Sun for a few quid.
Mega famous people probably get lots of free stuff when they open things, so I’d make sure I opened lots of supermarkets…and shoe shops of course. Stinking rich people tend to want to keep it all to themselves. That would rule Olivia out; she can’t keep anything to herself, especially her vagina.
When you go on Celebrities on Ice in the Jungle, what will you miss most about everyday life?
Precious Little, Watchet, Somerset
Tracy: Hi, Precious. I’d probably miss daydreaming about going on Celebrities on Ice in the Jungle.
What is your beauty routine and do you have any tips for your uglier fans?
Poppy Belcher, Diss, Norfolk
Tracy: Hello, We used to have a dog called Poppy but we got rid of her because she farted all the time and Dad was sick of getting the blame.
I don’t spend much time in front of the mirror because my housemate, Kiwi, will almost certainly be using it every time I want it. I’m lucky in that I can get away without having to do too much. Kiwi spends hours tarting herself up, and she still ends up looking like she’s let her seven-year-old sister do her face for her.
My best tip would be to buy the best make up you can afford. Don’t go for that crappy stuff they sell on the market, most of it doubles up as paint stripper. If you can’t afford good stuff, get some new friends who can. Girls are always on the lookout for ugly friends, as they make them look better on a night out. They’ll almost certainly let you use their make up if it means they’ll stand out in a crowd of munters.
Spotty Irene doesn’t look too good at times because of the terrible acne she suffers from. It doesn’t stop her trying to do something about it though. She once went to a fancy dress party, with a brown paper bag on her head. She told them she’d come as shopping.
There are a few ways of hiding your hideousness. You could be mysterious and wear a dark veil, but then people might just think you like going to funerals.
If you’re really ugly and desperate for a bloke, my tip would be to find one who wears specs like the bottom of beer glasses. If their eyes are that bad, they probably still won’t be able to see out of them properly. Of course you could just do what Olivia does, let blokes know you’re available, that always works after they’ve had ten pints.
If Hollywood made a movie about your life, whom would you like to see play you?
Scarlet Shufflebottom, Hollywood, Birmingham
Tracy: It would have to be Lady Gaga or someone classy like that.
What do you keep in your handbag?
Tarquin DeVere, Odness, Orkney Islands
Tracy: Hmm, you ought to know, Tarquin. It was you that opened it up in front of everyone at that student’s party. Playing mousy on a string with a Tampax wasn’t, isn’t, and never will be, funny.
For anyone who doesn’t know though, apart from the usual girly things like panty liners, a sanitary towel and a spare pair of knickers, I have a my iPhone, lip gloss, mascara, compact, needle and thread, a condom, hair scrunch, brush, comb, purse, bus pass, pen, notepad, tissues, mints, tube of superglue, attack alarm and mace spray.
What possession could you not do without?
Billy Lillycrap, Quidhampton, Hampshire
Tracy: My TV. I couldn’t live without Strictly and X Factor. If I’m allowed more I’d have to say my laptop and my fake Gucci bag…Oh and my signed photo of Beckham in his Speedos.
If you were a type of vegetable, what would you be?
Moonchild, a field in Glastonbury
Tracy: You’d have to ask Kiwi that, she’s the hippy, and she’s named after a fruit.
If you were abducted by aliens, what would be the first question you’d ask them?
Prof. Mycroft Nutt, Lower Piddle on the March, Glos.
Tracy: Do you get the X Factor in the Vernuvian Quadrant?
Who do you think you were in a past life?
Napoleon Bonaparte, Crackpot, North Yorkshire
Tracy: I sometimes have strange dreams about snakes, so Cleopatra probably.
Out on the eight, back on the ten-fifteen which came at ten-twelve and almost made me run to catch it. In the end I just performed a sort of quick shuffle down the street and made it with seconds to spare, who says this gym thing doesn’t work?
Tonight’s mission was to explore the sights and sounds of Parliament Street in Nottingham. There are lots of dens of iniquity to choose from, so I stepped off the bus and launched myself into the first of many pubs blasting out old seventies’ hits to their aging clientele. No pub or aging clientele names will be mentioned in this piece, partly to protect the innocent, but mostly to protect me the next time I go in any of them. I wrote a Saturday Night Live about my home town, Ilkeston once and it didn’t go down well in the Neanderthal Arms I can tell you.
The disco was in full swing as I walked into the pub. The queue at the bar was so long I had to queue to get into the queue. I thought I’d got the wrong bus and ended up in London at one point.
Finally, armed with a pint of John Smiths Extra Smooth bitter I fought my way through the melee and grabbed a foot of prime real estate next to the door where I could see the dancers giving their all, in front of a thirty-five-foot flat screen TV on which the old nineteen-seventies videos were being shown to accompany the music. They need a screen that size so the people who haven’t had their cataract operations yet, and came out without their hearing aids (AGAIN!) can join in with the fun.
I nearly shat myself when Phil Collins’ massive balding pate suddenly hit the screen. I was thirty feet away but it felt like he was right on top of me. Now, me and Phil don’t get on, so I tore my eyes away from the screen as Phil did his Voldemort impression whilst singing, ‘You can’t hurry love.’
You can hurry love, actually, Phil, I’ve managed to do it for years.
Sadly, Phil couldn’t hurry the song either, so I concentrated on the elderly dancers as they cavorted across the dance floor, waving arms, swinging hips and other body parts. One poor old sod was knocked clean off his feet by a pair of low-slung boobs that hit him right in the kisser as the owner of the said breasts, swung around to scream, ‘love don’t come easy,’ to the wrinkly old gal who was swinging her own bits, a few feet away.
I never did get Phil, but by the looks of it most of the geriatric gyrating ensemble did. The dance floor was heaving, a plethora of nineteen sixties style mini dresses, stocking tops, caked on makeup, slipping wigs and zimmers on wheels, and that was just the men.
I hung around, alternating between sips of my pint and mouthing the words to the Drifters, Saturday Night at the Movies. Mouthing to songs is a tradition in that pub. Everyone does it, even the people, like me, who actually know the words. The ones that don’t just open and shut their mouths like goldfish, as I said, it’s a tradition in there, no one wants to be seen flouting the rules.
From there I wandered across the road to the pub near the Theatre Royal. A DJ was installed at the end of the bar and I was treated to the rousing chorus from the Killers hit, Mr Brightside as I entered. This bar is populated by the late forties, early fifties set, you know the sort I mean. Men with shaved heads and women wearing push up bras so load bearing that their boobs are almost under their chins. There was so much bare flesh is on show, that they look like they’ve got a couple of the bald heads stuffed down their dresses.
The weird thing about this group of piss heads is their love for the Ibiza club anthems. It’s a scary sight when the first, boom boom, bass notes thud out, people don’t head for the dance floor, they just start thrashing around where they stand. Beer, gin and bald head tits are suddenly flung into the air as the middle-aged revellers relive their 1980s Spanish holidays.
I didn’t last long in there I can tell you. I’d already washed my hair before I went out, I didn’t need a beer shampoo.
The streets very packed as I stepped out of the bar and made my way down the slight incline towards the famous Motown pub. On the way I passed a few ‘homeless,’ people who were propped up in blankets calling out for loose change, gripping their cans of special brew as though it was their prized possession. I always give at least one of them a few coins as I pass by. I don’t judge. I’m about to get pissed so why shouldn’t they?
I haven’t been to Nottingham for about a year now, but I still recognise some of the ‘pro beggars’ that only ever show up on a Saturday. Their blankets are always spotless so it’s easy to pick them out.
The Motown pub was rammed, as usual. I spent a while in another long queue and looked around for David Beckham. Sadly, he wasn’t in this part of the queue so I smiled at the woman next to me and said,’ busy, isn’t it?’
She curled up her lip and looked at me like I’d just asked her for a shag. Turning to her flat faced mate, she flicked her head towards me and rolled her eyes. Her mate was not only flat faced, she had an incredible turned up nose. Now, I don’t mean one of those cute little noses you see in those period dramas, this one was turned up so much, she could look directly into her flared nostrils with just a slight movement of her eyes. I’d hate to be her if she got a bad cold. She’d be blinded with snot every time she sneezed. I got my revenge for the sullen looks by pushing in front of them at the bar. I won’t repeat the insult that flat face used when I turned away smirking into my pint, but it rhymes with punt.
I found a six-inch square piece of territory at a table near the front windows and spent an enjoyable ten minutes watching the septuagenarians swing their hips to the proper version of, you can’t hurry love. There were some younger women in there, but they were all surrounded by groups of bald, Junior Soprano lookalikes, who looked like they were waiting to dive into the buffet at a wedding. Lips smacked, saliva drooled and hands were reaching out in expectation. The women didn’t seem to mind, they were obviously used to being slavered over like some tasty morsel presented on a plastic platter.
Just then I was poked in the ribs by a bony elbow. I looked to the side where a woman wearing glasses as thick as the shatter-proof front window was looking up at me.
‘Sorry,’ she lied.
I smiled and went back to watching the men of the musical, meat market, stick out their chests and attempt to muscle the competition out of the way.
Suddenly the bony elbow found its target again. I winced. It felt like I had been skewered. She looked me in the eyes again. ‘Sorry,’ she lied, again.
She was a painfully thin woman of about sixty-five, wearing a tight-fitting dress that showed of her skeletal frame to perfection. She had a mop of red-dyed hair that perfectly matched the daub of lipstick that was smeared across her face. She looked like The Joker from the Batman movie.
‘Are you gay?’ she asked as I turned away again. ‘Only I’ve been trying to get your attention for ages and all you do is look at those men.’
I was sorely tempted to tell her that I was indeed, gay, and hope the news would encourage her to piss off. Like a fool, I told her I wasn’t.
‘Really,’ she replied. ‘You look gay.’
By now her three mates had become interested. They surrounded me, looking me up and down, pulling faces as they tried to make up their minds whether I was or wasn’t.
I gulped down my pint as fast as I could and headed towards the door.
‘He is,’ I head the chorus of crackly voices call as I stepped away.
Back on the street I found a doddering, ancient, foul mouthed, excuse for a man, trying to negotiate the price of a blow job with a middle-aged, blanket covered, greasy-haired woman whose mouth was ringed with scabs and sores. Apparently, he felt that a quid was a fair price. She wanted a tenner. I hope he raised his offer. She deserves the money and he deserves whatever disease he’ll wake up with in the morning. I shuddered at the thought of them performing and headed up the hill towards the bus stop.
The bus was pretty full but I managed to get a seat opposite a couple of pretty young girls. I didn’t smile at them; I’m a modern man and I know I’d only be accused of being an old pervert if I did.
One of the girls was wearing jeans and a crop top thing that left the bottom quarter of her breasts, exposed. The other was wearing a strip of fabric, so flimsy, it looked more of a waist sash than a dress. I gave her a cursory glance for five minutes, then looked to my side where a fifty-something woman with a mouth so small she would struggle to even make the ‘ooh,’ sound, was giving the girls a withering look.
‘Disgusting,’ she said, suddenly staring at me.
I didn’t know if she meant me or the girls to begin with. Then all became clear.
‘When I was young, I wore more than that when I had sex.’
I looked from her back to the two girls. That was another vision I desperately tried to push out of my mind.
The girl in the sash noticed that I was looking at her and gave me the finger. I blew out my cheeks. I didn’t have a lot of choice really as she was sitting directly opposite and I had to look somewhere. It was either that or pretend to be asleep but even then I’d probably be accused of thinking filthy thoughts.
The old codger on my right didn’t seem to care what the young girls thought of him.
‘KINNEL,’ he gasped as the girl crossed her legs. ‘It’s been a long time since I saw anything like that.’
‘I’ve NEVER seen anything like that,’ muttered his wrinkly mate on the seat next to him. ‘And I lived in Coventry for years and they used to give it away for a drag from your fag there.’
The girl gave them both the finger, then looked back at me as if she thought I had instigated the whole thing.
‘Pervert,’ she spat.’
I shrugged. I’ve been called worse and she was probably right anyway. So, not giving a flying one any longer. I stared straight ahead and gave her my best smile.
I ended up back at my local in Ilkeston where I am among friends… Mostly. I had a few more pints and managed to grab the last slow dance with a nice blonde lady of about my own age who, thankfully, wasn’t wearing either a wig, two inches of makeup or a nineteen sixties Mary Quant mini dress.
As I mentioned earlier. I am a modern man. I didn’t even try to copy a crafty feel.
I suppose you’ve heard the news about the Queen dying, it’s such sad news, isn’t it? She’s been on the throne so long that everyone on TV seems to have a different memory of her. I’ll always remember her producing a marmalade sandwich from her handbag when she had tea with Paddington Bear. That just shows what a good sense of humour she had. I mean, that sandwich must have made a right mess in her bag. Her lippy must have been covered in it.
She was a really lovely lady, wasn’t she, Emma? It was like the sun coming out from between dark clouds when she smiled and her eyes were piercing, even when she got a bit old and doddery.
What are we going to do without her, Em? I mean, she’s always been there hasn’t she. No matter how bad things got in the world she was there, giving us that smile and telling us everything was going to be okay. And it always was in the end. Remember in the pandemic when she said, ‘We’ll meet again?’ Even Gran cried at that. Apparently, she nicked the line from an old war time song, but so what? She can’t be expected to use a Taylor Swift song at her age, can she?
Mum says she’ll be back with Prince Phillip again now, so that’s something good to come out of it. I hope there’s someone waiting for me when I go, Em. As long as it’s not my ex, Simon. I can’t think about spending another hour in his company let alone eternity. I hope there’s someone else waiting for the queen too. I mean, she’ll be really happy to see Phillip I would imagine but she’ll want some friends around to have a good girly goss with, won’t she? Blokes never talk about anything other than football and politics, so she’d need a break from that. I’m sure she’ll want to know what her mates thinks about the latest episode of TOWIE or Love Island. That’s if they can get FREEVIEW up there… they must be able to… it’s beamed down from space, so she’ll probably get to know what happens before we do.
Mum has been crying a lot. She bursts into tears every time the BBC newsreader repeats the headline. Gran, an arch royalist, is made of sterner stuff. She took herself off to her room for a few moments of quiet reflection, then came back wearing a Sex Pistols t shirt she bought for the jubilee in 1976 and her union jack bloomers. Dad said she was being disrespectful, but Gran called him a commie fifth columnist. who had never liked, ‘Little Lizzie,’ and should be hung as a traitor.
Gran always calls the queen, ‘Little Lizzie as though she’s a girl that lived on her street when she was growing up. When we were having our tea, she told us about VE night in London on the day the war officially ended. The area outside Buckingham Palace was swarming with people and Gran, although she was only thirteen, went out to join them. She reckons she saw, Little Lizzie and her sister Margaret, dancing and singing along with the crowd on the Mall.
Gran told us about how she got snogged by a sailor that night. (Her not Little Lizzie). Dad said, that would have been the first of many over the years. Gran narrowed her eyes and said Dad was just jealous because even the most desperate of sailors wouldn’t snog him.
Dad is in a bit of an awkward place. He’s always been a republican and has often said, (mainly when under the influence of drink,) that the lot of them will be put up against the wall and shot when the revolution comes.
‘I didn’t mean her,’ he bleated when Gran reminded him of his drunken rants. ‘If she had stood for president, I would have voted for her.’
The news has hit Dad a lot harder than he will admit to. His voice keeps going croaky and he claimed the tears that were running down his face were the result of Mum putting too much chilli powder in the dinner. He finished his meal in silence, then said he was going to organise a whip round for her at the Labour Club. She has a lot of fans down there. He thinks they’ll easily raise enough to get a decent painting of her to go in the refurbished bar.
Mum and Gran are going to get the train to London tomorrow to lay some flowers outside Buckingham Palace. Dad said he hopes she’s going to put some clothes on before she goes but Gran said she intends to show her patriotism, so she’s going in her bloomers. Mum said she ought to wear a mac at least, just in case it rains.
I’m worried about money now, Emma. I got paid £300 cash in hand for judging that wet t shirt competition in Norks night club last Saturday and it might not be worth anything now she’s gone. I wonder if they’ll have an exchange scheme to swap the old coins and banknotes for ones with King Charles’s face on them when they’re minted?
It’s going to be really weird for Charles, isn’t it, Em? I mean, he’s going to have to stand at public events singing God Save The Queen even though he’s the King. I think they might bring out a new anthem for him to save him having to do that. I hope they make it something a bit livelier. Maybe they could get Ed Sheeran to write a new tune, he’d soon knock up a jolly ditty. I hope they don’t ask Adele; her songs are more dirge-like than our old anthem.
Right, I’m off now, Emma. I’m going to start a campaign to see if we can get our street renamed to Queen Elizabeth Way.
R.I.P. Little Lizzie. Thank you for everything you did for us.
The back matter for book four of the Tracy’s Hot Mail series. Look out for the cover reveal. OUT SOON!
HOW DID THAT HAPPEN!
Tracy is shocked: she’s hit her mid-twenties. Worried her boobs are sagging and her bottom broadening, she has scary visions of being thirty, middle aged and unable to get any celebrity work.
Fed up of the endless battles between her Marxist father and a grandmother that makes Attila the Hun look like Tinky Winky from the Teletubbies, she decides it’s time to flee the nest and moves into an ex-council flat on the rough side of town.
Deciding to hold a sophisticated dinner party, Tracy struggles to compile the perfect guest list. More problems hit when following a Nigella Bites recipe as her culinary idol only, ‘cooks in French.’
Will the party go with a bang? Will the people on her hastily assembled guest list hit it off? Why is that ‘tart’ Olivia suddenly in her thoughts? And what could possibly go wrong when Tracy lands a starring role in a remake of the pottery scene from the film, Ghost?
Tracy’s Twenties Hot Mail. Older doesn’t always mean wiser.
I’m delighted to reveal the back of the book blurb for the third book in the Tracy’s Hot Mail series, What Tracy Did Next.
TRACY RETURNS!
The gossip machine is back with more juicy titbits as Tracy casts her all-seeing eye over the lives of the people around her.
Tracy is in a quandary. Should she accept Detective Sergeant Neil Hartley’s marriage proposal? Is she truly ready for a life of domesticity while there are so many men she hasn’t met yet. So many places she hasn’t been, so many clothes she hasn’t tried on.
A lover of cloned, market stall fashion and the Primark sales rail, Tracy is still working the promotions circuit under the guidance of her uber-iffy agent, Shayne Slider.
What on earth are, Falaraki Flaps? What really happened when Tracy went on holiday with her best friend, Emma? Get an insight into what she got up to in her last year at school as Tracy dips into her personal diaries and lifts the lid on her most intimate secrets.
I’m delighted to announce the revamp and relaunch of my ever popular, Tracy’s Hot Mail series.
The books are being re-themed to give Tracy a new fresh look. The cover has been designed by the uber-talented Zoe O’Farrell from ZooloosBookTours https://zooloosbooktours.co.uk and I couldn’t be happier with what she came up with.
Their are now four books in the Tracy series. Tracy’s Hot Mail, Tracy’s Celebrity Hot Mail, What Tracy Did Next and Tracy’s Twenties Hot Mail. All the books will be released in September 2022.
Here’s the cover of the first book. Zoe imagined Tracy exactly as I do when I’m writing the books. She’s perfect.
September not only sees the release of my second Amy Rowlings cosy crime, murder mystery: Death at the Lychgate but also two BRAND NEW Tracy’s Hot Mail books.
What Tracy Did Next and Tracy’s Twenties Hot Mail will be released very soon. The two existing books in the series, Tracy’s Hot Mail and Tracy’s Celebrity Hot Mail are having a revamp and all four books will now be seen with brand new, series themed covers designed by the wonderful Zoe O’Farrell.
Hello everyone. Thanks for dropping by on the publication day for Murder at the Mill, my Agatha Christie era, cosy crime novel.
Firstly I’d like to thank everyone at SpellBound Books for making this possible. Hon mentions must go to Sumaira, Nikki, Dee, Zoe and Kate, thank you for making this such a pleasant and easy process for me.
The sequel to Murder at the Mill is called Death at the Lychgate and once again stars Amy, our twenty one year old amateur sleuth, and DS Bodkin, the policeman with more of a heart than he admits to owning. The book will be released by Spellbound Books in November 2022.
Finally I’d like to thank all of my lovely, loyal readers who have stuck with me through thick and thin. You are all wonderful.
Murder at the Mill is only 99p for the kindle version. A true bargain. Buy link below.
The story begins in January 1939, in the fictional Kentish town of Spinton.
Who Is Amy Rowlings?
Amy Rowlings is a vivacious, quick-witted collector of imported American music, a movie buff, a buyer of nearly new fashion and an avid reader of crime fiction. Unlike many of the amateur sleuths of the era, Amy is a working class, twenty-one-year-old who works at a clothing factory known locally as The Mill.
Who is DS Bodkin?
Bodkin is a rugged, no nonsense, untidy-looking detective sergeant in the Spinton police who would look scruffy in a tailormade suit. His mantra is, everyone is a suspect until they aren’t.
So, what’s the story about?
The book features some of the characters from the dual timeline novel I wrote during lockdown, the Family Saga, Unspoken, but this time one of the minor characters is promoted to the lead role. The novel is set in Kent, in January 1939 and is the first of what I hope to be a long series of books featuring the same characters. 1939 was such an historically interesting year that would eventually see the country in a war that will give me a myriad of future storyline opportunities.
Amy Rowlings is a twenty-one-year-old machinist at Handsley’s Garments, known locally as, The Mill. On her way to work one snowy, morning she meets Detective Sergeant Bodkin, at the scene of a break in. After pointing out an obvious clue to the police, Amy goes to work, but on the following day, she meets the detective again, this time at the Mill where the owner’s son, an almost universally despised philanderer, has been found dead.
Amy offers to help the police inquiry by providing some local knowledge to Bodkin, who is new to the area but is soon drawn into the murder investigation.
Provisional back of the book blurb for the new Amy Rowlings cosy crime murder mystery.
Set in the spring of 1939.
AMY ROWLINGS RETURNS!
Sunday morning, and the body of Reverend Villiers has been found propped up on the vigil seat in the church’s lychgate. It appears that he has been poisoned.
When amateur sleuth and regular churchgoer, Amy Rowlings arrives she finds DI Bodkin already at the scene. Bodkin tells her about a cryptic scripture reference that has been scrawled in chalk on the stone slabs beneath the body. What the citation hints at, shocks everyone.
Amy, a huge Agatha Christie fan is determined to get involved in the investigation and despite a stern warning from the detective’s boss, Amy and Bodkin team up again to try to solve the most complex murder case he has ever been involved in. When the toxicology report comes back from the lab, the results only add to the mystery.
Meanwhile, Amy looks to her favourite Agatha Christie character, Hercule Poirot for help, and using his techniques, she narrows down the list of possible murderers to just nine suspects.
Can Amy fit together the jigsaw of clues to solve this, the most complex of cases?
If you are a fan of cosy crime, Agatha Christie era novels, you might like my Amy Rowlings mysteries.
The first two, Murder at the Mill, and Death at the Lychgate are to be published by SpellBound Books this year. Murder at the Mill is due for release on July 7th 2022
There are also more Amy mysteries in the pipeline.
The Murder Awards
Amy and Bodkin are asked to attend a civic event at the town hall. where an awards presentation is being conducted. Things go awry when one of the recipients is found crawling away from the gent’s cloakroom with a knife in his chest.
Deadly Anniversary
Amy is drawn into a murder investigation when a friend of her uncle dies suspiciously on her silver wedding anniversary.. A few days later, another body is found, again on a date when the victim should have been celebrating his sixth wedding anniversary.
A Model Murder
Amy’s photographic portrait has been entered into a national photographic competition by the local photographer and his picture reaches the final at an event held in London where all the short listed models have to appear. On the day of the event, one of of the favourites is found dead, shot through the heart in her hotel room. . As Bodkin is at the event with Amy, he is asked to investigate by the local police.
So, that’s it. Death at the Lychgate, the new, 107500 word Amy Rowlings mystery is with my lovely editor for its final read through. It’s been edited as it was being written so there shouldn’t be a lot to do before I send it off to my fab publisher, SpellBound Books Ltd. Maureen loved it, so if it’s good enough for her, it’s good enough for me.
I’d like to thank my wonderful, comma nuking, editor, Maureen for all her hard work as usual. Chapter one of the next book in the Amy series, The Murder Awards should be with you next week.
Next time you’ll hear about it will be for the cover reveal.
I have just typed The End on the second of the new Tracy’s Hot Mail novellas. This one is called Tracy’s Twenties Hot Mail and the story, as the title hints, takes Tracy from her wild teens and into (as she sees it) a more mature and sophisticated era. As the panto line goes, Oh No It Doesn’t.
The first of the novellas has yet to be given its final title. At the moment it has a working title of Tracy’s Hot Mail, The Missing Years. The book takes a look at Tracy’s life and what happened to her after the final chapter of Tracy’s Celebrity Hot Mail which was published in 2016.
Both books will be published by Spellbound Books Ltd at a date yet to be announced.
An Interview with Tracy, conducted by y fab editor Maureen Vincent-Northam
Never one to pass up on an exclusive (nor Thornton’s Continental chocs for that matter, but that’s another story) Maureen Vincent-Northam was delighted to be asked to dig deep into Tracy’s sack of fan mail for Writelinkers. Disregarding the less genteel communications (toad in the hole will never seem the same) Maureen has chosen letters from typical Tracy fans and the star herself tells her many, and varied, admirers what they really want to know.
Tracy is a rarity in this day and age: a young woman whose underwear is not always in free-fall. The woman whose Hotmail exchanges with best friend Emma is about to take the literary world by storm is driven by the same modest ambitions all young women have: fame, fortune and an alphamale celeb hanging onto her arm.
Which celebrity would you say is most in need of a make-over?
Chelsea Trumper, Broadbottom, Cheshire
Tracy: Hello Chelsea. Is your Dad one of those annoying people like David Beckham who name their kids after places they’ve visited? It’s a good job little Brooklyn wasn’t conceived in Peckham isn’t it?
Are we talking hair, clothes, or everything?
I think Janet Street Porter’s teeth could do with a serious file down. If I was her, I’d have them pulled and get a nice, new, even set of dentures put in. She could sell her real teeth to ivory poachers. That might save an elephant’s life and not only would she look better, she’d have something to feel good about.
Jennifer Saunders really should do something about that arse and Brad Pitt looks like he’s been dragged through a dozen hedges, backwards. I wouldn’t mind having the job of tidying him up though.
Why do you think you’ve been so unlucky with romance?
Ron Lovall, Herts
Tracy: Hi, Ron. Unlucky? I think I’ve been incredibly lucky. I’ve managed to get rid of the useless swine without too much trouble. Some women get stuck with a bloke for life. Imagine what Simon will be like in a few years time? He’s already porn obsessed. By the time he’s twenty five he’ll be sneaking around in the fog wearing nothing but a dirty old mac and a pair of trainers. I reckon I had a lucky escape there.
As for Tim, I think I was lucky there too. He wants to be a farmer. That would mean me being a farmer’s wife. Sod that for a lark. I really can’t see me in wellies and a smock can you? Some people are meant to wake up at the crack of dawn to the smell of cow shit, and some aren’t. I’m definitely in the second category. I would look ridiculous trying to dodge the cowpats in my fake Lanvin sandals, and the closest I ever want to come to a pig, is when it’s been sliced and fried and lying in a roll with some brown sauce.
You’d make a perfect WAG. Have you ever pursued a gorgeous footballer – or even Wayne Rooney?
Tiffany Pratt, Isle of Dogs
Tracy: Hi Tiffany. I think I’m too young for Wayne and I’m not on the game so he wouldn’t be interested in me. I did go out with a footballer once, but he only played for the local pub team and I only went out with him because I wanted to prove a point to the Ginger minger he was seeing at the time.
Dad says I should become a WAG, but Gran says there’s a reason they call them that. They’re all dogs.
Given these two choices, would you rather be stinking rich or mega famous?
Windsor, London
Tracy: Is that you Prince William? Nice to hear from you again. How’s the chopper? Still getting it up, I hope.
Hmm, tough question. I suppose if I had to choose I’d go for mega famous as I could always drop in on a celebrity mate if I had no money and I needed somewhere to crash for the night. Not that there would be many nights like that. Most celebs seem to cop-off with someone after they’ve been to one of those glitzy parties and I don’t think I would be any different. Anyway, if I was mega famous and skint, I could always go to a party wearing something a bit naughty and get interviewed by the News of the World for a few quid.
Mega famous people probably get lots of free stuff when they open things, so I’d make sure I opened lots of supermarkets…and shoe shops of course. Stinking rich people tend to want to keep it all to themselves. That would rule Olivia out; she can’t keep anything to herself, especially her bed.
When you go on Celebrities on Ice in the Jungle, what will you miss most about everyday life?
Precious Little, Watchet, Somerset
Tracy: Hi, Precious. I’d probably miss daydreaming about going on Celebrities on Ice in the Jungle.
What is your beauty routine and do you have any tips for your uglier fans?
Poppy Belcher, Diss, Norfolk
Tracy: Hello, We used to have a dog called Poppy but we got rid of her because she farted all the time and Dad was sick of getting the blame.
I don’t spend much time in front of the mirror because my housemate, Kiwi, will almost certainly be using it every time I want it. I’m lucky in that I can get away without having to do too much. Kiwi spends hours tarting herself up, and she still ends up looking like she’s let her seven year old sister do her face for her.
My best tip would be to buy the best make up you can afford. Don’t go for that crappy stuff they sell on the market, most of it doubles up as paint stripper. If you can’t afford good stuff, get some new friends who can. Girls are always on the lookout for ugly friends, as they make them look better on a night out. They’ll almost certainly let you use their make up if it means they’ll stand out in a crowd of munters.
Spotty Irene doesn’t look too good at times because of the terrible acne she suffers from. It doesn’t stop her trying to do something about it though. She once went to a fancy dress party, with a brown paper bag on her head. She told them she’d come as shopping.
There are a few ways of hiding your hideousness. You could be mysterious and wear a dark veil, but then people might just think you like going to funerals.
If you’re really ugly and desperate for a bloke, my tip would be to find one who wears specs like the bottom of beer glasses. If their eyes are that bad they probably still won’t be able to see out of them properly. Of course you could just do what Olivia does, let blokes know you’re available, that always works after they’ve had ten pints.
If Hollywood made a movie about your life, whom would you like to see play you?
Scarlet Shufflebottom, Hollywood, Birmingham
Tracy: It would have to be Lady Gaga or someone classy like that.
What do you keep in your handbag?
Tarquin DeVere, Odness, Orkney Islands
Tracy: Hmm, you ought to know, Tarquin. It was you that opened it up in front of everyone at that student’s party. Playing mousy on a string with a Tampax wasn’t, isn’t, and never will be, funny.
For anyone who doesn’t know though, apart from the usual girly things like panty liners, a sanitary towel and a spare pair of knickers, I have a my phone, ipod, lip gloss, mascara, compact, needle and thread, a condom, hair scrunch, brush, comb, purse, bus pass, pen, notepad, tissues, mints, tube of superglue, attack alarm and mace spray.
What possession could you not do without?
Billy Lillycrap, Quidhampton, Hampshire
Tracy: My TV. I couldn’t live without Strictly and X Factor. If I’m allowed more I’d have to say my laptop and my fake Gucci bag…Oh and my signed photo of Beckham in his Speedos.
If you were a type of vegetable, what would you be?
Moonchild, a field in Glastonbury
Tracy: You’d have to ask my flatmate, Kiwi that, she’s the hippy, and she’s named after a fruit.
If you were abducted by aliens, what would be the first question you’d ask them?
Prof. Mycroft Nutt, Lower Piddle on the March, Glos.
Tracy: Do you get the X Factor in the Vernuvian Quadrant?
Who do you think you were in a past life?
Napoleon Bonaparte, Crackpot, North Yorkshire
Tracy: I sometimes have strange dreams about snakes, so Cleopatra probably.
Hi, I’m Tracy of Tracy’s Hot Mail fame and I’m so excited to tell you about the new book that’s going to be written about me.
If you can remember that far back, I was first seen in a book called Tracy’s Hot Mail where I shared all the office gossip from when I started my first job. The second book was called Tracy’s Celebrity Hot Mail and that was all about me and my new career as a D list celebrity, appearing at my local Asda store with a plastic knife and a stock of inch-long chunks of crusty bread, posing as Mary from the Dairy, (Mary Spreads Them For You) trying to persuade people to buy their new tub of soft butter. I also appeared in a Get Me Out of Here clone event called Babes in the Wood with that hot lesbian celebrity, Fanny Tickle.
The new book is all about me as I leave my wild teen years behind and hit my twenties (though there will be a few revealing extracts from the diary I kept in my last year at school. ) I’m going to let you have a bird’s eye view into my doings. (That sounds like something Gran might say after spending an hour on the loo, grunting and cursing. Her bowels aren’t what they used to be, bless her.)
You’ll find I’m a lot more sophisticated now, at least I think I am. I’ll still be dishing the dirt on that old tart, Olivia though. Did you know some fool actually got her pregnant and married her? Not that it lasted, the old slapper was caught in fragrant … is that how you say it? in the back of a van with an East European painter and decorator called Ivan. Once a tart…
There’s even more exciting news to come, but I’ll leave that until my new publisher, Spellbound Books Ltd announce it. Suffice to say, you’ll be seeing and hearing a lot more about me on all social media platforms.
If you’d rather read the story on your tablet, phone of computer, you can download it from the link above.
Journal: 1st November. 2011.
I’m sick to death of these bloody Zombies, they are everywhere now. I can’t walk down the street without being accosted by them. They’re in the library, my local pub, and the gym. When I’m at home they squash their faces up against my windows and peer through my letterbox. I can’t escape them. They don’t want to bite me, eat me or rip off bits of my body, it’s much worse than that. They want to recite poetry to me.
It’s a waste of time trying to hide from them, they smell my fear. They know that as soon as I hear the opening line of ‘The Lady of Shalott,’ I break out in a cold sweat. They could sniff me out hiding in lead box in a disused tin mine.
I wasn’t always afraid of poetry, I used to quite like Pam Ayers on that TV talent show. It’s the repetition that gets to me, the dreadful monotone chanting. Hearing one Zombie do it is bad enough but when there are thirty, fifty…
That’s how they turn you. They don’t need to bite. It’s a slow brainwashing process and its effects are devastating. My girlfriend and my two best friends have already succumbed. One day they were normal people headbanging to Metallica, the next they were sticking their heads through my open bathroom window mumbling some Scottish nonsense about a wee timorous beastie.
I bumped into then again when I went to steal supplies from the looted supermarket. They were staggering along the High Street with about half a dozen others, arms held in front, fixed stare, bits of rotting flesh dropping everywhere. Pam spotted me as I came out with my box of scavenged food. I started to run but tripped over a discarded foot and went my length on the tarmac. Before I could get to my feet, my ears were assailed by an horrific recital of a Lord Byron lament.
And thou art dead, as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth,
And form so soft, and charms so rare,
Too soon returned to Earth!
After the tenth reprise I could stand it no longer and I kicked, spat and fought my way from beneath their fixed eyes and cruel tongues. I ran like the hounds of hell were on my tail and made it back home, bruised and soiled, but still able to sing Stairway to Heaven.
An enjoyable tale of secrets, ambition and obsession.
Claire thinks she has everything. A beautiful house in the exclusive Sandbanks area of Dorset, a ten-year-old son she dotes on and a successful, if too often absent, husband, Max.
Happy to play the role of the stay-at-home mum Claire gets involved with a local community choir and spends her time working on the final touches to their newly refurbished home as she looks after Julia, her mum who is staying with the family after suffering a mini-stroke.
Max is the ambitious owner of a successful leisure company who is conducting a passionate, secret affair with the scheming, Anabelle, the beautiful owner of a rival leisure-based business who is intent on keeping the secret of her dark past, away from Max.
Anabelle feels a desperate need to control the lives of everyone that comes into her orbit, including the love life of her company manager. Jealous to the point of obsession, Anabelle plans her wedding without consulting her, ‘fiancée’ Max, whilst plotting to be rid of. ‘Clingy,’ her nickname for Claire.
Into the mix steps Adam, the strikingly handsome landscaper who has been brought in to clean up Claire’s extensive gardens that had been damaged during the house renovations.
With Adam causing more than a flutter in the chest of both Claire and Julia, and with Anabelle’s interference reaching new heights, can Claire’s marriage survive the increased tensions?
As usual with a Joy Wood novel, the characters are both believable and consistent. The plot is solid and intriguing. I read this enthralling book over two nights, reluctant to put it down, even for much needed sleep.
My review of Carfax House. A Christmas story by Shani Struthers.
Not your run of the mill ghost story.
Carfax House is not your usual run of the mill ghost story, but then Shani Struthers is not your usual run of the mill author.
Set in the desolate winter landscape of the Leicestershire countryside, Carfax House sits alone in its overgrown, briar tangled acres. Neglected for too long, the big house has fallen into disrepair and is badly in need of more than a little TLC.
Step in, Lizzie and Al, a London journalist married to a criminal lawyer who see an opportunity on a property website. Sure, the old house will need some work and it will cost, but with the money they can get from selling their nicely appointed London apartment and their combined incomes, they should be able to afford to restore the old house to something close to its former glory. Besides, Lizzie thinks to herself, what woman wouldn’t want to saunter down that beautiful open staircase wearing a designer creation to the wide-eyed acclaim of her party guests?
So, the flat is sold and the deal is done. Carfax House, bought unseen, awaits their arrival.
I won’t go into too much detail of the story as I don’t want to spoil it for future readers but what I will say is that Carfax House has great depth and tackles issues that other authors steer well clear of. As I said earlier, this is not a run of the mill ghost story, it is a story of loss, of isolation, of desperate emotions.
Carfax House is all about memories. The repressed memory of childhood, dreadful memories of a shameful family secret that a mother and daughter weave a web of lies to attempt to hide, and the memories of an old house, memories that are baked into the bricks and mortar. Memories that make the floorboards creak, memories hidden behind a small but strong, oak door built into the walls of bedroom six.
You will be able to read this one in bed without scaring yourself silly. It’s not that kind of book, but by the time you reach the end, you will have been so eloquently informed about the brutality of mental illness and how it was endured by two families born a hundred years apart.
This book gets a well-deserved five-star rating from me. I lost myself in this short novel for a few hours, reading it in one session, broken only by my need to fuel my long-standing coffee addiction.
After posting up a free download of my kid’s Christmas Story, The Little Christmas Tree, I was asked if I had one for adults. So here it is; A Christmas story for grown ups.
At twelve o’clock we sat in the tea shop in town looking out of the fogged-up window as we sipped our hot drinks and nibbled at the dry cake that tasted as though it had spent a day too long under the glass counter. Stephen, bored as usual, began to draw with his finger in the condensation on the shop window. After twenty minutes I put him out of his misery and we got to our feet and made for the door, moving aside to allow a pair of elderly ladies to enter.
‘Thank you, dears,’ the first of the pensioners smiled at the children. ‘I’m ready for a cuppa, I’m parched.’
‘I wouldn’t bother with the sponge cake,’ Stephen advised. ‘You’ll be even parchder.’ He looked at me quizzically as I tried to usher him out of the café before he got us into trouble. ‘Is parchder a word?’ he asked.
Outside, the Saturday lunchtime streets were full of shoppers. Jam-packed buses trundled along the narrow town roads as the half day Saturday workers made their way home from the factories. The bustling market place echoed with the shouts of, ‘Plums, get your lovely plums, they’re big, they’re beautiful just like your… mums,’ and ‘sprouts and cabbage, fresher than your lodger, put it on a plate for him, girls, he’ll love you for it.’
Just to frighten even more readers away I’ve had some professional author photos done. Many thanks to Paul Haynes from the Old Mill studio, Belper St. Ilkeston for the fabulous images.
My October Newsletter is now being sent out. If you’d like to subscribe please click the following link to get regular updates on new books, competitions and a few fun facts.
As publication day approaches, I’m delighted to reveal the full cover of my Christmas novel, Hopes and Fears, designed as always by the wonderful Jane Dixon-Smith of JDSmith-Design
Set in Christmas 1940 the story tells the tale of Alice and her best friend Amy who are determined to reunite Stephen and Harriet, Alice’s evacuees, with their mother, Rose, who is lost in the Blitz.
Christmas 1940. Despite the rationing and the Blackout, excitement at Mollison Farm is building as Alice and her workforce prepare for the annual Christmas Eve party. The snow has arrived, bang on time.
And this year, Alice has a big secret.
She has invited her evacuee children’s mother to spend a few precious days with her kids at Christmas, but disaster strikes and Alice is given the shock news that Rose’s home is now nothing more than a pile of bricks and the woman herself is missing, lost in the Blitz.
Amy, Alice’s best friend is despatched to the capital in a race against time, to find Rose and if possible, get her out of London.
As the search intensifies and the bombs start to fall again, Amy meets Rose’s sleazy husband Terry, a draft dodger, and Kevin, the ARP man with something to hide.
Meanwhile, on the farm, Stephen and Harriet discover the truth about their mother’s disappearance and Alice finds herself having to deal with the consequences.
The snow will fall and the farmyard carols will be sung, but will it be a happy Christmas on Mollison Farm?
I am delighted to announce that the Unspoken Trilogy, consisting of The Dual Timeline Family sagas, Unspoken, The Legacy and The Reckoning have now been released as a single box set volume on Amazon.
Crooner PC Ferris. Friend of Amy and Bodkin, singing in the Milton Cocktail Bar.
Helen Kelly. Wife of Nelson Kelly. On the surface, a happily married woman.
