You know, I ‘meet’ some lovely folk either virtually or in real life as a result of blogging and Alex Pearl is one of the best. I’m delighted to welcome Alex to Linda’s Book Bag today to chat with me about one of his books.

Let’s see what he told me:

Staying in with Alex Pearl

Welcome to Linda’s Book Bag Alex. Thank you for agreeing to stay in with me.     

Thank you for having me over, Linda.

Tell me, which of your books have you brought along to share this evening and why have you chosen it?

I was going to bring along one of my recent novels but ended up bringing my very first simply because it was the one that got the ball rolling, as it were. It’s a novella for children and parents and its title is Sleeping with the Blackbirds. It bears no resemblance to my more recent novels that include a fairly dark thriller based on the 7/7 London terrorist attack, and two comic murder mysteries set in the London advertising scene of the ‘80s.

But I suppose there are themes like family dysfunction, fractured relationships and deceit that seem to creep into all my novels. That’s not to say that they are all terribly dark because they’re not, but I suppose their inclusion invariably makes for interesting and credible storytelling.

Those sound like universal themes Alex. How did you come to write Sleeping with the Blackbirds?

The story behind Sleeping with the Blackbirds is one I’ve shared several times over because it’s a little out of the ordinary. You see, I wrote it almost by accident back in 2011. In fact, it’s no exaggeration to say that I started writing it as a way of simply occupying my mind and looking busy when the advertising agency I was then working for was in turmoil. For most of my professional life, I had been employed as a copywriter writing ads for agencies with my art college partner with whom I had worked for over 30 years. In 2011 the large agency we were at suddenly announced that it was entering into the process of a global merger with one of New York’s oldest agencies. One bright spark at the time equated this merger of ailing giants to the Hindenburg coming to the rescue of the Titanic.

Oh dear! What happened?

As a result of this massive merger, work dried up and copywriters like myself were left twiddling our thumbs. To make matters worse, my art director with whom I had worked since we started in 1980, decided to leave the industry entirely and become an artist. So to some extent, writing something for my amusement was a form of escapism. It was also an opportunity to write something that no client or account director would be able to change for the worse. This is the constant bane of copywriters’ lives. We all have to fight for our work but invariably make compromises and see our ideas including headlines and body copy watered down. And one of the things I particularly disliked was being told that the tone of my copy wasn’t modern enough. Call me old-fashioned but I’m not a big fan of adopting the language of the street and being provocative to simply make a lot of noise and turn heads. Campaigns like the infamous FCUK campaign for French Connection UK  in my humble opinion are pretty awful. Other than getting an expletive into every headline on billboards, I’ve no idea what French Connection was trying to do. And it certainly wasn’t saying anything about the brand that could be construed as being positive.

I agree. Trying to shock for the sake of it feels unintelligent to me. Also, I’ve been having a debate recently about the fact I don’t want to tell the plot of a novel in my reviews. Sometimes you have to fight your own corner.

So when writing this story while supposedly at work I deliberately set out to write in a style redolent of writers like Clive King and Richmal Crompton. I’d argue that their writing isn’t old-fashioned so much as timeless, and their influence is evident in some of the most successful writers today including J.K. Rowling.

Having written Sleeping with the Blackbirds what can we expect from an evening in with it?

Sleeping with the Blackbirds is about an 11-year-old schoolboy Roy Nuttersley who has been dealt a pretty raw deal. While hideous parents show him precious little in the way of love and affection, school bullies make his life a misery. So Roy takes comfort in looking after the birds in his garden, and in return, the birds hatch a series of ambitious schemes to protect their new friend. As with the best-laid plans, however, these get blown completely off course – and as a result, the lives of both Roy and his arch tormentor, Harry Hodges are turned upside down – but in a surprisingly good way.

Sleeping with the Blackbirds sounds super. How did it get from being a distraction for you to being published?

By the time I was eventually given my marching orders from the agency, I had been writing this modern-day urban fantasy for 12 months. So on parting company with my erstwhile employer, I carried out of the building my modest crate of possessions including a few laminated press ads, a battered Collins Dictionary and a thick file of A4 typed sheets entitled Sleeping with the Blackbirds. I hadn’t thought about publishing it until I finished writing and it was something I did not know about. Like all writers writing in a vacuum, I couldn’t be sure if it was any good and worthy of publishing. My daughter had read it enthusiastically and enjoyed it. But nobody else had read it. So I racked my brains. Who could I ask to read it who knows about writing? And then I thought of George Layton the actor and writer who I used to use quite a lot back in the late 80s for voice-overs. George is a very talented writer and his collections of semi-autobiographical short stories about a child growing up in Manchester after the war (The Fib, The Swap, and The Trick) are wonderful and have been included on the national school curriculum. It was a bit of a longshot but I searched for him online and found a contact email address on his website, so I sent him a cheeky short message in the vain hope that he might respond. To my astonishment he replied the next day. And I remember very clearly the first line of his email:

Dear Alex,

I’d be lying if I said I remembered you…

This made me chuckle.

Me too. What else did he say?

But he then went on to say that he’d be more than happy to read through my manuscript and asked if I could pop it over to him one evening. As luck would have it, he lived no more than 10 minutes away from me by car, so a few days later, I went over with my manuscript and knocked on his door. He answered and beckoned me in. He was exactly as I remembered him – very charming and chatty. He sat me down in a conservatory and offered me a generous glass of red wine. And we chatted for about an hour. He was catching a train to Manchester the following day and said he’d read my manuscript on the train and get back to me. He was as good as his word. A couple of days later he sent me an email saying that he’d enjoyed it and wanted to share it with his agent. And then went as far as asking if I’d like him to write a byline when it gets published to stick on the front cover.

So did this lead to immediate publication?

Having received such words of encouragement from a highly respected and critically acclaimed bestseller does wonders to your confidence, but it was all to be short-lived. From that point onwards, every letter I received back from literary agents (including) George’s rejected my submission. So it was at this point that I considered publishing through a small independent publisher called PenPress in Brighton that an old work colleague and good friend Hugh Salmon who was now the co-founder of Lovereading.co.uk, had told me about.

Oo! We have something in common. Reviewing for Lovereading.co.uk was what got me into blogging and my first ever post was about them!

PenPress duly published the book as a paperback and I arranged a legal contract with the publisher to get them to donate my royalties directly to Centrepoint, the homeless charity for young people. This seemed like a fitting charity since the book touches on the subject of homelessness. However, it was shortly after this that my wife woke up one morning and couldn’t move. 24 hours later she was having emergency surgery by one of the UK’s leading neurologists, Mr Colin Shief. She had a benign spinal tumour on her spine and she’d never be able to walk again. Our lives were thrown into turmoil and it was some years before I’d discover that no royalties had been paid to Centrepoint by the publisher. To this day, I don’t know how many, if any,  copies were ever sold. The publisher went out of business in 2014. So I subsequently self-published through Amazon’s CreatSpace (now Kindle Direct Publishing).

Goodness me! That sounds like a story of its own right there. I’m so sorry to hear about your wife. 

It was later longlisted by the Millennium Book Viral Awards and selected by The Indie Author Project for distribution to libraries across the US and Canada. A good friend also kindly made a rather lovely promotional video and arranged for the English actor Nigel Havers to read a few extracts from the book. You can watch and listen to these here.

That must have been very exciting. Did others give their views too?

Eventually, the book would garner further endorsements. Here is a small sample:

A delightful fairy story that deals sensitively and compellingly with real, modern-day issues like homelessness, single mums and abusive parents.                                                                      

George Layton, actor, screenwriter and author

Its wonderful images and thought-provoking scenes moved me to tears.                                           

Bramwell Tovey,

Grammy and Juno Award-winning composer, conductor and broadcaster

I devoured this wonderful middle-grade novel in less than 24 hours, and I loved it, though (or perhaps because) it turned out to be far more challenging than I originally thought it would be. Deeper. More profound. Touching on topics such as bullying, intellectual disabilities, illegitimacy, and parents in the prison system, it couldn’t be more contemporary, yet it somehow has that old-fashioned feel so beloved by most fantasy readers. 

Kelly Wittmann, author of An Authentic Experience

Beautifully written, poignant and magical, Alex Pearl’s writing style flows with the hand of a seasoned veteran. It pulls you in and never lets go.                                                                           

Patrick Hodges, author of Jushua’s Island and The Bax Mysteries

I really loved this novel. I laughed out loud multiple times (which I rarely do while reading) and I was very moved at times as well.                                                                                                    

Valerie Cotnoir, author of Your Home is Here, The War Within, Everlasting and Bridget’s Journey

The strength of the author’s voice held me captivated long after turning the last page. With the wit of JK Rowling, Alex Pearl has definitely earned his place in the young adult fiction hall of fame.                                                                                                                                                         

Lisa McCombs, Readers’ Favorite

You must be delighted with those reactions Alex. 

What else have you brought along and why have you brought it?

I thought I’d bring along a Victorian paperweight that used to belong to my grandmother. And the reason I’ve brought it is very simple.  It was the object, which was the subject of a short piece I wrote and presented, on the last day of an intense three-day writing course back in 2009. The course was arranged by Orange the telecommunications company (now EE), which was one of the clients I used to write for quite extensively and the workshop itself was run by the writer John Simmons. As the only bloke in attendance, I stood out like a sore thumb, and from the outset, we were tasked with a variety of challenging writing tasks with very tight deadlines, some of which were no more than two minutes. Among other things, we had to pen an opening paragraph to a novel, a business letter, a piece of poetry, copy for a press ad, a radio script, a presentation, a speech, and so on. And we had to present our work to the rest of the class at the end of each task. As the course progressed and the group relaxed, we all got to know each other a little better, and the quality of the writing steadily improved as a result.

That sounds like a baptism of fire!

We were told from the off that we would all be expected to use our time outside the workshop to develop a piece about a particular item that had special personal associations or memories attached to it. And on the final day we would all have five minutes each to read our compositions to the rest of the class.

The piece I wrote revolved around an old Victorian paperweight that had featured in my childhood, and like many other contributions presented on that final day, mine was loaded with emotion. The exercise was liberating and taught me that any subject – no matter how seemingly mundane, can form the basis of a compelling and engaging piece of writing. And it was this short piece, Family Reflections, that became one of the first pieces to appear on my blog. http://rhubarbrabbit.blogspot.co.uk

I love the fact your blog is rhubarbrabbit! Are you prepared to share that early paperweight piece with us Alex?

You can read it here:

Family Reflections

It was purchased before the war by a balding, stocky man with a warm smile and a booming, resonant voice. His name was Bertram Davis – though his original Russian surname was the more exotic Bolzwinick. He was the grandfather I never knew. By all accounts, he was the life and soul of the party; a witty chap with a story to tell and a joke to crack. Until that is, life was cruelly cut short by asthma at the tender age of 54.

I was born into this world five years after his departure. According to my grandmother, Bert would spend many happy hours pottering in dusty antique shops on Mile End Road and was in the habit of buying things on a whim.

As a young child, I remember setting eyes on my grandfather’s purchase and being drawn by its mesmerising contents and the way it magnified and distorted itself. This shiny, glassy orb with its intricate geometry of bright lapis lazuli, pink and white sunk deep into a sea of solid glass, never ceased to fascinate my young eyes. How did the coloured glass get inside the see-through glass? And how could this iridescent globule of sheer beauty have no more meaningful role in life than a mere paperweight?                                 

For many years it was the family tradition for all my uncles and aunts and cousins on my mother’s side of the family to descend in droves on my grandmother’s house every Saturday afternoon for tea. It was invariably a jovial affair with lively children, lively conversation, a real fire sizzling and crackling in the grate and, of course, my grandmother’s famous apple and blackberry pie with its delicate coat of latticed pastry.

My grandmother was a fiercely independent woman with a heart of gold and a particularly soft spot for her short-sighted grandson. So when she passed away quite suddenly and unexpectedly when I was 14, Saturday afternoons never quite felt the same again.                                                                                             

I can recollect helping my father clear her large Victorian house and standing on the threshold of the sitting room where the fire once danced and laughter once filled the air. All that was left was a bare room with bare floorboards. A room stripped of its personality; stripped of life itself.

Some weeks later the paperweight that had sat for so many years on my grandmother’s sideboard, now found a new home on my bedroom desk. Sometimes I look into it and try and make out fleeting reflections of those joyful childhood memories.                       

Today, 35 years on my mother, now showing the early signs of dementia, lets slip the darkest of family secrets. Her father with whom she was incredibly close did not die from asthma. This jovial man who still laughs and smiles to this day from those black and white snapshots from yesteryear, actually took his own life – following a serious bout of depression.

It explains a lot. It explains why my grandmother’s top floor was always occupied by lodgers – since life assurance policies are never honoured in the event of suicide.                                                                       

More significantly, it also explains our family tradition and why every Saturday afternoon all her grandchildren would descend and fill her house with laughter.

That’s a wonderful insight into your family Alex. What impact on your future writing did it have?

To date, my blog has attracted more than 85,000 views from all corners of the globe. But more significantly, it got me into a routine of writing outside office hours and perhaps for the first time I began to associate writing with pleasure rather than work. So in this sense, it served as an important catalyst. Had I not written that piece about the paperweight, I don’t think I’d have started the blog, and had I not written that, I don’t think I’d have penned Sleeping with the Blackbirds – or for that matter, my other novels: The Chair Man, A Brand to Die For and One Man Down.

So in no small way, I am very grateful to my old client, John Simmons and that rather old paperweight that now sits on a window ledge in NW London.

How brilliant Alex. Thank you so much for staying in with me to chat about Sleeping with the Blackbirds and being so warm and generous with your answers to my questions. I’ll take a closer look at that paperweight in a moment but first I’ll give readers a few more details about Sleeping with the Blackbirds:

Sleeping with the Blackbirds

Eleven-year-old schoolboy, Roy Nuttersley has been dealt a pretty raw deal. While hideous parents show him precious little in the way of love and affection, school bullies make his life a misery. So Roy takes comfort in looking after the birds in his garden, and in return the birds hatch a series of ambitious schemes to protect their new friend. As with the best-laid plans, however, these get blown completely off course – and as a result the lives of both Roy and his arch tormentor, Harry Hodges are turned upside down – but in a surprisingly good way.

Sleeping with the Blackbirds is available for purchase here.

About Alex Pearl

Alex’s first novel Sleeping with the Blackbirds, a darkly humorous urban fantasy, written for children and young adults, was initially published by PenPress in 2011. It was longlisted by the Millennium Book Awards 2018 and selected by the Indie Author Project in 2019 for distribution to public libraries across the US and Canada. In 2014, his fictionalised account of the first British serviceman to be executed for cowardice during the First World War was published by Mardibooks in its anthology, The Clock Struck War. In 2019, his psychological thriller, The Chair Man, set in London in 2005 following the terrorist attack on its public transport system, was published by Fizgig Press in 2020 and was a Finalist in the 2021 Wishing Shelf Book Awards. During the Covid epidemic, Alex conducted 100 author interviews online to delve into the backgrounds, motivations and working methods of authors across the globe. These interviews were published in 2022 under the title 100 Ways to Write a Book, and all author proceeds are being donated to PEN International. His most recently published novel, A Brand to Die For is a comic murder mystery set in the London advertising world of 1983. It is the first murder mystery set in a London advertising agency since Dorothy L. Sayers penned Murder Must Advertise in 1933. The sequel, One Man Down has been taken up by Roundfire Books and was published on 25 February 2025.

Alex lives in NW London with his wife and two children who are far smarter than their old man. He is quite possibly the only human being on this planet to have been inadvertently locked in a record shop on Christmas Eve.

For further information, visit Alex’s website, follow him on Twitter/X @AlexBPearl and find Alex on TikTok, Instagram and YouTube.

I very rarely reblog one of my reviews, but I have been so remiss about joining blog tours recently whilst I’m struggling to manage everything going on in my life that I was determined to support Rachel of Rachel’s Random Resources in this book birthday blitz for Maid of Steel by Kate Baker.

As well as sharing my review of Maid of Steel once more, there’s also a smashing giveaway (not associated with Linda’s Book Bag) that you will find further down this blog post.

Maid of Steel is available for purchase via the publisher, on Amazon UK, Amazon US and from Waterstones.

Maid Of Steel

It’s 1911 and, against her mother’s wishes, quiet New Yorker Emma dreams of winning the right to vote. She is sent away by her parents in the hope distance will curb her desire to be involved with the growing suffrage movement and told to spend time learning about where her grandparents came from.

Across the Atlantic – Queenstown, southern Ireland – hotelier Thomas dreams of being loved, even noticed, by his actress wife, Alice. On their wedding day, Alice’s father had assured him that adoration comes with time. It’s been eight years. But Alice has plans of her own and they certainly don’t include the fight for equality or her dull husband.

Emma’s arrival in Ireland leads her to discover family secrets and become involved in the Irish Women’s Suffrage Society in Cork. However, Emma’s path to suffrage was never meant to lead to a forbidden love affair…

My Review of Maid of Steel

Emma’s life is about to change.

Maid of Steel opens with exciting drama that I wasn’t expecting, but that drew me in to the narrative instantly and set the tone for Emma’s personality that was developed through the rest of the story. I felt compelled to read on.

I thoroughly enjoyed the plot of Maid of Steel. Firstly it has obviously been assiduously researched so that it is convincing and transports the reader to 1911 with clarity and authority. Kate Baker blends the real events of the era with a fictionalised story that is entertaining and captivating. I had no previous idea about the soldiers’ homes for example. This educational element to Maid of Steel gave it depth and gravitas.

Secondly, Maid of Steel has an entertaining, brisk, episodic plot too that would make it ideal for adaptation to a television series. I could also envision it as a hugely successful west end play in the style of Les Miserables.

I found the characterisation engendered strong reactions in me as a reader. Emma is by no means perfect. She can be foolhardy and reckless in behaviour, but I found I admired her totally. In contrast, I loathed Alice until towards the end of Maid of Steel when I discovered more about her. It was Thomas whom I found most fascinating though because I couldn’t decide how I felt about him. At times he seems weak, almost insipid and I despised him, and then in contrast he is seen to have self-control and moral integrity despite strong feelings and passions so that he is quite admirable even if mercurial. This made him really interesting to consider. Alongside the main characters, the more minor ones are equally realistic and interesting.

Dramatic, pacy story and great characterisation aside, however, I think it’s the sense of society, and specifically social injustice, that hooked me in so entirely. Women’s suffrage, Home Rule, the impact of church, state and societal expectation, sexuality and class all combine into a rich tapestry of fascination, making Maid of Steel a great read.

I was impressed by Maid of Steel because it is highly entertaining. It’s packed with historical detail. It’s dramatic and it gives a credible sense of history through interesting characters. I thoroughly enjoyed reading it.

Giveaway

Win a signed copy of Maid of Steel, candle and lipsil (Open to UK Only)

This giveaway is run through Rachel’s Random Resources and I am obliged to share the following information:

*Terms and Conditions –UK  entries welcome.  Please enter here.  The winner will be selected at random via Rafflecopter from all valid entries and will be notified by Twitter and/or email. If no response is received within 7 days then Rachel’s Random Resources reserves the right to select an alternative winner. Open to all entrants aged 18 or over.  Any personal data given as part of the competition entry is used for this purpose only and will not be shared with third parties, with the exception of the winners’ information. This will passed to the giveaway organiser and used only for fulfilment of the prize, after which time Rachel’s Random Resources will delete the data.  I am not responsible for despatch or delivery of the prize.

About Kate Baker

Maid of Steel is Kate’s first full length novel to be published. She also writes short stories and is presently drafting a second novel.

She writes at a desk covered in to-do lists and lights candles in the hope the lists disappear in the shadows.

She lives in East Anglia in the UK with her husband where they attempt to look after farmland for generations to come.

A small, very small, dog can be frequently found on Kate’s lap. Otis is her first miniature dachshund.

For further information visit Kate’s website, follow Kate on Twitter/X @katefbaker or find her on Facebook and Instagram.

It feels like a very long time ago that I first met L.C. North at a bookish event in London in 2015 and since then her writing has gone from strength to strength. It was my pleasure recently to review L.C. North’s The Ugly Truth here. Now there’s a brilliant new book for us all to enjoy and I’m delighted to welcome Lauren to Linda’s Book Bag to tell me all about it.

My thanks to Chloe Rose at Transworld for organising L.C. North to be here today (and happy birthday Chloe!)

Staying in with L.C. North

Welcome to Linda’s Book Bag Lauren. Tell me, which of your books have you brought along to share this evening and why have you chosen it? 

I’ve brought Clickbait with me today.

It’s my latest L.C. North book club thriller and it was so much fun to write. It encompasses the jaw-dropping, ‘no they didn’t,’ aspects of reality tv with the harrowing and lasting effects of a historical disappearance of a teenage boy, and what happens when these two worlds collide.

It sounds brilliant. What can we expect from an evening in with Clickbait?

Clickbait is a fast-paced suspense told solely through mixed media. There are clips from the reality TV show; TikTok videos from fans; and a podcast series.

This sounds such an interesting approach. Who’s the focus?

The novel centres around the Lancaster family and their popular YouTube reality TV show LIVING WITH THE LANCASTERS. When an old video emerges from one of the Lancaster’s legendary parties, it sheds light on the disappearance of eighteen-year-old, Bradley Wilcox, who hasn’t been seen since the night of the party.

When YouTube journalist, Tom Isaac, starts investigating, he begins to uncover a lot more than he bargained for.

I love the concept. I expect you’ve woven in interesting themes too. What are they?

It covers themes of coercive control, grief, wealth, and the dichotomy between real and fake.

I’m so glad I have Clickbait on my TBR. I think I’m going to love it.

What else have you brought along and why have you brought it? 

I’ve brought the box set of series one of KEEPING UP WITH THE KARDASHIANS. I think in the early series of this show you see both the outlandish behaviour this family are known for, and their desperation for fame. It inspired some of the reality TV show in Clickbait. But we’ll probably be too busy chatting to get round to watching it.

It’s a while since we saw one another so I imagine we will – but I confess I’ve never watched the Kardashians so it’ll be an interesting watch for me. 

I’ve also brought a nice bottle of wine, some posh crisps, and some chunky chocolate chip cookies. And tucked at the bottom of my bag are my slippers and snuggly jumper so I can get comfy while we chat about books, life and everything in between.

Well you know you’re always welcome here Lauren. Thanks so much for chatting to me about Clickbait. I’ll nip and put my onesie on and tell readers a bit more about Clickbait whilst you get out the snacks, key up the box set and pour yourself a glass of wine.

Clickbait

‘We’re not famous anymore. We’re notorious.’

For over a decade, the Lancasters were celebrity royalty, with millions tuning in every week to watch their reality show, Living with the Lancasters.

But then an old video emerges of one of their legendary parties. Suddenly, they’re in the spotlight for all the wrong reasons: witnesses swore they’d seen missing teenager Bradley Wilcox leaving the Lancaster family home on the night of the party, but the video tells a different story

Now true crime investigator and YouTuber Tom Isaac is on the case. He’s determined to find out what really happened to Bradley – he just needs to read between the Lancasters’ lies . . .

Because when the cameras are always rolling, it won’t be long until someone cracks.

For fans of Murder in the Family and The Club, Clickbait is told through mixed media, from video transcripts to diary entries, capturing a unique and addictive commentary on ruthless ambition and the dark side of fame.

Publishing by Penguin imprint Bantam on 11th April 2024, Clickbait is available for pre-order through the links here.

About L.C. North

L.C. North studied psychology at university before pursuing a career in Public Relations. Her first book club thriller – The Ugly Truth – combines her love of psychology and her fascination with the celebrities in the public eye. L.C. North is currently working on her second novel, and when she’s not writing, she co-hosts the crime thriller podcast, In Suspense. L.C. North lives on the Suffolk borders with her family. L.C. North is the pen name of Lauren North.

For further information, visit Lauren’s website or you can follow Lauren on Twitter/X @Lauren_C_North and find her on Facebook and Instagram.

Thanks to lovely Hana Sparkes at Penguin, I’m lucky enough to have a copy of Love Will Find A Way by Ellie Dean on my TBR pile. I’ve recently begun to read more of this genre and have enjoyed the books so much that I thought it would be a good idea to share an extract from Love Will Find A Way so that other readers might also find a new-to-them genre. My thanks to Hana for providing an extract today.

Love Will Find A Way was published by Penguin on 28th March 2024 and is available for purchase through the links here.

Love Will Find A Way

Cliffehaven, December 1946

From a hill above the town of Cliffehaven, a young woman makes a heart-breaking choice that will change the course of her life forever.

Hours later, a baby is found in the Nativity crib of the local church.

Who could have left him there, and why?

The mystery preoccupies everyone in Cliffehaven – not least Peggy Reilly, who has enough to contend with at Beach View Boarding House without this extra secret to unravel.

What’s certain is that the whole community will pull together to keep the baby safe – and to support his mother when the truth of her identity is finally discovered…

An Extract from Love Will Find A Way

1

1946

It was a week before Christmas and from her vantage point on the hill above the town of Cliffehaven, the young woman watched preparations for the festive season, longing to be a part of them. She dared not leave her hiding place until she could be certain no one would see her. The time to go was fast approaching and, although she’d be returning home, she knew her world would never be the same again.

She refused to think about what the future might hold and forced herself to concentrate on the colourful scene being played out below. The shops had stayed open later than usual, and there was an excited bustle as people hunted for last-minute gifts, chatted on street corners, or bought bags of hot chestnuts from the man who’d set up his brazier outside the busy Crown pub. A school choir had assembled alongside the local brass band, and there was a sudden, expectant hush as their music teacher raised her baton.

Her gaze drifted to the children who stood in awe around the Christmas tree which had been erected outside the Town Hall some time ago. Its pretty lights twinkled in the early darkness of this winter’s day like a beacon – torturing her with the memories of other Christmases and the promise of warmth and light, and sorely needed company. Although tempted to throw caution to the wind and go down there, she remained where she was, hunkered low in the deep shadows of the trees, her new-born baby asleep in her arms.

He’d come earlier than she’d expected, which was a blessing, for it meant there would be fewer awkward questions to answer when she returned home – as she’d promised – in time for the celebrations. She tucked the blanket firmly about the baby and nestled him within the folds of her coat as the sound of the brass band and choir drifted up to her. Their music was yet another reminder of Christmases past when life had been uncomplicated, and her future a bright and unchartered map.

The school choir was singing, ‘Away in a Manger’, and she wondered how they would react if they knew that a baby had already been born that night without fanfare, a crib for a bed or a star to mark his arrival – for this little one had come into the world in a dilapidated caravan that stank of mould, sheep and mice droppings.

The cold had now become unbearable and, fearing the baby might come to harm, she took one last look at the brightly lit, bustling town and got to her numbed feet before heading further uphill towards the caravan which had been her home for almost three weeks. The bright moon lit her way as her boots trampled the frosted grass and the hem of her coat snagged on the brambles and gorse which grew in wild abandon beneath the ancient trees that sheltered her makeshift home. She paused to catch her breath and looked up at the sky which was liberally sprinkled with stars. Tonight would be colder than ever, she realised, and soon there would be snow, so it was fortunate she was leaving.

The caravan had once been her childhood playground during the school holidays, but it had long been forgotten and abandoned once the shepherd had lost his life in the war and the flock had been sold. It sagged on shredded tyres, settling deeper each day into the soft earth as the windows and outer shell became greener with mould and lichen, and its delicate fabric swelled and buckled with damp. She’d taken much longer than she’d expected to find it. But she’d eventually come across it, well hidden in a deep fold of the hills, and now, as she stepped into the darkness of the sheltering trees, the only sounds she could hear were the rustle of the wind in the leaves and the distant hoot of a barn owl.

She tugged at the warped door and stepped onto the rickety floor which creaked beneath her slight weight. Although it had lain empty during the long war years, the caravan’s interior still held the memory of lanolin and wool as well as the organic essence of soil and decomposition.

When she’d first set eyes on the wreck, she’d wondered if she was foolish to even contemplate setting up temporary home here, but accepting she had no other choice, she’d set to with a will to make it habitable. She’d dumped the stinking mattress and soiled bedding which had become a nest for vermin, tacked strips of old blanket over the windows to stop any light showing at night, and then scrubbed the interior from top to bottom.

She looked with some satisfaction at the results of her hard work, for it was almost homely with the blankets, eiderdown and sheet she’d brought with her draped on the planking bed and, once she’d lit the candles and kerosene heater, it felt quite snug; if one could ignore the blackness outside and the isolation which seemed to crowd in on her whenever she let herself think about it.

But she hadn’t bargained on how cold it would become as the wind whistled through every crack and crevice and managed to penetrate even the thickest blanket – or how hard it would be to keep her resolve as the night sounds kept her awake, and the thought of scuttling spiders and rodents put her on edge. But for all its inconveniences and isolation, it had been the perfect hiding place, and she’d been immensely relieved to find it was still here.

She placed the baby on the bed and covered him in the eiderdown before lighting the candles she’d stuck in jam jars, and the small kerosene heater. The heater smelt horrid and soaked the thin walls in condensation, but it was better than nothing. He would wake soon and would need feeding, so she carefully measured the powdered milk, added the last of the fresh water she’d sneaked down to collect from Chalky White’s well the night before last, and popped the feeding bottle into the saucepan of stale water to heat it up over the single gas ring.

As she waited for the water to simmer, she began to collect her few belongings and pack them into the holdall. There wasn’t much as she was wearing almost every stitch of clothing she’d brought to ward off the cold, and she’d be leaving the bedding, heater and  single-ring camping stove behind. Yet, as she packed, her thoughts kept returning to all that had happened here. It felt dreamlike now – almost surreal – but at the time it had been the most terrifying ordeal she’d ever had to face.

The days of waiting for him to arrive had seemed endless, but when the pains had started last night, and the terror of having to go through the birth on her own had set in, she’d been on the very brink of seeking help. But before she could pluck up courage, the labour had advanced too rapidly so she’d had to persevere on her own, praying desperately that nothing would go wrong – that through her panic and selfish desire to keep him secret, her baby would not come to harm.

The very worst scenarios had flashed through her mind during that short, painfully hard labour. What if she died and no one found him? What if they both died? How would her loved ones deal with her mysterious disappearance? Who would ever think of looking for her here?

To her enormous relief, he’d arrived fairly quickly, and because she’d read every book she could find on the subject, she’d managed to deal with tying and cutting the cord, cleaning his airways and burying the afterbirth. But she hadn’t counted on feeling so weak afterwards – hadn’t realised how difficult it would be to keep them both clean and warm in the hours after his birth – or how utterly impossible it was to feel nothing for him. Which was why it was imperative she left tonight.

She finished packing and sank onto the hard planking she’d used as a bed, her gaze returning repeatedly to the baby beside her. He was beginning to stir, his tiny, mittened hands waving as his rosebud mouth began to pucker. His hair was surprisingly dark beneath the woollen cap, his skin pale and unmarked perfection under the layers of his knitted layette. She had no idea what colour his eyes were, for he’d yet to open them.

He was certainly sturdy enough to survive these brutal first hours, and that was probably because she’d been very careful to eat properly once she’d known she had no alternative but to see the pregnancy through. After all, she’d reasoned at the time, it wasn’t his fault she’d been so stupid – so cowardly – so utterly incapable of making the right decision about anything.

He began to mewl and fuss, and she reached for the feeding bottle to test the heat of the formula milk on the back of her hand before changing his nappy, and dressing him once again in the layers of clothes she’d secretly bought from an out of town market. And then, with great reluctance, she cradled him in her arms so he could feed.

Her breasts ached with the need to feed him herself and tears pricked as she looked down at him. She didn’t want to love him – couldn’t bear the thought of getting to know his scent, or the way he felt in her arms. And yet . . . He was so easy to love – so perfect . . . And at this moment she was all he had in the world – and she was about to abandon him.

She blinked back the tears and then closed her eyes as her breasts wept with the milk her baby would never taste. She was being selfish and cruel, but he would be better off without her. He would be loved and cherished by parents who wanted him, and have the chance of a good life. Whereas she would return to her old life unencumbered by scandal and shame – and hopefully wiser from the experience and more clear-eyed in her choices.

Biting back on a sob, she knew she was only fooling herself – and that these last few precious moments would live with her for ever; the guilt a well-deserved punishment for the unforgivable sin she was about to commit.

He weighed heavier in her arms and she realised he’d finished feeding and was once more asleep. She dried her tears, wrapped him snugly in the blankets and then curled around him beneath the eiderdown to wait until she was certain Cliffehaven was sleeping.

She must have dozed off, for when she opened her eyes again, it was almost three in the morning – and dangerously close to the time when the town would begin to stir. She would have to hurry.

As the baby seemed to be sleeping peacefully, she left him on the bed while she switched off the heater and blew out the stubs of candle. Fastening the army surplus coat over the two cardigans, jumper and heavy-duty dungarees, she wound the scarf round her neck, pulled the knitted cap further down over her ears and picked up the baby in one gloved hand, the holdall in the other.

Stepping down from the caravan, she nudged the door shut with her heel and set off into the still and silent night, the cold bright stars accompanying a moon ringed by an ethereal halo. With a trembling breath, she hitched the baby closer to her chest, tightened her grip on the holdall and, without looking back, began the long trek over the hills to the track which would eventually lead her down into the sleeping town.

By the time she finally reached the stile at the end of the track, her legs were trembling from the effort it had taken to walk so far, and she was desperate to rest. But as she looked down the steep road towards the High Street, she became aware of the sounds coming from behind the high walls of the dairy. Alan Jenkins would be loading his drays, and soon he and his men would be leading the shires out of the yard to begin their rounds. There was no time to rest.

Pausing to catch her breath, she eased the baby to the other arm and flexed her stiff fingers before once again lifting the holdall. Frost glittered on the pavement and silvered the weeds growing by the factory estate fence, and she had to negotiate the icy patches carefully as she went down the hill.

Reaching the deserted High Street, she saw the Christmas tree lights had been switched off, and only a dim glow came from a solitary streetlamp outside Plummer’s department store. All the shops were shuttered, the pavements deserted, and now the only lights she could see were a pale glimmer behind the curtains of Gloria’s bedroom above the Crown, and the blue lamp outside the police station.

The thought of someone seeing her made her even more nervous, and it seemed her anxiety had been transmitted to the baby, for he began to mither and squirm. Fearing he was about to start crying, she hurried over the hump-backed bridge and headed into the labyrinth of alleyways that led off the High Street. She knew exactly where she was going and could only pray that the door hadn’t been locked.

Her footsteps echoed as she entered the church grounds, but as she climbed the steps and reached for the heavy iron ring in the oak door she heard the stamp of horses’ hooves ring out from beyond the bridge, and knew she’d almost run out of time.

Holding her breath, she twisted the iron ring and the door creaked open so loudly she was sure someone must have heard it. She froze momentarily and then slipped into the darkness that smelt of incense, cold stone and old hymn books, and gratefully dropped the cumbersome holdall onto a nearby pew.

The church was vast. Built in Victorian days, it had withstood two world wars and then seen the congregation dwindle, but at Christmas it became the hub of Cliffehaven with its ancient crib, special carol concerts, services and lively re-enactments of the Christmas story.

She felt the baby stir and stretch in her arms as she tiptoed down the long aisle towards the altar which had been dressed quite gloriously with red-berried holly, mistletoe, ivy and thick white candles. If he woke now, his cries would echo to the rafters and be heard in the surrounding houses. She jiggled him in her arms, hoping to still his fretting.

It seemed to work, but her heart was thudding painfully against her ribs as she paused at the steps and deliberately turned her gaze from the gold cross that hung above the altar. She needed no reminders that what she was doing was against everything she’d ever believed in, but she had no choice – really she didn’t – and if God was as kindly as he was meant to be, then he’d surely understand and forgive her.

She turned from the altar towards the nativity tableau which, following a long-held tradition, was set up at the foot of the intricately carved pulpit. There was the stable, crudely made of wood off-cuts and straw thatch, but lovingly restored after many years of service, as were the painted wooden figures of Mary and Joseph, the three wise men and the shepherds with their miniature sheep. The crib at the centre was filled with straw in which lay a rather battered and ugly representation of the baby Jesus.

She bent down, and with a soft apology, lifted the effigy from the straw and placed it to one side before tenderly laying her own baby in its place. ‘Forgive me,’ she whispered as she placed the feeding bottle beside him, kissed his forehead and saw the sparkle of her tear on his downy cheek.

As if he understood that she was abandoning him, he opened his eyes, and meeting that accusing, clear blue gaze, she felt a pain so great it took her breath away.

‘I’m sorry,’ she sobbed. ‘So very sorry. Please, please forgive me.’ She backed away from those accusing eyes, and then was running down the aisle to snatch up her bag and make her escape.

The cold air and the reality of what she’d done hit her as the door-latch clicked shut behind her. Yet, on the point of rushing back to scoop him up and face the consequences, she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Dashing from the doorway into the deeper shadows, she hid behind the town’s war memorial and watched as a familiar figure strode towards the church doorway. She stifled her sobs as she felt a deep thankfulness that her baby would now be safe.

Blinded by her tears, and consumed with guilt, she picked up her bag and slunk away into the darkness as the first soft flakes of snow began to fall.

****

I have a feeling I’m going to thoroughly enjoy Love Will Find A Way when it reaches the top of my TBR.

About Ellie Dean

Ellie Dean lives in a tiny hamlet set deep in the heart of the South Downs in Sussex, which has been her home for many years and where she raised her three children. She is the author of the The Cliffehaven Series.

For further information, visit Ellie’s website, or find her on Facebook.

I love reviewing for My Weekly magazine online and today I’m delighted to share details of my latest one. This time it is of How To Kill A Guy In Ten Ways by Eve Kellman.

Published by Harper Collins imprint Avon yesterday, 28th March 2024, How To Kill A Guy In Ten Ways is available for purchase through the links here.

How To Kill A Guy In Ten Ways

Are you on a date that doesn’t feel right?

Can’t shake that creepy guy at the bar?

Worried you’re being followed home?

Message M.

After one too many terrifying encounters, Millie Masters sets up a hotline for women who feel unsafe walking home alone at night: Message M.

But very quickly she realises that there’s much more to be done to help the women who call in. Because the men just do it again the next night, and the next, and the next…

And when her own sister is assaulted on a night out, the temptation to take the law into her own hands becomes too much to resist.

Because M can also stand for murder…

A deliciously dark, hilariously twisted serial killer thriller with a villainous female lead. 

My Review of How To Kill A Guy In Ten Ways

My full review of How To Kill A Guy In Ten Ways can be found on the My Weekly website here.

However, here I can say that How To Kill A Guy In Ten Ways is a cracker of a book, absolutely packed with action and a  murderous protagonist to cheer for every step of the way. I really, really enjoyed this sharp, sassy book!

Do visit My Weekly to read my full review here.

About Eve Kellman

Eve Kelman is a fiction editor, lecturer, and writer. She lives in Bristol, UK, with her partner and two adorable dogs.

For further information, follow Eve on Twitter/X @EvilEveHall.

I’m a huge fan of Isabelle Kenyon because she is the most inspirational young woman running her own business and supporting a wide range of talented writers. Consequently I was devastated not to be able to read Isabelle’s The Dark Within Them in time for the blog tour, because I have so many other commitments at the moment. However, Isabelle kindly allowed me to share an extract from The Dark Within Them with you today and I’m delighted to do so.

Published yesterday, 28th March 2024 by Fly on the Wall Press, The Dark Within Them is available for purchase here.

The Dark Within Them

A TIGHT-KNIT MORMON COMMUNITY.

Faith-healer Amber is hopeful about Lehi, the safe Mormon town to which she, her new husband and two kids have just moved.

BODIES BURIED IN THE GARDEN.

After the sudden death of her daughter, Amber discovers the community will do anything to keep its secrets.

ONE FAMILY DIVIDED.

When nothing feels certain anymore, will Amber take a leap of faith, for love?

An Extract from The Dark Within Them

THE MEETING, 11TH MAY, 2015

CHAD

This was the kind of meeting all diaries were cleared for. Chad stood central in a horseshoe of bodies, an unlikely orchestrator. The floor was his but his tongue lay slack, hiding behind his lower teeth. There was a tremor in his wife’s shoulders which made him roll back his own, and clear his throat for silence.

Each sound in the Temple reverberated off the pristine white surfaces.

“Thank you for being here today,” he began. “I have great faith in the church community and its advice. Hell, we’ve all stood where I am now at one point or another, I’m sure. And today it’s my turn to ask for your help, with our Gilly.”

The open windows seeped humid twilight into the hall and beads of sweat formed under his cotton shirt. He talked slowly, using his hands as an offering. Holding his palms open showed he had nothing to hide: he’d been taught that by his uncle Jim.

His audience gazed, unblinking. He wiped clammy paws on his jeans. He was forgetting people knew him here—since he could wobble around the neighbourhood on pudgy toddler legs—and that earned him a kind of immunity from judgement.

“Gilly’s fifteen. Young. She’s…she’s mostly a good kid. Anything bad in her? It didn’t come from her mothering. That’s not to blame.” He nodded with what he felt was warmth at his wife, her cheeks betraying a shade of fuchsia. “Perfect mother in my Amber. She made sure those kids grew up in a loving, attentive environment, and they wanted for nothing—don’t doubt that. But since Gilly moved to Lehi, with young Ivan and their mom, well, she’s been finding getting settled tough. This is a good neighbourhood—we all know that—and Amber and I, we’ve been wanting them to make friends. And these days…well, kids are always on their phones, right? Texting nonstop. She was texting this boy, we discovered, and erm,” he paused and pulled on his earlobe, “she being underage, we looked at those messages, you know? And that’s when we saw the pictures.” He looked away from his wife’s shrinking form. “To be sending those kind of images to a boy—outside of the church—well, we’re all kind of cut up about it. There’s a kind of darkness in my home these days.”

He breathed out, realising his fingernails had been digging so hard into his palms that they had left indents…He flexed his hands, feeling for the back of a chair to sink into.

“Thank you, Chad.” Brett’s eyes crinkled, kind. “This is exactly the right space to discuss these kind of family dynamics in.” The circle nodded at these words, mumbling approval. “You’ve done the right thing.”

Amber wasn’t looking at him. He shuffled his chair closer to reach for her hand, but she pretended not to notice.

“Would you like to offer your thoughts also, Amber?” Brett’s voice guided all eyes towards her. As a leader, Brett was always calm and balanced in this way—it was why Chad had always looked up to him.

“Well,” she adjusted the hem of her skirt. “Chad’s account just about sums it up. Gilly’s…unsettled. It may be…that God is testing us, as a family.”

“We all have our tests,” Chad agreed. “Marriage is a gift from God, and so are children…”

“…but you’ve struggled,” Amber murmured.

A muscle in his jaw clenched. “As I was saying. I’ll be the first to say I’ve struggled to father Amber’s kids. To connect, I guess. Not having done this parenting thing before.”

A few members of the group shuffled in their seats but Brett began a slow clap, which the room adopted after a beat.

“We appreciate that level of honesty, Chad. And we’re here for that struggle with you.”

The slow warmth spread from his belly and he gave Brett a lopsided smile. Hadn’t Brett always understood him?

Amber raised her voice. “What would you have us do?” she asked Brett and a hush fell.

“First, let us pray,” Brett said. All of them crossed their arms over their chest and began to recite familiar words, before the voices petered out. “Now. This is a prime example: Gilly’s an excellent candidate for conversion therapy. Gilly’s had a troubled childhood…all that travelling, a single mother…”

Brett shook his head slowly. “The death of your late husband is not your fault, Amber, clearly, but with that lack of a family unit…well I feel it’s that absence of structure which has led Gilly to the devil.” Chad felt his leg twitch like a startled horse and the group recoiled, some softly crying out. Just hearing the name was enough to allow fear to creep in. “Thankfully, my conversion therapy reverses that influence.”

Amber sat up straight. “…Reverses? What does your therapy involve?”

Melanie, Chad’s oldest friend and neighbour, leaned into the circle. “Brett is the founder of this treatment, Amber. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. So you’ve nothing to fear from it.”

Chad observed his wife watching Brett, who cracked a lazy smile. “It’s just like a baptism, Amber. A water-based therapy. The elements have much to teach us about healing, don’t you think?”

Chad himself hadn’t heard much about the therapy, just that it was new, and not practiced in other Temples as of yet. But he had seen Brett’s first patient, Peggy-Sue from number nine, go from fishnets and eyeliner to long dresses and a career in administration. She didn’t talk much now, mind, but the change had apparently significantly reduced her mother’s blood pressure and restored harmony. And Brett’s advice came from the heart.

That was all he needed.

He cracked a calloused knuckle. “When can we start?”

****

Oo! I don’t know about you, but I have a feeling this is not going to go well! It’s made me all the more determined to get to The Dark Within Them as soon as I can.

About Isabelle Kenyon

Isabelle Kenyon is a Manchester writer and the author of 5 chapbooks including Growing Pains (Indigo Dreams).  She has had work and articles published internationally and newspapers such as The Somerville Times and The Bookseller.

For further information, follow Isabelle on Twitter/X @kenyon_isabelle, visit her website, or find Isabelle on Instagram and Facebook.

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I’m a huge fan of C.L. Taylor books so I couldn’t be happier that my latest online review for My Weekly is of her brand new thriller, Every Move You Make.

You’ll find my reviews of C.L. Taylor’s novels The Guilty Couple, The Fear, The Missing, Strangers, Sleep and The Treatment through the links here.

Published by Harper Collins imprint Avon today, 28th March 2024, Every Move You Make is available for purchase through the links here.

Every Move You Make

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer…

Alexandra, Lucy, Bridget, River and Natalie. Five friends who wish they’d never met. Because the one thing they have in common is the worst thing in their lives: they are all being stalked.

When one of their group is murdered, days after their stalker is released from prison, time stands still for them all. They know their lives could end just as brutally at any moment – all it takes is for the people they fear the most to catch up with them.

When the group receive a threat that one of them will die in ten days’ time, the terror that stalks their daily lives becomes all-consuming. But they know they don’t want to be victims anymore – it’s time to turn the tables and finally get their revenge.

Because the only way to stop a stalker is to become one yourself…

The multimillion bestseller returns with her most propulsive and addictive book yet. A chilling and terrifyingly real thriller that will keep you up all night – and looking over your shoulder for days to come…

My Review of Every Move You Make

My full review of Every Move You Make can be found on the My Weekly website here.

However, here I can say that Every Move You Make is typical C.L. Taylor being psychologically chilling, plausible and totally gripping. It’s a book to make you check your doors and windows are firmly locked at night!

Do visit My Weekly to read my full review here.

About C.L. Taylor

C.L. Taylor is a Sunday Times bestselling author. Her psychological thrillers have sold over a million copies in the UK alone, been translated into over twenty languages, and optioned for television. Her 2019 novel, Sleep, was a Richard and Judy pick. C.L. Taylor lives in Bristol with her partner and son.

You can follow C.L. Taylor on Twitter/X @callytaylor and find out more about her on her website. You’ll also find her on Facebook and Instagram.

Just at the point where I had decided I simply didn’t have the capacity to take on anything new for the blog, I was invited to participate in the blog tour for Leave No Trace by Jo Callaghan. My willpower lasted less than a nanosecond and it feels a real privilege to participate by sharing my review today.

I adored Jo Callaghan’s first book In the Blink of an Eye (reviewed here) and it was one of my favourite reads in 2023, so I simply couldn’t resist Leave No Trace and would like to thank  Anne Cater of Random Things Tours for inviting me to take part.

Leave No Trace is published by Simon and Schuster today, 28th March 2024 and is available for purchase through the links here.

Leave No Trace

DCS Kat Frank and AIDE Lock return in the provocative new thriller from the author of In the Blink of an Eye.

One detective driven by instinct, the other by logic.
It will take both to find a killer who knows the true meaning of fear . . .

When the body of a man is found crucified at the top of Mount Judd, AIDE Lock – the world’s first AI Detective – and DCS Kat Frank are thrust into the spotlight as they are given their first live case.

But with the discovery of another man’s body – also crucified – it appears that their killer is only just getting started. With the police warning local men to be vigilant, the Future Policing Unit is thrust into a hostile media frenzy as they desperately search for connections between the victims. But time is running out for them to join the dots and prevent another death.

For if Kat and Lock know anything, it’s that killers rarely stop – until they are made to.

My Review of Leave No Trace

A man has been crucified.

I had been slightly apprehensive about Leave No Trace because I thought In the Blink of an Eye was magnificent and was afraid it might not be possible to match it. I was wrong. Leave No Trace us every bit as good, and it sets up the next book in the series perfectly. Whilst this is the second novel featuring Kat and Lock, their back story is so skilfully interwoven that there’s no need to have read In the Blink of an Eye before Leave No Trace, though I strongly suggest you do.

Leave No Trace is just brilliant. It’s enthralling, perfectly plotted and totally absorbing. I thought it was wonderful.

Very early on in Leave No Trace Jo Callaghan enraged me. Not because of the brutal murder DCS Kat Frank is investigating, but because of the reckless disregard for facts and the feelings of the victim’s family displayed by the press, and the infuriating social media comments from the public. And that’s the point. I made assumptions about those elements that made me realise I was almost as bad as those whom I was judging. The author captured to perfection modern society’s disregard for truth to the extent that I was completely hooked into the story, desperate to know what might actually transpire to be the facts of the case. She also peeled back the layers of societal expectation and attitude so that Leave No Trace is impactful and thought provoking. 

I loved the physical structure of the book; the police interview transcripts, the timed and dated chapters, the italicised interjections from the killer. These all added interest and detail that I found gripping. With short, snappy chapters and frequent mini cliff-hangers at the end of them, Jo Callaghan tantalises the reader, making Leave No Trace enthralling. 

What is so wonderful is that Lock is the epitome of logic and yet is so frequently the light relief, providing the humour that tempers the more disturbing or emotional moments in the story. He’s also the source of considerable emotional growth – both for Lock and the reader. Jo Callaghan has such a brilliant lightness of touch that she manages to convey grief, loneliness, hatred, friendship, respect and all manner of human responses so convincingly through an AI being. 

Leave No Trace is a brilliant police procedural thriller that is incredibly entertaining, but what elevates it beyond an exciting, fast paced read is the way Jo Callaghan takes huge themes like misogyny and distils them into a microcosm at a personal level so that she exemplifies modern society so skilfully. Leave No Trace can be enjoyed on many levels.

I absolutely loved Leave No Trace. Jo Callaghan writes with a mature understanding of humanity, of society and of the complexity of relationships. Her stories resonate with humour and warmth as well as being assiduously researched, written with sophistication and totally gripping. If you’ve yet to meet Kat and Lock, you must do so immediately. They are sensationally good! 

About Jo Callaghan

Jo Callaghan works fulltime as a senior strategist, where she has carried out research into the future impact of AI and genomics on the workforce. After losing her husband to cancer in 2019 when she was just forty-nine, she started writing In the Blink of an Eye, her debut crime novel, which explores learning to live with loss and what it means to be human. In The Blink of an Eye was selected for BBC 2’s ‘Between the Covers’ in Spring 2023, and Jo was a featured debut at Harrogate Crime Festival and Bloody Scotland Festival. She lives with her two children in the Midlands. Leave No Trace is her second novel

For further information, follow Jo on Twitter @JoCallaghanKat or Instagram.

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It’s far too long since I featured Annie Murray on Linda’s Book Bag. Then I was reviewing her Letter From A Tea Garden under her pen name of Abi Oliver in a post you’ll find here. This time, however, I’m delighted to share my review of Homecoming for the Chocolate Girls and would like to extend my grateful thanks to Chloe Davies at Pan Macmillan for sending me a copy in return for an honest review.

Homecoming for the Chocolate Girls is out from Pan Macmillan in paperback on 11th April 2024 and is available for pre-order here.

Homecoming for the Chocolate Girls

1946: The war might be over but for the Gilby family there are still battles to be fought at home . . .

For Birmingham and the Gilby family the war years have been a time of great change. With her husband having left her for another woman, Ann Gilby is finally free to follow her heart. While the neighbours may be scandalized by having a divorcee in their midst, Ann is determined to rise above the local gossip and make a happy home with her former sweetheart, the father of Ann’s youngest child.

Meanwhile daughters Joy and Sheila are lucky enough to have their menfolk back home, but Joy’s husband has returned from his experiences in a Japanese prisoner of war camp a broken man.

Then there’s Ann’s son, Martin, who is still coming to terms with learning who his real father is, as well as having secrets of his own . . .

My Review of Homecoming for the Chocolate Girls

World War Two is finally over.

I thoroughly, thoroughly enjoyed this book. Homecoming for the Chocolate Girls is not just a really captivating story that is incredibly entertaining, but it is a well researched and deftly executed insight into the society of the historical setting, with sexuality, health, divorce and family so sensitively explored that there is much, much more than a physical homecoming for some of Annie Murray’s characters as they come to terms with their experiences and who or what they have become.

Although Homecoming for the Chocolate Girls is the concluding part of a series, at no time is the reader at a disadvantage because the histories of the characters are woven in effortlessly. It’s quite hard to define, but I felt this was a proper story. There’s such skill in Annie Murray’s writing as she leads her readers through events alongside her characters. Brilliantly researched for its historical accuracy and context, the narrative is absorbing, drawing in the reader and ending by making them feel they have been fabulously entertained by real people. Homecoming for the Chocolate Girls would make a brilliant television series because it is episodic, pacy and interesting.

I loved the dynamics between the characters. Alan’s damaged mental health following his WW2 experiences felt especially poignant given that our modern world seems determined to plunge itself back into global conflict. Annie Murray deals with difficulty in her story with sensitivity and compassion. She also balances light and shade so perfectly that I found Homecoming for the Chocolate Girls made me immensely sad and wonderfully uplifted. Alongside highly dramatic aspects there are quieter, more prosaic moments of ordinary life that make the narrative all the more engaging, because they lend authenticity. 

I think what works so well is that all the characters, even the fairly sanguine and steady Tom, are so human. They are messy, foolish, strong, principled, reckless, petty and forgiving so that it feels as if all life is here. Add in themes such as those of guilt, betrayal, mental and physical health, family, identity and self-acceptance and this is a story with an aspect for any reader to relate to so that it reverberates long after it is read. 

I thought Homecoming for the Chocolate Girls was excellent. It’s a riveting story, skilfully told without recourse to saccharine sentimentality so that it has emotional impact and resonance. I don’t often read sagas, but Annie Murray has persuaded me that I’m really missing out! 

About Annie Murray

Annie Murray was born in Berkshire and read English at St John’s College, Oxford. Her first ‘Birmingham’ novel, Birmingham Rose, hit The Times bestseller list when it was published in 1995. She has subsequently written many other successful novels, including The Bells of Bournville Green, sequel to the bestselling Chocolate Girls, Sisters of Gold and Black Country Orphan. Annie has four children and lives just south of Oxford. She also writes as Abi Oliver.

You can follow Annie on Twitter/X @AnnieMurray085 and visit her website for more details. You’ll also find Annie on Facebook and Instagram.

It’s far too long since I ‘stayed in’ with Joanna Toye to chat about her book Wartime for the Shop Girls in a post you’ll find here. Consequently, my enormous thanks go to Aoifke McGuire-France at Penguin Random House for sending me a copy of Joanna’s latest book The Little Penguin Bookshop in return for an honest review. It’s my pleasure to share that review today.

Published by Penguin on 11th April 2024, The Little Penguin Bookshop is Available for purchase through the links here.

The Little Penguin Bookshop

Books can change lives, even in wartime. . .

When World War II breaks out, Carrie Anderson sets up a bookstall at her local train station in the hope of providing a sense of escapism for travellers, troops and evacuees.

Driven by an entrepreneurial spirit and armed with a colourful array of Penguin paperbacks, Carrie’s business soon booms. And when she gifts a book to a dashing officer, an act of kindness becomes the beginning of Carrie’s very own love story.

But as war rages on, and Mike is posted abroad, Carrie’s world is turned upside-down.

With the help of her station community, and the power of her paperbacks, can Carrie find the strength to battle through?

My Review of The Little Penguin Bookshop

Twins Carrie and Johnnie are about to face war.

What an absolutely super book. In The Little Penguin Bookshop Joanna Toye has produced what might be termed a proper story. It’s filled with vivid characters, a sense of history and a wonderful love of books. What could be better? Just reading about the books sold by Carrie, or discussed by her, brings glorious memories flooding back to the reader, making The Little Penguin Bookshop a smashing read. 

The Little Penguin Bookshop is alive with historical detail woven into the story giving it interest, authenticity and texture, bringing the era to vivid life, but never imposing or detracting from the narrative. The plot simply romps along as Carrie opens her railway platform stand including the little Penguin bookshop. I found it impossible to tear myself away from finding out what was going to happen next. Through Carrie and Johnnie in particular we get a real insight into the Second World War. We all know about it through historical fact, but Joanna Toye really brings it alive through the brother and sister, as she illustrates the impact on everyday life for ordinary people to the extent that I worried about them and wondered how they were faring when I wasn’t reading the book. 

Indeed, the characters here are warm, varied, and totally believable. The odious Mr Bayliss is balanced by the pragmatic, hard working Norman. The handsome Mike and heroic Johnnie are enhanced by the more ordinary Eric. However, it is the women in the story, especially Carrie who feel so relatable and realistic. Joanna Toye made me care about her completely. Many of the women here are in traditional roles of catering staff and housewives and yet there’s a strong feminist streak too that I found very appealing.

I think what makes The Little Penguin Bookshop so compelling and entertaining is that, along with that sense of history that feels so pertinent to today’s world, there’s romance and a little bit of mystery, particularly attached to Penny, so that there’s something for every reader in this wonderful story.

 Alongside the themes of war are others that add depth and warmth to the story. There’s a super message, particularly through Ruby, of not judging someone based on your assumptions about them. Both Ruby and Penny illustrate that we don’t always know what is really happening in another person’s life. I thought the impact of kindness was incredibly deftly handled. 

I thoroughly, thoroughly enjoyed The Little Penguin Bookshop. I found it absorbing, entertaining and surprisingly powerful. The Little Penguin Bookshop is a story I recommend completely.

About Joanna Toye

After a career in radio and TV, producing and writing for programmes ranging from The Archers to EastEnders, Joanna turned to historical novels to create her very own fictional world. Her bestselling Shop Girls and Victory Girls series, following three shop girls in a department store in World War Two, their families and friends, have been called ‘a cross between Mr Selfridge and Call the Midwife for their warm sense of family and community in an authentic period setting. The Little Penguin Bookshop is the first novel in a brand new series.

Formerly a confirmed city girl, Joanna has recently relocated to the Somerset countryside to be closer to her daughter and small granddaughters, and is loving every minute of her new life.

For further information, follow Joanna on Twitter/X @JoannaToye and find her on Instagram and Facebook.