Firstly a big thank you to Sabah for my copy to review and having me on the tour. I absolutely loved her debut so was excited to read this.
Judy certainly knows how to write fun books about women getting into mischief.
Fantastic charactars all at different points of their life and with unique dramas.
Packed with warmth and humour this makes for a perfect holiday read.
If you enjoy books from Fiona Gibson ,another avon author then i highly recommend this story.
Do check out the other blogs taking part in the tour.
Read on for a sneak peek….
There’s something on the front doorstep, a package. As I approach, I notice it’s a bouquet of flowers: roses – red, white and pink – perfect blooms, expensively arranged. I pick them up in both arms like an old-fashioned prima ballerina and bring them to my nose. They have a light, sweet fragrance and I smile. I consider doing a low curtsey but decide against it in the heeled boots.
There’s a card, thick and embossed in gold. I pull it out and stare at the words: Thank you for looking after my Bonnie last night. Adie. I push the flowers away as if they’ve started to stink. In a way, they have. I hold them by the stalks, petals hanging down, heavy as a dead rabbit, open the door and march inside. I throw them in the sink and take out my phone. It rings for a while; Bonnie doesn’t answer. I wonder if he’s tied her up, gagged her. I make myself a cup of tea.
The steaming liquid comforts me. I think back and the images come quickly, remembering when Bonnie first brought Adie home and he was so well mannered and courteous. She’d been gullible with men before Adie, gravitated towards the overconfident type, had her heart broken a few times but moved on quickly enough with encouragement from me.
Adie was different, cunning: he saw Bonnie as a trusting, good-natured clip-on status symbol. I disliked him the first time I saw him and my views never changed. She was shy with him, but I could tell she was smitten, her heart lost in a moment. And Adie was cardboard-stiff in his best suit, like he’d just stepped down from the witness box, straight-faced and slimy, taking a slice of cake and murmuring, ‘You make the best gateau in Liverpool, Mrs Turner.’ Bonnie had giggled into her hand and turned shining eyes on him, as if he were a saint.
I was going out with a drummer called Magic who played in The Shipperies every Sunday night, wore eyeliner and looked like a Greek god. I had no time for my sister’s creepy suitor. As she poured tea, my mother said, ‘And what do you do, Adrian?’ His smile was just teeth and no expression in the eyes. ‘I buy old property, do it up and sell it on, make money.’ Bonnie was all breath and excitement. My mum managed to make it to their wedding, but she wasn’t well. She died a few years after that. She’d have hated to see Bonnie now.