 Release date - 25th October 2017 Book length - 294 pages Publisher - Notting Hill Press Amazon UK - www.amazon.co.uk Amazon US - www.amazon.com *I want to thank Michele Gorman (aka Lilly Bartlett) for providing me with a copy of this book for review. ABOUT THE BOOK Put your feet up and tuck into the mince pies, because you won’t have to lift a finger to enjoy this Christmas! Too bad the same can’t be said for single mother and extremely undomestic goddess, Lottie. When her beloved Aunt Kate ends up in hospital just before Christmas, Lottie and her seven-year-old daughter rush to rural Wales to take over her B&B. A picky hotel reviewer and his mad family are coming to stay, and without the rating only he can give them, Aunt Kate will lose her livelihood. But Lottie can barely run her own life, let alone a hotel. How will she manage to turn the falling-down guesthouse into the luxurious wonderland the reviewer expects? And could the mysterious taxi driver, Danny, who agrees to help her, turn out to be the real gift this season? As the snow sparkles on the trees and hot chocolate steams in your hand, snuggle into the delicious magic of Christmas at the Falling-Down Guesthouse. *THIS NOVELLA WAS FIRST PUBLISHED AS THE RELUCTANT ELF BY MICHELE GORMAN* MY REVIEW CHRISTMAS AT THE FALLING-DOWN GUESTHOUSE by Lilly Bartlett was just what I needed when I curled up on the couch on Friday night in need of something festive and charming to make me smile. A delightful story, this short read is sure to put you in the Christmas spirit and warm you from the inside out. Lottie Crisp understands grief ever since she lost both of her parents in a tragic accident. But she always had her beautiful little girl Mabel, and her Aunt Kate there to make her smile and get her through the tough times. So when Lottie gets a phone call informing her that her beloved Aunt is in hospital, Lottie and Mabel head down to Wales for Christmas to do what they can to help Aunt Kate get better and keep her quaint B&B in business, as it is due to get a very important guest. But the guesthouse is nothing like Lottie expected and it looks like they might just need a miracle to make it through this Christmas intact ... With plenty of funny moments and poignant scenes, CHRISTMAS AT THE FALLING-DOWN GUESTHOUSE by Lilly Bartlett is the perfect feel-good story to get you in the mood for Winter. The characters are refreshing and realistic, and I especially loved Mabel who was never afraid to call things exactly as she saw them! And as for the motley crew of guests that arrived - absolutely hilarious!! CHRISTMAS AT THE FALLING-DOWN GUESTHOUSE by Lilly Bartlett is everything I wanted and more and I highly recommend it. Author Bio: Lilly Bartlett’s cosy romcoms are full of warmth, quirky characters and guaranteed happily-ever-afters. Lilly is the pen-name of Sunday Times and USA Today best-selling author, Michele Gorman, who writes best friend-girl power comedies under her own name. For more information: Website - www.michelegorman.co.uk Twitter - twitter.com/MicheleGormanUK Facebook - www.facebook.com/MicheleGormanBooks/ DON'T FORGET TO CHECK OUT ALL OF THE OTHER FESTIVE STOPS ALONG THE WAY! 
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#Blogtour #Review #Excerpt: The Winter's Child by Cassandra Parkin @cassandrajaneuk @Legend_Press30/10/2017  Release date - 16th October 2017 Book length - 304 pages Publisher - www.legendpress.co.uk Book Depository - www.bookdepository.com Amazon UK - www.amazon.co.uk Amazon US - www.amazon.com *I want to thank Cassandra Parkin, and Imogen from Legend Press, for providing me with a copy of this book for review and a great excerpt. ABOUT THE BOOK Five years ago, Susannah Harper's son Joel went missing without a trace. Bereft of her son and then of her husband, Susannah tries to accept that she may never know for certain what has happened to her lost loved ones. But then, on the last night of Hull Fair, a fortune-teller makes an eerie prediction—on Christmas Eve, Joel will finally come back to her. As her carefully-constructed life begins to unravel, Susannah is drawn into a world of psychics and charlatans, half-truths and hauntings, friendships and betrayals, forcing her to confront the buried truths of her family's past where nothing and no one are quite as they seem. MY REVIEW THE WINTER'S CHILD by Cassandra Parkin is a haunting, troubling, spine-tingling story that is simply stunning in its conveyance of the despair and longing that leaps from every sentence. It has been five long years for Susannah Harper whose life stopped when her fifteen-year-old son walked out the door one morning and never came back home. Followed by the breakdown of her marriage, Susannah now finds herself completely alone, with the exception of her sister Melanie and her family. Writing her blog unmasking psychics for the frauds that she believes them to be, Susannah still hopes that someday her little boy will come back to her. But when she sees a psychic at the local fair, it will begin a chain reaction that will have Susannah, and those around her, questioning her sanity. Because she keeps seeing Joel, and having visions of drowning, and she knows that Joel is trying to send her some sort of message. But will Susannah ever be able to unlock the truth that has been hidden for so long? As a mother, the premise of this story terrified me from the very beginning, and as we get to know Susannah, we see a broken woman who is on the edge of despair with longing for her missing son. Questioning everyone and everything around her, we see her struggle to figure out what these visions could mean, but as the pace increases it soon becomes clear that there is something dark and disturbing at work. At times I did not want to know the truth yet I couldn't put this book down as I needed to know what happened to Joel and hoped that I was wrong in my assumptions. The story is told from Susannah's point of view moving from past to present, with snippets from her blog highlighting how she has fought to cope with never knowing exactly what happened to her beloved little boy. While my heart went out to her at times throughout this book, None of the characters are completely likeable as we can see they have made mistakes but I don't think characters have to be likeable, just realistic. THE WINTER'S CHILD by Cassandra Parkin will put you through the emotional wringer and that ending will blow your freaking mind! Definitely a book that deserves to be read far and wide. Author Bio: Cassandra Parkin grew up in Hull, and now lives in East Yorkshire. Her short story collection, New World Fairy Tales (Salt Publishing, 2011), won the 2011 Scott Prize for Short Stories and her work has been published in numerous magazines and anthologies. The Summer We All Ran Away (Legend Press, 2013) was Cassandra's debut novel. Her work has been published in numerous magazines and anthologies. The Beach Hut (Legend Press, 2015) is her second novel. For more information: Website - cassandraparkin.wordpress.com Twitter - twitter.com/cassandrajaneuk READ ON FOR A CHILLING EXCERPT ... EXCERPT Chapter One Saturday 14th October 2017 In the warm cigarette dimness of the caravan, the Roma woman’s eyes are shrewd and bright. “You’ve lost someone,” she says. We gaze watchfully at each other across a table of polished glass, etched with a cornucopia of flowers. Its bevelled edge is sharp to the sight but not to the touch. I’d imagined the inside of a traditional vardo, painted wood and bright patchworks, but instead I’m surrounded by glass and china and crystal, intermittently set ablaze by the lights of the carriages that dip and wheel above our heads. The cabinet behind my opponent is filled with china girls with arms like ballerinas, waists no wider than their necks and frothing, intricate skirts. Do all showmen live in this impossible delicate luxury? How do they take their homes from place to place without breakages? The fortune-teller is looking right into my eyes, watching and waiting for a tell. I force myself to sit cool and blank, trying not to be distracted by the fragments of my reflection – blonde hair, blue eyes, slim figure – that appear, startlingly distorted and inverted, in the million reflective surfaces of the caravan. If my sister Melanie finds out what I’ve been doing, she’ll be furious. I’m supposed to have given this game up years ago. I shouldn’t be here. “A husband, maybe?” The fortune-teller shakes her head. “No, not a husband.” I keep my breathing slow and quiet, in and then out, refusing to let her see the satisfaction this gives me. In fact, I have lost a husband, or rather my ex-husband and I have lost each other, torn apart by the brutal tragedy that ripped through our life like a tornado. When we first married, I imagined that losing John would break my heart. When it finally happened, we were both too exhausted to summon more than a weary acceptance. “Boyfriend, then.” I imagine I can feel the caress of her eyes as they flick, flick, flick over my face like the smooth dry kiss of a snake’s tongue, looking for the micro- expressions that will tell her if she’s on the right lines. “No, not a boyfriend.” Next she’ll change track completely. She’ll go for an easy hit so I’ll forget about the misses. “You’ve come to the Fair since you were a child,” she says. “You’ve loved it all your life. I see you in a hat and coat, holding the hand of a tall man and laughing.” I try not to snort. She’ll know from my accent that I’m a local girl, and what else does she need to know to guess how deeply Hull Fair is lodged in my heart? Fair Week is the darkest and most beautiful spell our city casts, a residential street and a patch of waste ground suddenly ablaze with the showmen’s last wild gathering before they disperse into a mysterious continental winter, and we all hunker down and wait for the more respectable follow-up of Christmas. “I see you coming here as an adult, too,” she continues. “There’s a child with you. I see a little boy in a blue coat, riding on a train. When he gets frightened and cries, you buy him a stick of candy floss.” More easy hits. Not half an hour ago I lifted my nephew Thomas out of the ghost-train and held him tight, trying not to laugh at his wild terror of the man who jumped out at us and rocked the carriage on its tracks. “It’s all right,” I told him over and over. “It was just one of the guys from the ride. See? Look there and you’ll see him do it again... now, shall we get some candy floss?” And three minutes later Thomas’s fright is melting stickily on his tongue among the threads of spun sugar. A scene played out thousands of times each night. Perhaps she even watched me, or had one of her fellow showmen watch me, so she’d have something in her pocket to dazzle me with. Perhaps they watch all of us. Nonetheless, her words conjure another, more tender memory: washing Joel’s face in the dim light of the bathroom while John put the car back in the garage. I can still hear the high singing in our ears as they rang to the echo of the pounding music. I can still see the tracks of tears on his cheeks, the sweet pink crust around his mouth. “A child! That’s it. A child. You’ve lost a child.” Her words come so fast I can’t prepare. Stupid Susannah, stupid stupid stupid, walking into the trap like this. She’s seen the truth in my face. There’s no escape from what’s coming. “A little boy.” My whole body twitches with the pain, and she nods in satisfaction. “Give me your hand.” My hands are clenched into fists beneath the table. Perhaps the angle of the glass hides this from her. Perhaps not. I bring them out slowly, forcing my fingers to uncurl. The skin is sticky from the nougat, the chips, the hot dog, the brandy snap, the candy floss for Thomas, which he generously shared with me as we watched Grace twirl solemnly round in a teacup and I held onto the gluey remnants of her toffee- apple. The collective name for these foods is fair junk, as in, Shall we bother with tea or shall we just get fair junk? John’s big scrubbly face and Joel’s little rosy one, side by side on the sofa, already dressed in hats and coats because they’re clever enough to guess my answer. I swallow tears and force myself to meet the Roma woman’s gaze. These memories are sacred. She can’t have them. “He was your boy,” she says, almost crooning, as if I’m a fretful child she’s lulling to sleep. Her fingers creep over the table and trace out a thin path across my palm. “Your boy. And you lost him. But he hasn’t left you. Not yet.” I don’t want to ask this but I can’t stop myself. This is what they do, the charlatan’s terrible gift. They draw you in, they make you believe, and then they cut you open and dabble in your spilled blood with their cold fingers. “He’s still alive?” “He hasn’t left this world,” she repeats. “So is he still alive? Is he out there somewhere? Or is he - ?” “He hasn’t left. That’s all I can say.” This is another trick I recognise. When the facts are uncertain, they’ll leave themselves as much room as possible. I wrote another blog post about this just three weeks ago, prompted by the desperation of a reader and the lies of a medium in Liverpool, titled Open letter to the mother of J.M. I should be back at my computer, dealing with the fall-out, but Thomas begged me as only a ten-year-old can (“Please, please, please come with us, please, Auntie Suze...” and when I looked at him severely, “... annah! I was going to say it! I was!”). His delight at successfully teasing me, and the hopeful trust in Grace’s blue eyes, were too much. I should be with them, not wasting time and money on rediscovering what I already know. I force myself to smile. “If I pay you more, will you be able to say more? Is that how it works?” She flicks her eyes over my face again, and in spite of myself I wince at the shrewd pitiless light that glitters there. Now she’ll torture me by telling me about the thin veil that separates the living from the not-living, and that because the veil is transparent to her, she cannot always say on which side our loved ones are. I ready myself for the blow. “I see him,” the woman repeats, and lets go of my hand to light a cigarette. I try not to watch too greedily as she draws in a long rich lungful, holds it, then lets it go again, the frail smoke coiling seductively around my nostrils. I gave up smoking years ago, in the long desperate vitamin-filled alcohol-free desert before Joel. But every now and then, I’ll catch a breath of smoke and something stirs in my brain and whispers, Go on. You know you want to. Just the one. Just one cigarette. What harm can it do now? “What are you doing here, love?” she asks, and takes another draw on her cigarette. “You don’t believe.” “If you can really see the future and the... the dead and so on, it shouldn’t matter if I believe or not. Gravity works whether or not people think it’s true.” She hold the smoke a moment longer, then lets it go. “So you’re one of them. Think you know how it’s done.” Does she know who I am? I write under my real name, my photo is on my website, and while I’m not what anyone could call famous, Life Without Hope contains enough vitriol, written over a long enough period of time, to get me noticed by people in the business. Perhaps they keep lists, as scammers are said to do, so they can separate the sworn enemies from the gullible believers. “All I’ve heard so far is misses and guesses,” I say. “Everyone brings kids to the Fair and buys them candy floss. Just about every little boy I know has a blue coat, and if I hadn’t bitten at that one you’d have said No, wait, a green one. You don’t know anything about—” With a sudden pounce, she grabs my hand again, pressing it hard against the cold glass table. The ash from her cigarette grows long and pale as the coal burns towards the base. “Now you listen to me, my love,” she hisses. “Here are three things that are true from your past. You were born first and grew up the richest and the prettiest, but your sister was still the lucky one. Your husband loved you and he loves you even now, but he still left you. Your son was all you ever wanted, but he still tore your heart in two.” Her grip hurts, her hands on mine hurt, and the coal of her cigarette is growing close to my skin. I try to take my hand back but she won’t let go. “Now, three things from your present. You haven’t been here since you lost your boy, but this year you let a child... your niece? No, your nephew... talk you into it. You came with them both, a boy and a girl, and the girl pointed at my caravan and asked if she could go in. You told her no because we’re all thieves and liars – oh yes, you did, my love, that’s what you said – but the spirits spoke to you and told you it was time to listen. You lied to your sister and her children, and said you were afraid to ride the Ferris wheel but they should go without you, so you could come back here and see me. Did you wonder if that meant something? You’re right, my love. It meant everything. You’re meant to be here, in my caravan, talking to me. The world’s a bigger place than you know.” “That’s your penance for not believing. Yes, shout if you like, my love, but no one’s going to hear you. Now, here are three things from your future that will come true before the year turns.” “You’re hurting me. Let me go.” “Please. No more. I don’t want to know. Don’t tell me any more. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” “I see three people waiting for you. I see a woman who’ll hate you on sight because she’s afraid she’ll be just like you, then come to love you like a sister. You’ll let her get close, then you’ll push her away, and the pain will break her heart. I see a man who belongs to someone else, but he’ll come to you anyway. You’ll let him get close, then you’ll push him away, and the pain will break his heart.” This is nothing, it means nothing, an empty performance from an angry show-woman. Despite this, tears come to my eyes. What if I’ve been wrong all these years? What if she’s right? What if it really does mean something that I was drawn to her caravan? Hot flecks of ash drop onto my skin and I flinch. “I see your boy,” she says. I forget the prickles of pain in my hands. “I see your boy. He had many who loved him, but he loved you best of all, you were the centre of his world. You let him get close. Then you pushed him away. You turned away from him. You listened to false advice. And the pain broke his heart.” “But he’s coming back to you. For better or worse, your boy’s coming back to you, my love, and this will be the last Christmas Eve you’ll spend without him. The road won’t be easy. But if you’re strong enough to walk it, then when the snow falls on Christmas Eve you’ll see his face again, and you’ll know where he’s been, and why he’s been there.” Her face is so close to mine I can see the tiny millimetres of silver at the roots of her lustrous black hair, scented with grease and hairspray. “And then, my love, you’ll never be apart again.” “Stop it, please, stop it—” She lets go of my hands, but I can’t move. I feel as if she’s stabbed me through my heart with a silver knife, pinning me to the chair. “That’s all, my love. You’ve had your fifty quid’s worth.” She laughs. “Was it good enough, darling? Good enough to believe in? You going to write me up on your website?” So she does know who I am. It was all a performance. Everything she said was pieced together from the information that’s available to anyone with an internet connection. She doesn’t know anything about what happened to Joel. I stumble out of the caravan, her mocking words clinging to my back, my head spinning, my knees weak, my hands clumsy, and fall into the crowd, letting the tide carry me down Walton Street. If I was alone, I could simply get lost in the dubious comfort of the company of strangers, but I’m not alone, there’s no time, no time, I’m expected elsewhere and I have to pretend everything is normal. So I stop and catch my breath by the greasy metallic warmth of the chip van, breathing deep draughts of fried food and diesel, wishing I had a cigarette, trying to compose myself enough to return to the Ferris wheel where Grace, Thomas and Melanie will be waiting for me. I plunge back into the Fair, drowning my heartbreak in lights and screams and fumes and thumping music. A long rotary arm skims over the top of the Hook-a-Duck booth and the pounding Europop is overwhelmed by the shrieks of the riders. I pause to watch the Cyclone, forcing myself not to flinch as the carriage hurtles towards me through space, then shoots away again. For those in pain, the Fair is like an anaesthetic, its insistent assault on the senses wiping out all possibility of focused thought or feeling. My phone vibrates in my back pocket. We’re off the wheel but can’t see you. You okay? Sorry, massive queue for the toilets. On my way now. It’s hard to hurry but I do my best, squeezing between slow-moving families, skittering over metallic walkways. Dotted among the bright faces of the riders, watchful showmen balance effortlessly on whirling, uneven floors, their faces so blank and unaffected they might be statues. One man stands beneath the Octopus as it flings its carriages in a perilous vertical spin, so close it looks as if they’ll take his head off; but he scrolls through his phone without even looking up. Another spins the cars on the Waltzer, indifferent to pleas and shrieks. His face is serene and empty, as if he’s meditating in a green field. In the puddles beneath the Ferris wheel, Melanie does her best to wrangle Thomas and Grace into standing still and waiting nicely. She’s just about got them within bounds, but they won’t hold out much longer. When she sees me, and before she gets her face under control, I see exasperation, swiftly suppressed. It’s not her fault. I’d feel the same. Grace is telling me something, but the music’s so loud I can’t make it out. I kneel down so I can press my ear closer to her perfect little mouth. “Auntie Susannah!” Grace can hardly speak for excitement. “I went all the way up there, look! All the way to the top!” As five-year-olds will, she performs each word, arms windmilling wildly. Beside her, Thomas smiles tolerantly. “And I saw you from the top, and I waved!” “Grace, you do know you didn’t actually see Auntie Susannah,” Thomas tells her. Melanie looks at him sharply, but doesn’t reprimand him. I suspect he’s had to hear this story several times already. Grace looks hurt. “Did you see me?” “I think I saw someone,” I say, and kiss her plump cheek. She smells of toffee-apple. “Someone waving right at the top of the wheel?” “Yes! That’s what I did! I waved!” She beams. “See, Thomas, I told you Auntie Susannah would see me.” Now it’s Thomas’s turn to look hurt. I pat his shoulder and give him a wink, letting him in on the deception, and he smiles at me. I’d always imagined my life would be filled with moments like this, effortlessly navigating the tricky waterways of parenting multiple children. Instead... “Are you okay?” Melanie has always been hyper-attuned to my moods. Now she slips one arm through mine and squeezes gently. “I’m fine.” “Not too tired yet?” “Course not.” “Where did you really go?” The question catches me off-guard, and because I don’t have a reply ready, she instantly knows the answer. She looks at me for a long minute. “Right,” she says wearily, and gathers Grace and Thomas together, corralling them like a sheepdog. “Come on, kids. It’s Auntie Susannah’s turn to pick, and she wants some pictures of you on the galloping horses.” Thomas points hopefully to the Mirror Maze. “No, not the Mirror Maze, you’re not bashing your nose in again. Galloping horses. Go.” “What happened to your nose?” I ask Thomas, in the brief pool of relative quiet by the dartboard games (“Prize Every Time Free Giant Minion If You Lose Score Over Ten To Win”). “He walked into a glass wall,” Grace begins. “Grace, I’m telling this story. I walked into a glass wall—” “That’s what I said—” “And it made my nose bleed. And it took me ages to get out.” “And when he came out he was crying,” adds Grace, with satisfaction. “Well, if you walked into a wall so hard you made your nose bleed, you’d cry too,” Thomas tells her. “And besides, you’re too little to go in, so you don’t know what it’s like, and anyway, stop trying to tell my—” “That’s enough,” Melanie tells them both. “No, seriously, that’s enough. Nobody’s come here to listen to you squabble. Do you want to go on the same horse or separate ones?” “Same.” “Separate.” “Oh, for God’s sake. Okay, Thomas, if you’ll go on a horse with Grace without complaining, you can go in the Mirror Maze again. Deal?” “Deal.” Thomas’s face is one huge triumphant grin. The carousel slows, then halts. Grace and Thomas scramble up the steps. Thomas helps Grace heave herself onto their chosen horse, Mickey, and hops up behind her. She leans confidingly back into the comfort of his jacket, and he looks at her for a moment, then drops a brief kiss on the top of her head. Melanie has a five pound note ready but I push her hand away and get to the showman first, hoping to soften her with generosity. “Okay,” says Melanie as the horses begin to twirl. “What d’you think you were playing at?” “It was just a laugh,” I say. Grace and Thomas go past, cherub faces turned outwards, starfish hands waving. I smile and wave back. Melanie says nothing. “I just saw the caravan and she didn’t have anyone with her so I thought I’d go for it.” 16 Melanie says nothing. Thomas and Grace reappear. I raise my phone and take a photograph. “It’ll make a good post, that’s all. It was good material.” Melanie says nothing. “Look, if I can save just one person from what I went through – if I can reach just one person – save them from believing the shit they spout to get your money—” My voice cracks. Thomas and Grace reappear. I force myself to smile and wave. The shape of my face isn’t right. The pain’s showing. I hope they’re too little to notice. “It’s just,” I say, and I know I should keep lying, because these words will take me dangerously close to collapse, “it’s just I saw the caravan. And it... it called to me. I know that’s stupid, but it called to me. And I thought, What if this one’s the real deal? Maybe it means something that I’m being attracted to this one? So I just... I just... I had the money and everything, and I couldn’t help myself.” Thomas and Grace reappear, but blurrily, framed by tears lit up like jewels by the glow of the lights. Melanie turns to me then, and takes my hands in hers. I can read on her face all the love and all the exasperation, all the despair and all the longing, the complicated mix of emotions that comes when your older sister acts like an idiot for reasons you understand only too well. “Suze,” Melanie says. She’s the only person in the world who’s allowed to shorten my name, and even she only does it when no one else can hear. “You know they’re all the same. You know that. Better than anyone.” “She told me Joel would come back to me by Christmas.” “She what?” Melanie’s hands tighten on mine. “She told you what?” “She said he’d come back to me by Christmas, and then we’d never be apart again. Why would she say that if she didn’t know something? She might know something—” “Suze, you have to stop this. It’s not true. Darling Suze, I don’t know where he is, none of us do, but I’m as sure as I can be that some random Fair woman in a painted caravan can’t tell you, all right? Please don’t do this to yourself again, you’ve been doing so well recently. Look, the ride’s stopping, I’ll go and get the kids.” The watching circle of parents moves around the ride like clockwork, following their children scrambling down from the golden horses, wobbling on dizzy legs, ready to be lifted down while a legion of replacement riders scramble greedily up. John once told me he’d love to film the scene from above, people flowing like blood around the body of the Fair, driven by the beats of the rides as they stop and start and stop again, as lovely as the hearts he repaired on the operating table. He tried to get Joel interested too, to show him the hidden connections that drive the universe, but Joel would grow panicky and anxious and then naughty, frustrated and frightened by his inability to please his father. Thomas and Grace will be back in a moment. They’ll want to see the photos. I turn away and try to get my face in order. It’s the sight of the discarded milk carton that does it, tossed carelessly into the black rubbish-sack on top of the polystyrene chip trays and the cheery paper cones. I blink just once and then I’m back in before, the very last time our family was together. John and Joel clashing as they so often did, Joel’s face alternating between rage and terror, as John shook the plastic bag in his face, battering down Joel’s Don’t I get any privacy then and It’s not even illegal in lots of places with How dare you bring this crap into our house, how dare you put our family at risk like this? Joel turning away, slamming the front door, yelling something about his friends understanding him and one day he’d live with them and never see either of us again, pausing to drain the milk carton into his mouth and fling it furiously into our front garden. I ran into the front room to watch him go, and our eyes met through the glass and in that moment I saw the little boy he still was, despite being fifteen and taller than I was. Help me, Mum. Help me. I need you. And I would have gone after him. I would have run down the street and grabbed his hand, told him it was all right, it was all right, I’d call the school and say he was ill, and we’d get the bus into town, go to a café and get some breakfast and talk about it. But then John was there beside me, and when I tried to follow Joel he put his arms around me in what felt almost like a hug, and he said, “Not this time, pet. We’re at the end of our tether here. We need to get tougher with him. Let him go. We’ll talk about it tonight.” And his embrace was so warm and solid and comforting, and I was so tired, and he seemed so sure he was right. So I stayed in the living room with John. I did not follow Joel down the street. I did not phone the school to say Joel was ill. We did not get the bus or go to a café. Joel went to school, registered for his first and second lesson, went out at lunchtime, saying he was going to meet someone, then vanished. His official status is mysterious. Neither definitely living nor definitely dead, he is simply missing. One of the thousands who vanish and do not return. The fortune-teller recognised me, that’s all. She knows my story, which is also Joel’s story. She was tormenting me with what she knew, and what she knew I wanted to hear, dabbling her hard nicotine fingers in the pool of my neediness, fishing with her cold clever hooks for the money in my purse and the hope in my heart. She was punishing me for making it my calling to protect others from the spiritualists and the mediums and the spirit-channellers, the cold-readers and frauds and the vultures who scour the newspapers, the deceivers, the liars, the hungry ones, the greedy ones. I know all this. I should write this up as a blog post, another warning in a long chain of warnings, and then I should forget every jaggedy hurting word. But instead I stand still and silent in the heart of the Fair and stare at the tawdry plush creatures that dangle bright and hopeful from the booths and replay her words, locking them into place in my head. I’m a fool, and a hypocrite, and I so desperately want to believe that what she told me is true. I want this to be the last Christmas I will spend alone, waiting up until midnight in the vain and foolish belief that at last, this year, my lost boy will come home to me. THANKS AGAIN TO CASSANDRA PARKIN AND IMOGEN AT LEGEND PRESS. DON'T FORGET TO CHECK OUT ALL OF THE OTHER STOPS ALONG THE WAY!!!   Release date - 28th October (Paperback)
Book length - 265 pages Publisher - Matador Books Book Depository - www.bookdepository.com Amazon UK - www.amazon.co.uk Amazon US - www.amazon.com *I want to thank Marilyn Bennett for providing me with a copy of this book for review. ABOUT THE BOOK Life has taken a rather positive turn for Grace. She is now working her socks off in a job she enjoys. She has also quite possibly met the man of her dreams. So when she reluctantly has to dress up as her granny alter ego for one last time, it can only spell trouble. Grace is forced to confront her bad timing, bad luck and suitably questionable choices all head on. Motherhood takes Grace on a new life-changing adventure, one that ensures she grows up, but also presents an opportunity for her to try and create a longed for family, which is almost within her reach. But will she succeed? MY REVIEW The sequel to Granny With Benefits, I was delighted when I learned that MUMMY WITH BENEFITS was released and I couldn't wait to jump right in and continue on Grace's journey with her. Emotional, absorbing, and sometimes seriously frustrating, MUMMY WITH BENEFITS by Marilyn Bennett is an engaging and compelling read and was not what I expected at all!! Life has certainly changed for Grace who now has a career that she loves and a beautiful baby on the way. It certainly seems that her life is going in the right direction but as always with Grace, things just never seem to be straightforward. For starters, Grace is unsure who the father of the baby actually is, although she certainly has her hopes set on one man in particular. But as the messiness of life overtakes them all, Grace becomes the more mature, responsible adult that she has always wanted to be, but will she end up with the man of her dreams or discover that happiness doesn't necessarily lie where she thinks? This story made me tear up and made me angry on Grace's behalf when certain characters show their true colours and treat her badly. But I loved watching Grace blossom into a stronger, more independent woman throughout this book as she falls in love with her little girl and is determined to make a good life for them. With ups and downs, confrontations and misunderstandings, MUMMY WITH BENEFITS by Marilyn Bennett is another cracking read from this author with plenty of unexpected developments throughout to keep you on your toes and leave you wanting more, and I really hope this is not the last we see of Grace and her family. Author Bio: I have worked in television production for over 20 years. Working on all kinds of shows and with lots of great people, but three years ago I decided I wanted to do something different. My career has pretty much revolved around working on other people's creative projects and I suddenly got the urge to find out what I was capable of. I was quite the bookworm as a child, but my first trip to the cinema changed all of that and the magic of the small and large screen beckoned and I never looked back. So fast-forward a few decades, I decided that I would write and produce a short film about an elderly woman who ran a dating agency. This morphed into my debut novel, Granny with Benefits and it's sequel, which will be published later this year. I broke a lifelong tradition of never quite finishing something, which has been an accomplishment in itself! I hope you enjoy my books, as much as I have truly loved writing them. For more information: Website - www.marilynbennettauthor.co.uk Twitter - twitter.com/mbennett_author Facebook - www.facebook.com/Granny-with-Benefits-669946656544754/  Release date - October 2016
Book length - 343 pages Publisher - www.impress-books.co.uk Book Depository - www.bookdepository.com Amazon UK - www.amazon.co.uk Amazon US - www.amazon.com *I want to thank Natalie from Impress Books for providing me with a copy of this book for review. ABOUT THE BOOK 1093. The three sons of William the Conqueror – Robert Duke of Normandy, William II King of England and Count Henry – fight with each other for control of the Anglo-Norman kingdom created by their father’s conquest. Meanwhile, Nest ferch Rhys, the daughter of the last independent Welsh king, is captured during the Norman assault of her lands. Raised with her captors, the powerful Montgommery family, Nest is educated to be the wife of Arnulf of Montgommery, in spite of her pre-existing betrothal to a Welsh prince. Who will Nest marry and can the Welsh rebels oust the Normans? Daughter of the Last King is the first in the Conquest Trilogy. MY REVIEW CONQUEST - DAUGHTER OF THE LAST KING by Tracey Warr is a richly detailed, historical story of life, love, and power in 11th Century Anglo-Norman kingdom. When Nest fetch Rhys is nothing but a child, her world and everyone she calls family is destroyed at the hands of the Normans, and she finds herself reduced from a Welsh Princess to a hostage that will be bartered when the time is right. Treated well and embraced by the Montgommery family, her captors, Nest blossoms from a child to a woman in their home, and she struggles with how that affects her. She hates them for what they have done to her family, yet she cares for some of them as they have become the only family she has left. Knowing that she will be married off at some stage, all she can hope for is that she will once again find herself in a position to help her own people and find some peace back where she belongs. But Nest has no idea how many people will yearn to have her, and the lengths that they will go to to get what they want ... CONQUEST - DAUGHTER OF THE LAST KING by Tracey Warr is not a historical romance but a harsh, realistic, factually-based historical story that will grip you from start to finish. Reading this story I became hooked by the workings of power, the betrayals and lies, and the treatment of women in the King's court, and the author really lets you step back into the past to a much harsher time. I can only imagine the amount of research that was involved in writing such an absorbing historical novel and I doff my hat to the author for succeeding in such a huge task. There are many characters in this book but you soon get the hang of who is who, and I became very invested in what would happen to Nest who has limited options but still portrays a steely strength of spirit that is admirable. With plenty of danger, subterfuge, and shocking revelations, CONQUEST - DAUGHTER OF THE KING by Tracey Warr is an outstanding piece of historical fiction and I eagerly await the next book in this series!! Author Bio: Tracey Warr's historical novels, Almodis the Peaceweaver, The Viking Hostage, and Conquest: Daughter of the Last King, are published by Impress Books, and based on incidents in the lives of real medieval people. Her writing awards include Author’s Foundation Award, Literature Wales Writer’s Bursary, Rome Film Festival Book Initiative, Santander Research Award, and the Impress Prize for Fiction shortlist. Her future fiction novella, Meanda, is published as an ebook in English and French. She also writes on contemporary art and is the editor of The Artist’s Body (Phaidon) and co-editor of Setting the Fell on Fire (Editions North) and Remote Performances in Nature and Architecture (Routledge). Her essays on contemporary artists have been published by Black Dog, Palgrave Macmillan, Merrell/Barbican, Tate, Manchester University Press and Intellect. She writes articles and reviews for Times Higher Education, Historical Novels Review and The Displaced Nation. Before becoming a full-time writer she was Senior Lecturer in Contemporary Art at Oxford Brookes University and Dartington College of Arts, and Guest Professor at Bauhaus University, Weimar and Piet Zwart Institute, Rotterdam. She is currently teaching art history for St Francis University’s Study Abroad programme in Ambialet, France. She is a member of the Society of Authors, the Royal Society of Literature and the Historical Novel Society. For more information: Website - traceywarrwriting.com Twitter - twitter.com/TraceyWarr1 Facebook - www.facebook.com/traceywarrhistoricalwriting/?ref=br_rs  Release date - February 2017 Book length - 378 pages Book Depository - www.bookdepository.com Amazon UK - www.amazon.co.uk Amazon US - www.amazon.com *I want to thank N.J. Simmonds for providing me with a copy of this book for review. ABOUT THE BOOK What if every coincidence was a tiny miracle? What if our life was already mapped out before birth? What if someone had the power to change the path we were destined to follow? Ella hates her new life in London, she misses Spain and she’s struggling to get over her past until she meets Zac. He has always loved her but he isn’t meant to be part of Ella’s story. Not this time. Not ever. Little does she know that his secret is the one thing that will tear them apart and will force her to live in a world that no longer makes sense, a world more dangerous than she could ever imagine. The first in a thrilling new YA fantasy series, The Path Keeper is a tale of passion and secrets, of first loves and second chances, and the invisible threads that bind us. Can love ever be stronger than fate? MY REVIEW It has been a while since a YA/Fantasy book completely bowled me over but I am excited to say that that is exactly what happened when I read THE PATH KEEPER by N.J. Simmonds. Enthralling from the very beginning, this story of love and desperation sucked me in and kept me entranced for the entire story, and that ending left me desperate for more!!! Ella is not happy with her new life in London, regardless of the fact that she wants for nothing thanks to her gentle step-father. She just doesn't feel complete here. Until she met him. Zac becomes her everything in a matter of days and Ella will do whatever she must to be with the man who lights her up from the inside out. But Zac is not who he appears to be and the deeper Ella falls for him, the more Zac tries to walk away. He will do anything to keep her safe and being together is the most dangerous thing that could ever happen ... THE PATH KEEPER by N.J. Simmonds is totally addictive and as soon as I finished it I desperately searched for the next book in this series (Son of Secrets which has no release date yet 😩). The characters are fascinating and well thought out as I longed to know more about Ella and Zac as their pasts were revealed as the story developed. The fantasy element is expertly handled as their two worlds collide with unimaginable consequences. This story is sizzling hot so is definitely for the older end of YA readers but it is a tale that will cross genres with its beautiful story of life, destiny, and love that consumes you, body and soul. THE PATH KEEPER by N.J. Simmonds is a must-read for fantasy fans everywhere and I cannot wait to see what will happen next!! Author Bio: Natali Drake is an accredited member of The Society of Authors and writes as N J Simmonds. She is a freelance brand consultant and writer and has had her work published in various UK newspapers, websites and publications including The Mother Book. In 2015 she co-founded The Glass House Girls, an online magazine for women who need to be heard. Originally from North London, Natali now divides her time between her two homes in the South of Spain and The Netherlands where she lives with her husband and two daughters. The Path Keeper is her first novel from the series, her second book Son Of Secrets will be available from late 2017. For more information: Website - njsimmonds.com Twitter - twitter.com/NJSimmondsTPK Facebook - www.facebook.com/NjsimmondsAuthor/ Instagram - www.instagram.com/njsimmonds_ya_author/  Release date - 6th November 2017
Book length - 305 pages Publisher - Self-Published Amazon UK - www.amazon.co.uk Amazon US - www.amazon.com *I want to thank Alison Brodie for providing me with a copy of this book for review. ABOUT THE BOOK Ruthless, capricious, and loyal. Zenka is a Hungarian pole-dancer with a dark past. When cranky London mob boss, Jack Murray, saves her life she vows to become his guardian angel – whether he likes it or not. Happily, she now has easy access to pistols and shotguns. Jack learns he has a son, Nicholas, a male nurse with a heart of gold. Problem is, Nicholas is a wimp. Zenka takes charge. Using her feminine wiles and gangland contacts, she aims to turn Nicholas into a son any self-respecting crime boss would be proud of. And she succeeds! Nicholas transforms from pussycat to mad dog, falls in love with Zenka, and finds out where the bodies are buried – because he buries them. He’s learning fast that sometimes you have to kill, or be killed. As his life becomes more terrifying, questions have to be asked: How do you tell a crime boss you don’t want to be his son? And is Zenka really who she says she is? MY REVIEW ZENKA by Alison Brodie is a mad-cap, crazy, whirlwind of a novel that is part crime fiction, part humour, and part romance, that will hold your attention from beginning to end. Nicholas is a kind-hearted young man who works as a nurse and is gently spoken with everyone he meets. Because of this, he has a flatmate who drives him round the bend and a girlfriend who bullies him relentlessly, and he grieves for his beloved mother who abandoned him. But one day he wins a luxury car and it begins a crazy adventure that will make Nicholas really look at his life and stand up for himself in a way that he has never done before. And then he meets Zenka who takes his very breath away ... Jack Murray may be a vicious mobster but he is a mobster with principles. After saving the beautiful Zenka, she becomes the daughter he never had, the family that he never had. But when he receives a letter from his past, suddenly Jack has everything he ever wanted. A son called Nicholas. Wanting to make him proud, Jack is determined to do the right thing but in the meantime, he instructs Zenka with the task of toughening up his boy. Because if he is going to pass down his kingdom, Nicholas needs to get a little tougher. But as their two worlds collide, both Nicholas and Jack will learn so much about themselves and those that are close to them, and it may have very unexpected consequences for them both ... ZENKA by Alison Brodie is a fast-paced, gritty, story of family, lies, love, and some murderous mobsters thrown in for good measure. I laughed out loud, I cringed, and I became invested in what would happen to all of the characters in this tale and I thoroughly enjoyed my foray into this particular underworld. The narrative is told from different characters points of view which makes this story authentic and relatable, and I particularly enjoyed Zenka's letters to her friend! ZENKA by Alison Brodie is a cracking read and I highly recommend it. Author Bio: Alison Brodie is a Scot, with French Huguenot ancestors on her mother’s side. Brodie is an international, best-selling author. Her books have been published by Hodder & Stoughton (UK), Heyne (Germany) and Unieboek (Holland). Reviews for her debut, FACE TO FACE: “Fun to snuggle up with” –GOOD HOUSEKEEPING Pick of the Paperbacks. “Vane but wildly funny leading lady” -Scottish Daily Mail. Brodie has now gone “indie”. Here are some editorial reviews for her recent books. BRAKE FAILURE: “Masterpiece of humor” -Midwest Book Review THE DOUBLE: “Proof of her genius in writing fiction” -San Francisco Book Review. ZENKA (to be released 6 Nov, 2017): “ZENKA is top of my list for best fiction this year. If Tina Fey and Simon Pegg got together to write a dark and hilarious mobster story with a happy ending, ZENKA would be the result.” -Lauren Sapala, WriteCity For more information: Website - www.alisonbrodiebooks.com/untitled Twitter - twitter.com/alisonbrodie2 Facebook - www.facebook.com/AlisonBrodieAuthor/?fref=ts&ref=br_tf Read on for a little snippet of what you can expect from Zenka ... EXCERPT Jack glanced sharply at the gun in Zenka’s hand. ‘Put that down!’ ‘No.’ ‘I didn’t order those shooters for your benefit.’ She shrugged and picked up another gun. Jack bristled. ‘I told you to wait in the car!’ ‘Car boring.’ ‘You can’t have that. It’s illegal.’ She was aiming the gun at the wall, one eye closed as she looked along the barrel. ‘I need gun to protect myself from people.’ ‘No, Zenka, people need gun to protect themselves from you.’ She laughed, a full-throated laugh, her face suddenly alive and sparkling. Jack was staring at her in fury, but he was helpless. How can you reprimand someone so beautiful, so fearless? *I want to thank Alison Brodie for giving us this taster for you all to enjoy. #Blogtour #Review #Guestpost: Rocco and the Nightingale by Adrian Magson @adrianmagson1 @DomePress24/10/2017  Release date - 19th October 2017 Book length - 272 pages Publisher - www.thedomepress.com Book Depository - www.bookdepository.com Amazon UK - www.amazon.co.uk Amazon US - www.amazon.com I want to thank Emily from The Dome Press for providing me with a copy of this book for review. ABOUT THE BOOK When a minor Paris criminal is found stabbed in the neck on a country lane in Picardie it looks like another case for Inspector Lucas Rocco. But instead he is called off to watch over a Gabonese government minister, hiding out in France following a coup. Meanwhile, Rocco discovers that there is a contract on his head taken out by an Algerian gang leader with a personal grudge against him. MY REVIEW ROCCO AND THE NIGHTINGALE by Adrian Magson is a compelling story of lies, murder, and expert detective work set at a time when there were no mobile phones or computers to aid the police force in their investigations. When an unidentified body is discovered in the rural idyll of Picardie in northern France, Inspector Rocco and his team throw themselves into the search for the killer. Unfortunately for Rocco, the Interior Ministry has other plans for him and he finds himself babysitting a foreign dignitary who needs to hide out from his enemies. But Rocco is not one to be dissuaded and as he continues to dig into the murder case, he seems to find more questions rather than answers. But there is so much more to this case than first meets the eye, and it is not long before Rocco finds himself at the centre of it all, as the main target. I thoroughly enjoyed this novel as it really gave me an insight into the in-depth police work that was involved in the 1960's. The characters of this community are intriguing and they make you want to know more about them. Inspector Rocco is a great main character as there are so many sides to him and he keeps so much to himself, but on each page, you feel like he is letting you into his world little by little. The setting really worked for me as this beautiful piece of quiet countryside is not where you would expect to find the criminal underworld but it shows how looks can always be deceiving. ROCCO AND THE NIGHTINGALE by Adrian Magson is the fifth book in this series but can easily be read as a standalone - although when you find such a gripping series as this, I think you should treat yourself to the lot! ROCCO AND THE NIGHTINGALE by Adrian Magson is an absorbing detective story which is thought-provoking and perfect for crime fiction fans that enjoy a puzzle. Definitely worth reading!! Author Bio: Adrian Magson is a British crime-writer, his books often involve conspiracies, and have two repeating main characters - Riley Gavin, a young female investigative reporter, and Frank Palmer, a former RMP (British Royal Military Policeman) now a private investigator. For more information: Website - www.adrianmagson.com Twitter - twitter.com/adrianmagson1 Facebook - www.facebook.com/adrianmagsonbooks/ READ ON FOR A FASCINATING GUEST POST ABOUT SETTING FROM THE AUTHOR HIMSELF... Picardie – a long way from Paris Actually, it’s not that far – at least, in driving time. A couple of hours or 160 km (100 miles). Imagine London to Birmingham, Liverpool to Hull or Bristol to Plymouth. But in real terms, and back in the 1960s (the era of ‘Rocco and the Nightingale’ and the other books in the series), it’s a whole different world. People didn’t travel as much then, and families stayed together more, even though the 2nd World War and France’s Indochina war (1946-1954) had done much to fracture communities. But why pitch a Paris detective into a rural backwater like Picardie? Because I wanted to explore the different fields (literally, in some cases), and apart from writing 5 London-based crime novels (the Riley Gavin series) and several spy thrillers, I fancied a change. And having lived and gone to school there, it seemed a natural choice. City criminals and crimes have a certain slant; they occur in busy areas, among narrow streets, close and often secretive communities, with pickings close to hand. Banks, shops, payrolls – sometimes even other criminals – all are within reach, and they’re never far from somewhere to use as a bolt-hole. The downside is that there are a lot of police about. It’s different out in the sticks. Police are fewer, strangers get noticed, traffic is far less, sometimes non-existent at certain times of day, and the pickings for organised criminals are slimmer. But crimes, while having a more opportunistic bent, often carry some history. Memories are long, feuds stretch far back, and disputes might arise out of often petty jealousies and perceived slights. But crime is crime, and Inspector Lucas Rocco has been sent to Picardie (see ‘Death on the Marais’) to lend his expertise. In the end, he finds that the countryside, tranquil, slow-moving and seemingly innocent, can hide a multitude of sins and dangers, especially to a stranger. I didn’t want to make Poissons-les-Marais, where Rocco is based, a sort of French Midsomer Norton. Rather, I wanted to reflect the changes going on in France and how they affected rural life, with the spread of crime, echoes of the wars which were still being felt, and how an experienced cop like Rocco, accustomed to dealing with city gangs, got to grips with secretive, even isolated offences, often with few pointers (at least to an outsider like him) towards a suspect. And that’s where Rocco’s local contacts come in, in the form of Mme Denis, his elderly neighbour, and some of the other villagers, especially the local rural policeman, Officer Lamotte. But crime doesn’t come only from within the community; crime drifts in from outside, unbidden, unwelcome, be it Algerian killers, London gangsters, professional assassins (The Nightingale), and even those connected to the state with their own interests at heart. Rocco, out on this rural limb, has to deal with not only orders from the all-powerful Interior Ministry, which likes to shove its fist in from time to time, but a new boss, Commissaire Massin, whose life he saved in Indochina and who resents Rocco’s arrival. And then there’s the criminal not-so-elite but every bit as lethal, who can appear out of nowhere and threaten to tear this community – and his life apart – apart. But he’s not cut off from Paris altogether. He does keep tabs on city events and past contacts, and sometimes, they serve to help him survive when all the pointers are that he might not. I hope readers enjoy this new book in the series, and thank you for letting me in. AM *I want to thank Adrian Magson for taking the time to write such an interesting piece for my blog today. Don't forget to check out all of the other stops along the way on this wonderful blog tour!   Release date - 6th September 2017 Book length - 338 pages Publisher - poolbeg.com Book Depository - www.bookdepository.com Amazon UK - www.amazon.co.uk Amazon US - www.amazon.com *I want to thank Cat Hogan and Poolbeg Crimson for providing me with a copy of this book for review. ABOUT THE BOOK Scott makes enemies everywhere. Powerful people want him dead. He’s coming back to Ireland to finish what he started. But first, he must make it out of Marrakech alive. Jen knows Scott will come back. Every day, she waits. He almost killed her last time and, fuelled by hate and arrogance, he’s not a man to ever just move on. He will kill her and he will kill her young son. But her husband and friends believe she has spiralled into paranoia. So she knows, when he returns, she’ll face the psychopath alone. In this powerful thriller, Hogan plunges us into the world and mind of her psychopathic killer from the first line and relentlessly tightens the tension until the very last page. MY REVIEW At the end of Cat Hogan's first novel, They All Fall Down, my heart was in my throat as we knew that this was not the end of Scott, so when I heard that Cat had a new book coming out, I couldn't contain my excitement - Scott was back and I needed to read this book now!!! As always with a sequel, there was a small part of me that was worried that it would not be as gripping or compelling as the first book but my fears were certainly groundless. THERE WAS A CROOKED MAN made my skin crawl, my heart race, and my housework fall into disarray as I couldn't do anything but read this mesmeric story of twisted hate, revenge, and terror. Scott has landed on his feet as usual and is living it large in Marrakech, running many horrific illegal operations and revelling in his plans for domination and revenge. But his arrogance is always his downfall and when he finds himself needing a quick getaway, Scott moves up his plans to revisit his homeland of Ireland, and finally finish what he started ... Ever since Jen discovered that Scott was still alive her life has stopped. Strong and independent Jen has morphed into a bundle of anxiety, afraid to step outside her door, panicking at every turn, and trusting nobody, least of all herself. She knows that Scott will never give up and will return someday to destroy her family, and as her husband begs her to move on, Jen knows that she cannot. Scott is coming back and this time someone will die. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up throughout this entire story and I bow down to the exquisite writing of Cat Hogan which will make you feel every heightened emotion possible from beginning to end. This series is the perfect candidate for adaptation and I really hope to see it on my screen someday in the future. The characters are all-consuming, even those that you hate, and the settings are so expertly detailed that they come alive to your senses as you read. THERE WAS A CROOKED MAN by Cat Hogan is everything I wanted and more from this sequel and is topping my list of best books of 2017. My advice? BUY IT NOW!!!!!!!!!!!! Author Bio: Cat Hogan was born into a home of bookworms and within spitting distance of the sea. Her father, Pat, a lightship man, instilled in her a love of the sea and the stars. Her mother, Mag, taught her how to read before she could walk. Writing, storytelling and a wild imagination is part of her DNA. The beautiful County Wexford, Ireland is home to Cat, her musician partner Dave, two beautiful sons Joey and Arthur, and her tomcat Jim Hawkins. There they live a life of storytelling, song and adventure. The other love of Cat’s life is food. A self-professed foodie, there is nothing she loves more than feeding a houseful of friends round her kitchen table. When she is not conjuring up imaginary friends, she can be found supporting local musicians and writers of which there is an abundance in her home town. For more information: Website - www.catherinahogan.com Twitter - twitter.com/kittycathogan Facebook - www.facebook.com/catherinahoganwordsmith/ Instagram - www.instagram.com/cathogan1/ Don't forget to check out the other stops along the way on this gripping blog tour!!  |
WelcomeHi fellow bookworms. My name is Linda and I'm a reviewer & blogger, wife & mother who loves all things books! 
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