The Mother of all Christmases by Milly Johnson @millyjohnson @ed_pr @simonschusteruk @simonschusterpr #MotherOfAllChristmases

Eve Glace - co-owner of the theme park Winterworld - is having a baby and her due date is a perfectly timed 25th December. And she’s decided that she and her husband Jacques should renew their wedding vows with all the pomp that was missing the first time. But growing problems at Winterworld keep distracting them … 

Annie Pandoro and her husband Joe own a small Christmas cracker factory, and are well set up and happy together despite life never blessing them with a much-wanted child. But when Annie finds that the changes happening to her body aren’t typical of the menopause but pregnancy, her joy is uncontainable. 

Palma Collins has agreed to act as a surrogate, hoping the money will get her out of the gutter in which she finds herself. But when the couple she is helping split up, is she going to be left carrying a baby she never intended to keep?

Annie, Palma and Eve all meet at the ‘Christmas Pudding Club’, a new directive started by a forward-thinking young doctor to help mums-to-be mingle and share their pregnancy journeys. Will this group help each other to find love, contentment and peace as Christmas approaches?

The brand new novel from the Sunday Times bestselling author of The Perfectly Imperfect Woman; a gorgeous read full of love, life, laughter - and crackers! 

The Mother of all Christmases by Milly Johnson was published in paperback by Simon & Schuster on 15 November 2018.  I loved this book! It's such a heartwarming read, my review was recently published in the Daily Express - here's the full version:

The ‘Christmas Pudding Club’ is run by a new young GP in a small town near Barnsley, in Yorkshire. The members are all expecting a baby around Christmas time and the club is place for them to share their experiences and find some friendship.

Milly Johnson’s characters are always a joy to get to know and her three leads; Eve,  Annie and Palma are gloriously created; each one very individual, but when brought together they make a fabulous trio.

Eve and her French husband Jacques own the Christmas themed park Winterworld, her due day of 25 December couldn’t be more perfect. However the multitude of distractions at Winterworld are growing daily and taking away some of the sparkle from the imminent birth.

Annie and Joe own a luxury Christmas cracker factory and whilst they are incredibly happy and still very much in love, Annie’s  menopausal symptoms had drawn a thick line under their hopes of having a family.  Their shock and joy when they discover that they are going to be parents after all is so wonderfully written and very emotional.

Palma just wants to get off the run-down council estate that she lives on. She wants more for herself, she wants to get away from the undesirables that surround her. Becoming a surrogate mother seems like a pretty simple way to earn £5000. When she finally falls pregnant, she’s horrified to discover that the couple have split up, and it looks like Palma is going to be left holding the baby.

With her trademark gritty Nothern wit and humour, Milly Johnson once again makes her readers laugh out loud during one page before breaking into sobs by the next chapter. Whilst this is a light hearted, positive story, this clever author also touches on some more serious issues, with some completely heart breaking scenes.

As part of the Blog Tour, I'm delighted to share an exclusive extract from the book here on Random Things today.

Chapter 1

‘Crackers, that’s what this business is,’ cackled Gill Johnson.

A joke she had made every week since she had joined them; a joke she never tired of and which the others still laughed at because it had gone beyond corny to be reborn as ‘kitsch’.

The owners of The Crackers Yard, Joe and Annie Pandoro, groaned every time it was said, but they’d miss it when they didn’t hear it anymore. Gill was counting down the days to

her retirement, when she would be leaving them to live in sunny Spain.

‘Oh shut up and get stuffing,’ snapped Iris Caswell, the eldest of the workforce at eighty- five. She made a selection of ‘oof ’ and ‘eeh’ sounds whenever she rose from a chair, and

every joint she possessed creaked like an old ship, but if the rest of her were as fit and nimble as her fingers, she’d have been running the Grand National every April.

‘I’ve forgotten what I was saying,’ said Annie, eyebrows dipped in deliberation.

‘How the menopause is robbing you of your memory,’ Iris reminded her, tying a ribbon into an expert bow around the end of a cracker. ‘You just got on with it in our day. You didn’t go broadcasting you were sweating like a fat lad in a cake shop. You mopped your brow and carried on pegging out the washing.’

‘Someone was on the telly saying women should wear badges with the letter M on them to highlight to the known universe that you were going through the change.’ Gill’s wry burst of laughter made it plain what she thought of that idea. ‘What next? “I” badges for incontinence so you don’t have to wait in toilet queues?’

‘I’d have one of those,’ said Iris. ‘These days, when my bladder shouts, “Jump”, I have to shout back, “How high?”’

‘Well I’m not wearing a badge,’ decided Annie, packing all the crackers her ladies had completed into a box. ‘Even if I did, it would need to be P for perimenopausal.’

Her husband Joe poked his head out of his office. He was a man who loved to banter with women, but sometimes he felt the need to exit certain conversations and go and make some

tea. Women’s talk often terrified him and he was incredibly grateful to have been born a man.

‘What on earth is perimenopausal?’ he asked.

‘It’s when you’re so worried you’re menopausal, you have to open up a bottle of Babycham,’ chuckled Gill, queen of the terrible jokes. Joe’s head disappeared back into the sanctuary

of his office, not understanding the punchline at all. Some things didn’t translate properly into his native Italian.

Milly Johnson was born, raised and still lives in Barnsley, South Yorkshire. As well as being an author of 13 published novels, 2 short story books and 2 novellas, she is also a copywriter for the greetings card industry, a joke-writer, a columnist, after dinner speaker, poet, BBC newspaper reviewer, and a sometimes BBC radio presenter.

She won the RoNA for Best Romantic Comedy Novel of 2014 and 2016 and the Yorkshire Society award for Arts and Culture 2015.


She writes about love, life, friendships and that little bit of the magic that sometimes crops up in real life. She likes owls, cats, meringues, handbags and literary gifts - but hates marzipan. She is very short.


Milly's website is www.millyjohnson.co.uk. 

She is on Twitter @millyjohnson and has a Facebook page  

She also has a monthly newsletter www.millyjohnson.co.uk/newsletter with exclusive, news, offers and competitions.

Mr Doubler Begins Again by Seni Glaister @SeniGlaister @HQstories @SophCalder #Doubler

Not every journey takes you far from home.

Baked, mashed, boiled or fried, Mr Doubler knows his potatoes. But the same can’t be said for people. Since he lost his wife, he’s been on his own at Mirth Farm – and that suits Doubler just fine. Crowds are for other people; the only company he needs are his potato plants and his housekeeper, Mrs Millwood, who visits every day.

So when Mrs Millwood is taken ill, it ruins everything – and Mr Doubler begins to worry that he might have lost his way. But could the kindness of strangers be enough to bring him down from the hill?

Mr Doubler Begins Again is a nostalgic celebration of food, friendship, kindness, and second chances, perfect for fans of Rachel Joyce and Joanna Cannon.

Mr Doubler Begins Again by Seni Glaister is published in hardback by HQ on 24 January 2019. My thanks to the publisher who sent my copy for review.

I have to admit that the past few months have been difficult for me, with bereavements and illness and a general madness surrounding me. I'm often wary of books labelled up as 'up lit', I don't like twee or overly sweet stories but was determined that I needed a story to lift me.

Within the first few pages of Mr Doubler Begins Again I knew I'd found a book to soothe and to heal. I fell completely head over heels in love with Doubler, and have been utterly bewitched by this author's incredible writing.

Mr Doubler lives alone on Mirth Farm. He's an expert potato grower; not the biggest, but he knows he is the best. The biggest potato grower; Mr Peele is desperate to buy Mirth Farm. Peele's land surrounds the farm and he is determined to incorporate it into his empire. Doubler is going nowhere. He is happy and content at Mirth Farm; experimenting with different potato processes and living quietly on his own.

Doubler has two grown up children; Julian and Camilla, who seem to lay all the blame for losing their mother as teenagers at their father's feet. The only person who Doubler regularly chooses to spend time with is his cleaner, Mrs Millwood. Every day they sit down to lunch together. Doubler eats potatoes whilst Mrs Millwood chooses cheese sandwiches and apples. Doubler never hesitates to pour scorn on her food choices, but Mrs Millwood has endless wise words in response.

When Mrs Millwood is taken ill, Doubler begins to realise just how much he depended on her presence, on her advice and her words of wisdom. They speak regularly on the telephone whilst Mrs Millwood receives treatment in the hospital.

Mrs Millwood is possibly one of the most beautifully created characters I've discovered for many years. Seni Glaister gives her some exquisite and perfect narrative, I was totally blown away by her description of marriage;

"I like to imagine our marriage was a little like a hand-knitted blanket. It was a glorious thing to behold, full of intricate pattern and a multitude of colours and so very beautiful to examine in detail. Towards the top, there were a few dropped stitches and a few holes, and maybe the colours weren't quite so bright, and maybe the needlecraft was a bit patchy, but it never unravelled. It still worked as a blanket. It was a lovely thing to look at, and it kept us warm, held us together. And it's so much better to look at the beginning bits and stroke the colours and talk about the love and the joy that went into creating it rather than to focus on the last few rows."

Absolutely beautiful words and this wonderful narrative continues throughout the novel. As Doubler begins to interact with people from the community, and they grow to know him, and he learns more about them, Mrs Millwood is there, on the end of the phone line with her constant stream of support and advice to him.

This is a charming, delightful story with a cast of characters that are so very well developed. Whilst it is most certainly a feel-good story, it is never twee, or sugary sweet. Doubler himself is endearing, Mrs Millwood is the perfect friend and the supporting cast are essential to the story.

Mr Doubler Begins Again is funny and compassionately tender. Highly recommended from me

Seni Glaister worked as a bookseller for much of her career and was the CEO of a book retailer, before founding her own company WeFiFo in 2016.

Her first novel The Museum of Things Left Behind was published in 2015.

Mr Doubler Begins Again is her second novel.

Seni lives on a working farm in West Sussex with her partner and has five children.

Twitter @SeniGlaister

Kosmos by Adrian Laing BLOG TOUR #Kosmos @flametreepress @samatlounge #RandomThingsTours

Rookie barrister George Winsome, young and arrogant, defends an old boy who thinks he’s Merlin on a manslaughter charge. The riotous trial turns Merlin into a celebrity; money, greed and ambition take hold of George and his partner Heather until the secret of Merlin’s past is revealed as the spirit of Saint Yves intervenes to ensure George and Heather follow their true paths.

‘Kosmos’ is a modern-day jury trial, a feel-good love story and a spiritual journey involving Saint Yves, Nemesis and Merlin.

Kosmos by Adrian Laing was published by Flame Tree Press on 30th November 2018. I'm delighted to share an exclusive extract from the book today, as part of the Random Things Tours Blog Tour.

Disturbance

20th September 2000, Hampstead Heath, North London.

“Is he dead? Oh God, that’s all we need,” muttered Fred, one of the dog patrollers, as he drove past the high mound of earth where the Iceni Queen, Boudicca, was once thought to have been buried.

Hampstead Heath had seen its fair share of strange events over the years. The sight of a corpse, lying facedown in the dew-fresh grass, decomposing and returning to Mother Earth, was not that exceptional. Once, maybe twice, a year a body would be found, half hiding in some quiet corner of the once-wild expanse of woodland now dominated by dog-walkers, seriously committed joggers, female middle-aged American power walkers, celebrities puffing behind their personal trainers, and liberal North London types attracted by the life-enhancing experience of a dip in the freezing-cold, open-air bathing ponds. It was just past six o’clock in the morning.

Fred and Kevin had been working together as a dog patrol team for nearly two years. Their job was to maintain a watch over the Heath and respond to calls concerning problems with dogs, which were many.

Fred came to a slow halt in his little patrol van and decamped from the vehicle. He and Kevin walked slowly closer to the body. This was not so easy, as the mound was covered with a fairly dense and irregular circle of high Norwegian fir trees, which itself was surrounded by two concentric railings, the inner one of metal and the outer of wood, to keep the notoriously inquisitive public at a safe distance.

Fred, being both Kevin’s boss and older by many years, naturally asked Kevin to go first. “Maybe we should just call the police and let them deal with it,” suggested Kevin, fearing the worst as he ungracefully clambered over the railings. “If it’s a drugs case, I don’t want to know.”

From the safe distance of the car, there appeared to be a large, highly decorated object lying almost upright against one of the trees – perhaps a piece of wood or maybe a stick.

As Kevin inched closer it looked more elaborate, like a walking stick lovingly carved and covered in all manner of trinkets, charms, and coloured ribbons. On closer inspection it was clearly a hiking staff, the head of which looked unusual, perhaps a bone from a small

animal, probably an antler, thought Kevin.

As Kevin approached ever nearer to the scene, he was struck by the appearance of an elderly man, who was curled into a near-foetal position at the very top of the rising, in the centre of the trees. His hair was long, but thin, grey, and tightly matted. His clothes looked almost theatrical, a baggy dark blue cloak half covered a faded pair of crimson velvet-looking trousers. The shoes looked handmade and basic, like medieval leather slippers. More than that was difficult to see.

“Is he dead or what?” old Fred whispered as he leaned over the railings, now worried that a stray walker with an inquisitive dog would become entangled in the events. “I bet he’s a leftover from last night’s concert at Kenwood. I told them The Sound of Music would do their heads in.”

Edging closer through surprisingly thick growth, Kevin lost his nerve completely. “I don’t know and I don’t wanna know. It don’t feel right, Fred. Let’s get out of here.”

Fred decided that he would have to show Kevin why Fred was the boss. If they reported a rotting corpse to the police, only to be informed later that it was a sleeping drunk who had crashed out for a few hours on his way back from a fancy-dress party, he and Kevin would be the butt of jokes back at the sheds for the foreseeable future. Fred did his best to

climb over the railings without making it look like the effort it was, and boldly moved closer to the body.

The staff was irresistible to Fred, who, without hesitation, picked it up and held it outstretched. “Jesus, it’s got some weight to it, Kevin,” he said, and quite instinctively decided to prod the old sod who was threatening to ruin his day. Fred dug the staff into the rib cage of the still-quiet body, and again, and yet again. The combined effect of all the bits and pieces on the body of the staff made a cheap-sounding trinkety noise. Kevin had already resigned himself to a tedious day of interviews with the police, paperwork, and sitting around, when a soft muted sound came from the body.

“Shit, he’s alive!” squealed Kevin.

Fred acquired the posture fully befitting his hard-earned status of Senior Dog Patroller, standing upright, leaning with his two hands on the staff like a farmer commanding his dogs. “Get up, you old beggar. You frightened the shit out of us, and now it’s going-home

time. Come on, it’s a new moon, you silly old dip-hip.”

The old boy stirred and moved his head towards Kevin, his tired but clear blue eyes indicating more fear and disorientation than menace while they sought to focus upon the outside world. He began patting his body as if seeking reassurance that everything was where it was supposed to be. But he looked so old and dirty it was difficult to tell where the bits of dirt and twigs ended and the frail-looking body began.

Fred reacted by appearing relaxed and stood back, sounding pleased with himself. “Take your stick and move it, old boy. Try Bishop’s Avenue. This party’s over.”

After rising ever so slowly to his feet, the slight figure moved sheepishly towards Fred with an outstretched hand, gesturing for the return of the staff. Once the hand of the old man had made contact with the staff, Fred felt a keen and determined pull, which surprised and annoyed him. He pulled the staff back with a smile and a sneer, despite the sudden realisation of his disadvantage of being on lower ground. Without any words being exchanged, but with many grunts, groans, and mean eye-to-eye contact, Fred and the old boy engaged in a spontaneous tug-of-war over the staff.

Quite suddenly, while still holding his grasp on the staff, the old man became completely motionless, and then without warning swung the staff with a compelling force. Fred, according to Kevin’s statement to police later that day, was lifted right off his feet and was flung into the air, landing awkwardly against the inner railings in a thick growth of nettles.

Fred groaned in pain and humiliation while Kevin ran to his aid.

“You just wait, you silly old bastard, you’ll pay for that. You’ll be paying over the odds for non-slippy soap before you know it! Oh, my back! I’ll be off for weeks with this. Stay away from me, you old devil. Kevin, help me up, we’re getting the police all right.”

Adrian Laing was born in Harlow, Essex in 1958 and was educated at Hillhead High School, Glasgow and Exeter University where he studied law, graduating in 1978. Adrian was called to the bar (Inner Temple) in 1979, aged 21. Following a sabbatical in Paris studying with Michel Foucault at the College de France, Adrian undertook a pupillage in chambers and was made a Tenant (2 Pump Court, Inner Temple) practicing at the criminal bar defending and prosecuting in jury trials for seven years.

Leaving the criminal bar in 1987 to pursue more commercial interests, Adrian worked as the Assistant Head of Licensing at the ITC during the Channel 3 franchise process and then as a full-time consultant to the Chief Executive of Thames Television (Richard Dunn), following which Adrian was appointed the Senior Broadcasting Lawyer for the Leeds-based firm of solicitors, Hammond Suddards working in the city of London.

In 1994 Adrian was selected to become the first in-house lawyer at the Murdoch-owned publishing house, HarperCollins, where he held the position of Director of Legal Affairs and Company Secretary till 2001 working with some of the leading authors and agents of the day.

Adrian qualified as a solicitor in 2003 and set up his own legal practice (Laing & Co) for over 10 years acting for a wide range of prestigious business clients and authors. Adrian presented or chaired a leading seminar for The London Book Fair 2003 to 2012.

Adrian Laing is the co-author with his wife (Deborah Fosbrook) of three leading law titles published by Bloomsbury Professional, the author of R.D. Laing: A Life a widely acclaimed biography of his late father, the Scottish psychiatrist R.D. Laing, and a novel, Rehab Blues.

Adrian has appeared on radio and television many times most notably the BBC documentary ‘Just Another Sinner’ and Saturday Live with James Runchie.

The Silent Dead by Graham Smith @GrahamSmith1972 BLOG TOUR @bookouture #TheSilentDead

He’d found an angel for his collection. But one angel at a time was never enough...

Detective Beth Young has just joined the Cumbrian major crimes team when a body is found posed in a ritualistic manner – arms spread and graceful wings attached – at a crumbling castle in the hills of the Lake District.

The entire police force are on red alert. But Beth begins to feel she’s the only one who can follow the disturbing clues left by the twisted killer. Because she doesn’t think like everyone else. To Beth, crimes are puzzles she can solve. Even if real life is a little harder.

As more bodies are discovered in derelict stately homes across the Lake District, she knows she’s in a race against time.

But the killer is looking for another victim to add to his collection… Will Beth be able to save her? Or will he get there first?

A tenacious young detective with scars both physical and emotional, Beth Young will stop at nothing in her fight for justice for the innocent. The Silent Dead is the first book in the series. Set in the Lake District, it is perfect for fans of Joy Ellis, LJ Ross, and Peter James.

The Silent Dead by Graham Smith was published on 30 November 2018 by Bookouture. My thanks to the publisher who sent my copy for review and for inviting me to take part on this Blog Tour.

Imagine you are hosting your dream wedding in an old castle in the depths of Cumbria – what an idyllic setting; the perfect beginning for a happy couple’s new life.

Now, imagine you are the bride and you discover a dead body at your wedding venue, and then you realise that this is a murder victim. Shocking eh?

This is Graham Smith’s intriguing and compelling introduction to The Silent Dead; the first in the Detective Beth Young series, and it’s certainly a great way to draw in a reader.

Beth Young is the newest officer in the Cumbrian Force Major Incident Team (FMIT); bright as a button and eager to learn, Beth is young in years but has a wisdom that belies her age. Beth’s special skill is her ability to solve puzzles; she applies her logical thinking to everything that she comes across and whilst this makes her successful  when solving cases, she can often offend others with some of her less than diplomatic behaviours.

The body found at the wedding venue is the just the first in a spate of horrific and terrifying killings. Bodies arranged ritualistically, with wings attached to their backs and dreadful damage carried out to each one.  Graham Smith does not hold back with the detail and there’s some pretty vivid scenes depicted here, especially during post mortem investigations.

This author excels in the creation of characters and Beth Young is especially intriguing. Her visible scars define her to others, but it’s the invisible issues that she carries around that make her. The rest of the FMIT members are excellently portrayed, with real depth to each one of them. First impressions are telling, and I’ll admit that there were certain characters who I didn’t really like on first meeting, but this author cleverly interweaves their back stories into the novel and whilst the reader may not always like them, this understanding of their issues goes a long way to understanding them.

The Silent Dead is well paced and cleverly imagined. It is dark and gritty with some violence that could make a reader squirm, but it’s never gratuitous.  There’s an excellent sense of place running through the novel too, with the landscape and communities of rural Cumbria depicted very well.

I’ll admit that I didn’t have a clue who the murderer was, or why and there were a couple of times when I was distracted by some anonymous voices that the author has added sporadically throughout his story. However, this is a gripping, tense and twisty story that will delight fans of police procedurals and crime thrillers.

Graham Smith is the bestselling author of two explosive crime thrillers in the Jake Boulder series, Watching the Bodies and The Kindred Killers. Watching the Bodies spent over two weeks at number one in the Amazon UK chart and Amazon CA charts. Graham is also the author of the popular DI Harry Evans series and has collections of short stories and novellas.

He is the proud father of a young son. And as a time served joiner he has built bridges, houses, dug drains and slated roofs to make ends meet. Since 2000 he has been manager of a busy hotel and wedding venue near Gretna Green, Scotland.

An avid fan of crime fiction since being given one of Enid Blyton’s Famous Five books at the age of eight, he has also been a regular reviewer for the well respected review site Crimesquad.com since 2010.
As well as reviewing for Crimesquad.com Graham has also interviewed such stellar names as David Baldacci, Jeffrey Deaver, Dennis Lehane, Lee Child, Matt Hilton, Peter James, Mark Billingham and many others.

When not working, his time is spent reading, writing and playing games with his son. He enjoys socialising and spending time with friends and family

Find out more at www.grahamsmithauthor.com
Twitter @GrahamSmith1972



As The Women Lay Dreaming by Donald S Murray @DonaldMurray56 BLOG TOUR @SarabandBooks @WriterForster @RKBookPublicist #iolaire

A novel of the Iolaire disaster

In the small hours of January 1st, 1919, the cruellest twist of fate changed at a stroke the lives of an entire community.

Tormod Morrison was there that terrible night. He was on board HMY Iolaire when it smashed into rocks and sank, killing some 200 servicemen on the very last leg of their long journey home from war. For Tormod – a man unlike others, with artistry in his fingertips – the disaster would mark him indelibly.

Two decades later, Alasdair and Rachel are sent to the windswept Isle of Lewis to live with Tormod in his traditional blackhouse home, a world away from the Glasgow of their earliest years. Their grandfather is kind, compassionate, but still deeply affected by the remarkable true story of the Iolaireshipwreck – by the selfless heroism and desperate tragedy he witnessed.

A deeply moving novel about passion constrained, coping with loss and a changing world, As the Women Lay Dreaming explores how a single event can so dramatically impact communities, individuals and, indeed, our very souls. 

As the Women Lay Dreaming by Donald S Murray was published in paperback by Saraband on 8 November 2018.

As part of the Blog Tour, I'd delighted to share an exclusive extract from the book here on Random Things today.

1936

My early life was an explosion of languages. Glaswegian. Doric. Gaelic. All jostling in my head. At no moment, though, was the mixture as heated as that day in Partick when my dad was caught with his fingers in an old tea caddy by Aunt Peg, the old woman blasting him in her rage. ‘Hey, min! Fit div ye think ye’re deein’? Tak yer han’ oot o’ there! Ma ain kin, a bloody thief.’

And then his response, angry and defiant. ‘Ach, Ma, hit’s jist twa shullins. Ah’m jist needin’ tae win oot fir a wee whilie…’

Her voice sharp and loud, finger wagging and poking. ‘Aye, so ye can ging doon tae ’e pub an get bleezin’. Jist like last nicht an’ ivvery ither nicht! Ah’m jist scunnert wi’ ye. Fit kine o’ example are ye fir yer bairns? They need a da fa can look aifter him, nae een at’s aye fou’ an’ lifts ither fowk’s money.’

After that, there was a flurry of movement. Doors slamming, echoing down the tenement stairs. Dad packing our bags, turfing us from our beds in the early hours of the

morning, making sandwiches, tying labels to our clothes and hurrying us down to Queen Street station where he kept yelling out in his best Scottish accent, ‘Is there anyone travelling to Mallaig? Is there anyone going to Stornoway? If so, could you let me know?’ And he was also panicking a little, whispering, ‘See if there’s anyone around here talking

in that Gaelic yer mam used to spik. See if they’re heading up north.’

Somehow, someone going on that train caught a hold of his words. ‘Aye. We’re going in that direction. Going on the steamer to Lewis.’

And him asking the question, varying his voice all polite and sweet, as he often did to match the company. ‘Would ye mind takin’ these bairns along with ye? Their grandfolks will meet them on the pier in Stornoway. There’ll be some siller for yer boather. Something to feed both them and you when the train stops in Crianlarich. On the steamer too.’

And then he’d tell his story: how our mother had just died a wee while before and how his sister, too, had turned ill and was not fit to look after us. (‘Look sad. Look mournful,’ he kept saying to us as he told that last lie – as if we could contemplate any other kind of face.) After that, there was that long journey in the train; and the generosity of those we had never met before, all that kindness they showed through

places with strange, outlandish names. Ardlui. Crianlarich. Bridge of Orchy. Glenfinnan. Lochailort. Mallaig.

An explosion, too, of memories. Of a giant signal gantry. Lochs and mountains. The shunting of the front engine at Fort William. (‘Come out and see this,’ some stranger said. ‘They don’t need that other engine any more once they’ve hauled the train over Corrour.’) The men in tweeds with angling rods and rifles. The viaduct at Glenfinnan. The couple in the carriage giving us odd sips of tea and water. ‘You poor wee lambs.’ The harbour at Mallaig when we arrived. The waves of sickness that swept over my sister as we sailed on the SS Lochness…

* * *

Their hands. That’s what I remember. The breadth of his knuckles. The smell of smoke – both peat and coal – that pervaded every pore. The blue scars on the back of wrists and hands, the ones that matched the dark star on his cheek. The mat of short white hair spreading out from his wrist to his fingers. And her hands too. The way they looked chafed and rubbed almost to the bone. The pattern of her veins visible through the

thinness of her skin. The manner in which they seemed always to be clasped in prayer. The tight ring she wore.

And, of course, the way he hoisted me up in his grip, almost from the instant the steamer arrived at the harbour, before I had even stepped down the gangway from the Lochness. I looked down at the rough cloth of the old man’s jacket, noting the dark cap tightly wedged on his grey head, the black gabardine trousers he wore.

‘Alasdair... You’ve the same name as my own grandfather,’ my grandad said.

I could see my sister, Rachel, clutching our grandma’s hand, her black curly hair whipped by the wind. She was shivering, partly because she had been sick on the voyage

over from Mallaig, partly due to the chill of the early afternoon. I remembered how I had looked at her again and again on the steamer, fingering the label that my father had fastened to my jacket before leaving us with the people going on the boat, telling me – ‘at the risk of your life’ – not to take it off. The upset and upheaval seemed to have surged and rippled through her stomach, vomit spilling through her throat. One of the adults on board, a minister’s wife, had tried to help her, daubing her mouth clean, holding up the long locks of her hair. She was the one who spoke to our grandma for a long time on the pier, telling her of the horrors of the voyage, how the pitch and roll of the boat had made Rachel sick.

‘Wheesht. Wheesht. She’ll be all right now.’

The entire scene seemed to affect my grandma, Catriona, in a different way. The heavy layers of clothing wrapped around her thin, frail frame appeared to make her shake –

her long blustering skirt, thick black coat, the dark shawl wrapped around her head, all trembling in the breeze. It was as if she were a stalk of grass wavering in the wind, barely upright in the storms that life had sent to whirl around her. Occasionally she sighed. Her eyes, a shade of amber, closing. Taking in huge breathfuls of air, seeking to brace herself for the ordeal that lay ahead, the length of the journey to Ness that still stretched before us.

‘Siuthadaibh,’ the old woman said. ‘Things will be all right now.’

It didn’t feel that way. Not at that moment. Not after those long hours at sea, the difference between rain and waves blurring as they lashed against the portholes of that boat.

Not on that pier with its salt scents and smells, the stink of oil and coal in the wind. The noises, too, were strange and alien to me. The screech of gulls. The swish of the sea on the

pierhead. The rattle of cartwheels across cobblestones. Boat whistles and the clatter of chains as fish were carried between vessel and pier. (It was all such a different world from the

one we had left behind in Glasgow, even though that one, too, had pitched rough and fierce since the afternoon my mother had been taken to hospital, that ratcheting cough of hers echoing in the entrance of the tenement as she was carried out on a stretcher.) Even the accents and the sound of the words people spoke as they sidled up to our grandparents

were peculiar to my ears…

A son of the Hebrides, Donald S. Murray is a writer and poet whose work has been shortlisted for both the Saltire Literary Awards and the Callum Macdonald Memorial Award. His critically acclaimed books bring to life the culture and nature of the Scottish islands, and he appears regularly on BBC Radio 4 and BBC Radio Scotland. 

Praise for Donald S Murray:

“Deeply moving.” Will Self, Telegraph

“He writes with an inherent understanding of Highland culture, language and way of life.” Herald

“The story is told with great charm, and tinged with a spirit of loss and yearning.” Philip Marsden, Spectator

“Mr Murray is a gregarious and engaging raconteur.” The Economist

“Donald S. Murray is one of the most accomplished and original writers to have emerged from Lewis in modern times, and there is stiff competition.” Roger Hutchinson, West Highland Free Press

“Outstanding.” Highland News 

REVIEWS OF AS THE WOMEN LAY DREAMING

“A classic bildungsroman… It is that rarity: a work of imagination which reads like experienced truth. It’s the kind of book you want to read again as soon as you finish it, because you know there is so much that will be revealed on that second reading: the kind of novel which can enrich your life.” Allan Massie, Scotsman

“Murray is an evocative painter of landscapes and a deeply sympathetic writer… This diligently researched book exists principally as a space for forgotten voices to sound, bearing witness not just to this tragedy, but to the terrible cost of World War I itself.” Stephanie Cross, Daily Mail

“Beautifully and sensitively told, by one of the great lyrical writers of our time, D S Murray ... [A] brutal reminder of how resilient and tangled are the tentacles of tragedy.” Cathy MacDonald

“[A] tightly structured, time-hopping memoir-but-not-a-memoir… A story spanning 74 years whittled meticulously into shape… Murray pulls off the perfect combination of fact and fiction… [His] assured journey through the disruption, trauma, love and loss threaded unspoken through one Lewis family, with barely a word of the shipwreck, is on every page a novel of the Iolaire disaster.“ Catriona Black, Herald and National

“A very special book… a poignant tale of family, love and relationships lived out in the hardest of places… Donald S Murray is superb in bringing his characters to life and making the incidents they encounter feel utterly real.” Undiscovered Scotland

“A powerful book…which reveals new layers with every reading. It is history brought to life through fiction, and when it is done in a manner as moving and beautiful as this it is invaluable.” Alistair Braidwood, Scots Whay Hae.

I Invited Her In by Adele Parks - Christmas Edition @adeleparks #Giveaway #Win @HQstories @SophCalder

‘I invited her in… and she took everything.’
When Mel hears from a long-lost friend in need of help, she doesn’t hesitate to invite her to stay. Mel and Abi were best friends back in the day, sharing the highs and lows of student life, until Mel’s unplanned pregnancy made her drop out of her studies.
Now, seventeen years later, Mel and Abi’s lives couldn’t be more different. Mel is happily married, having raised her son on her own before meeting her husband, Ben. Now they share gorgeous girls and have a chaotic but happy family home, with three children.
Abi, meanwhile, followed her lover to LA for a glamorous life of parties, celebrity and indulgence. Everything was perfect, until she discovered her partner had been cheating on her. Seventeen years wasted, and nothing to show for it. So what Abi needs now is a true friend to lean on, to share her grief over a glass of wine, and to have some time to heal. And what better place than Mel’s house, with her lovely kids, and supportive husband…
This dark, unsettling tale of the reunion of long-lost friends is thoroughly gripping exploration of wanting what you can’t have, jealousy and revenge from Sunday Times bestseller Adele Parks.

A commercial fiction legend, Adele Parks's first domestic noir (which published in September 2018), I Invited Her In, shot straight up to #2 in the Sunday Times Bestsellers list, and has been a top ten ever since.

A dark, unsettling tale of jealousy, betrayal and revenge, I Invited Her In imagines the worst thing a friend could ever do.

The new Christmas edition includes a new cover and short story and I have one paperback copy to give away today. Entry is simple, just fill out the competition widget at the end of this post.
UK ENTRY ONLY. GOOD LUCK!

Check out my review of I Invited Her In from 10 September 2018; also printed in the Daily Express:

I Invited Her In by Adele Parks is published in paperback by HQ on 20 September 2018. My thanks to the publisher who sent my copy for review.

Mel and Ben are happily married, living just outside Northampton with their two small daughters and seventeen-year-old son Ben. Mel's life hasn't panned out exactly how she imagined it would when she was in University. An unplanned pregnancy meant that she gave up her degree course and became a single mum to Liam. When Ben came along six years later, both Mel and Liam fell for him, they married and Liam became his son.

Life is pretty ordinary for Mel. Working in a high street clothes store, doing the school run, encouraging Liam's studies, supporting Ben through difficult work times. She's happy, she and Ben have a good relationship

When Mel receives an email from Abi, a friend from university, she's shocked but excited. Abi left the UK many years ago and is now a minor TV celebrity. However, her career is firmly entwined with her husband's - the guy she snared at university and who she's just found in bed with a much younger woman. Abi wants to take refuge in the UK, she wants to stay with Mel and Ben.

Although Mel and Abi haven't been in touch for seventeen years, Mel welcomes her with open arms, telling her that she can stay as long as she likes. Little does she realise that her generous offer will tear her family apart.

Adele Parks writes with such authority, she's able to get into the minds of her characters and the reader is treated to some intense emotional drama in this story. The effect that Abi's arrival has on this pretty normal, suburban  household is devastating and the reader is privy to every single horrific step of it.

Parks' creation of Abi is pure genius and the reader will love to hate her, for we can see far more clearly just what she's up to. I did work out just what she was doing, and why, fairly early on, but poor Mel has no idea and that sense of anticipation that builds and builds as the horror heightens is just excellent.

I Invited Her In is a novel that will spark some debate among readers. Looking at how Mel and Ben's reactions to the situation differs so much will make one think about how males and females can often view parenthood, and friendship in different ways. With themes of revenge, regret and hidden secrets, this is a story that keeps the reader on their toes. Excellently written, darkly addictive and with an ending that throws up one more huge surprise.

Win a copy of the Christmas edition of I Invited Her In by Adele Parks



The audiobook of I Invited Her In will be read by English actress Joanne Froggatt who played lady’s
maid Anna Bates in Downton Abbey.

ABOUT ADELE PARKS

• AUTHOR OF 17 SUNDAY TIMES BESTSELLERS

• OVER 3 MILLION COPIES SOLD IN THE UK

• IN THE TOP 1% OF MOST-BORROWED LIBRARY AUTHORS

• TRANSLATED INTO 26 LANGUAGES



Adele Parks was born in Teesside, North-East England.
Her first novel, Playing Away, was published in 2000 and since then she’s had seventeen international bestsellers. 
She’s been an Ambassador for The Reading Agency and a judge for the Costa and is a keen supporter of The National Literary Trust.
She’s lived in Italy, Botswana and London, and is now settled in  Guildford, Surrey, with her husband, son and cat.

Find out more at www.adeleparks.com
Twitter @adeleparks
Instagram @adele_parks
Author Page on Facebook