I’m thrilled to be joining in with Cassandra Parkin’s Underwater Breathing blog tour today! 🙂 I have an extract and giveaway as part of my stop, with thanks to Imogen at Legend Press.

UNDERWATER BREATHING

CASSANDRA PARKIN

ISBN (Paperback): 9781787198401

ISBN (Ebook): 9781787198395

Price: £8.99 (Paperback) £4.99 (Ebook)

Extent: 320 pages

Format: 198x129mm

Rights Held: World

On Yorkshire’s gradually-crumbling mud cliffs sits an Edwardian seaside house. In the bathroom, Jacob and Ella hide from their parents’ passionate arguments by playing the ‘Underwater Breathing’ game – until the day Jacob wakes to find his mother and sister gone. Years later, the sea’s creeping closer, his father is losing touch with reality and Jacob is trapped in his past. Then, Ella’s sudden reappearance forces him to confront his fractured childhood. As the truth about their parents emerges, it’s clear that Jacob’s time hiding beneath the water is coming to an end.
Can a crumbling family structure mend the ties that bind them?

Extract…..

Chapter Two

2007

On the third morning in their house at the end of the world, Jacob woke to sunshine and silence and a sky that stretched out and out like a flat blue sheet. He lay in bed for a few minutes, listening to the small sounds of the house as it moved and settled. He was still learning the personality of this new home. The warm places and the draughty ones. The spots where you could walk freely and the ones where the boards would shriek like mandrakes. The welcoming rooms and the ones that brimmed with darkness. After so many years of smallness and making do, the emptiness and light made him feel as if the top of his head might come off. So far, this house seemed worn but welcoming, the way he imagined it would feel to visit grandparents. He wondered if the house knew it was destined to fall into the sea eventually, or if it believed it would stand for ever, as solid and permanent as the day it was first built. In the corridor outside, a small sound like a mouse told him Ella was there. After a minute, the door moved slightly and half of her face peered cautiously in. “It’s too early,” he told her, not because it was too early but because he wanted her to start learning that it wasn’t okay to come into his room without being asked. Then, because her face looked so resigned and sad as she turned away, he added, “but you can come in anyway. As long as you don’t fidget.” A scurry of feet and a glad little hop and his bed was full of Ella, smelling of clean childish sweat and strawberry shampoo. At six, she was getting too big to do this; her sharp little toes scratched against his leg as she wriggled beneath the covers. He’d been exactly the right temperature when he woke up, but with Ella beside him the bed was like a superheated prison. He’d have to get up soon. “Do you like our new house?” he asked. To his surprise, she immediately shook her head. “You don’t? Seriously? Why not?” She whispered something, but he couldn’t make it out. “Don’t whisper, I can’t understand you. Talk to me properly.” She looked at him silently. “Fine, don’t talk to me properly, that’s up to you. Come on. It’s breakfast time.” His room and Ella’s were at one end of a short corridor that terminated in a rounded turret. When they first looked at the house, he’d seen the turret from the outside and hoped it might be his bedroom. As it turned out, the turret room was a cavernous bathroom that his parents had instantly told them both they were never to use – a rule Jacob took great secret pleasure in ignoring. He shut the bathroom door on Ella’s hopeful face. He wasn’t going to have her watching him pee. When he opened the door again, her expression reminded him of a dog waiting for its owner. “I waited for you,” she said, and took his hand confidingly. “You did.” “Are we going downstairs now?” “We are.” “Shall we have breakfast now?” “Yes.” “And Mummy and Daddy aren’t awake yet?” “I don’t know.” It was still strange to find himself in a space where every action of every person in the household wasn’t instantly telegraphed, not just to everyone in their own home, but to everyone in the homes on either side and on top of them as well. “We’ll go past their bedroom and listen.” “Did they argue last night?” The sudden question pierced him. He’d wanted to believe that, with this new home, the shouting would stop. “No, I don’t think so.” Lying to his little sister felt wrong, even when it was for her own good. “You didn’t hear anything, did you?” “Yes.” “You can’t have done, you were asleep. You must have dreamed it.” “I woke up and I couldn’t sleep again because I was frightened. I don’t like it here. The sea’s too close. It’s going to come and take our house away.” “Don’t be silly, the sea’s not going to take our house away.” “Yes it is, that’s what the man said. It’s going to come in the night when it’s raining and take our house away and we’ll all go floating in the water and never see each other again.” “Stop it. That won’t happen. Well, it might happen in the end, but not for years. Now come on, we’re going to find some breakfast.” The door to their parents’ bedroom was closed as they passed it. He paused a moment in case he could hear anything, get a measure of the emotional temperature of the household, but there was nothing. The acoustics here were another mystery he was still exploring. Sometimes you could stand by a halfopened door and hear almost nothing of what was being said on the other side. Sometimes you could be three rooms away and a voice would come to him with startling clarity. (“My head’s like a beehive,” his mother had said yesterday as he stood in the tiled room by the front door, idly contemplating the patches of damp that bloomed across the bare walls, and he was so convinced that she was behind him and speaking to him that he turned to ask her what she meant. “And you’re like a beekeeper. You keep the bees in order and stop them from swarming too far.” And it was only when his father replied, “So do the bees like it here?” that he realised he was standing beneath their bedroom and eavesdropping on their private conversation.) They left their parents’ room and went downstairs. The flowing wooden curve of the bannister beneath his hand felt like an old friend. He had to stop himself from laughing out loud as the hallway came up to meet him. The kitchen smelled of last night’s dinner – a chicken curry that had been delicious at the time, but now just smelled gross. He wrestled with the back door for a while, until finally a gust of warm clean air rushed in. Another glorious thing about their new home: the garden that came with it. He still couldn’t quite believe it was all theirs. “Do you want a picnic?” he asked Ella. She was rummaging in the cupboard where she’d insisted on stashing her own special plastic cups and plates. Her face looked at him doubtfully over the top of the door. “Come on, let’s go outside and eat. It’s warmer outside than in here.” The breeze tugged at his hair and the legs of his pyjamas. “My feet will get cold.” “Put your wellies on.” “It’ll be all wet.” “No it won’t.” “I don’t like it outside, I’d rather eat inside –” “I’ll get your wellies for you. Don’t try and make breakfast, I’ll do it.” He crammed the toaster with bread, then sprinted to the tiled room by the front door, which his mother had now declared to be the cloakroom. If he wasn’t quick enough, Ella would think he wasn’t coming back at all and would start assembling her own breakfast, which was unlikely to end well. Ella’s wellies – purple and white with a unicorn face moulded into the toes, a magical charity-shop discovery – lay at rest between his father’s muddy work boots. As he picked them up, he heard his parents speaking in the room above, and paused a moment, holding his breath so he could hear more clearly. “We shouldn’t have come here.” His mother, her voice low and full of conviction. “It’s too quiet.” We belong here, Jacob thought furiously, trying to send his thoughts up through the ceiling and into his parents’ brains. Don’t argue. Please don’t argue. This is our home, we’ve finally got one. Don’t ruin it. “And that’s exactly why we bought it! Because it’s quiet. We’ll be safe here. End of the world and turn right, remember?” “But if the world ends and we turn right, do you know where we’ll be?” A little frightened laugh. “The sea wants the house too.” “We’ve got time. We’ve got at least twenty years, that’s what they said. Isn’t that enough for now?” “And you’re drinking again. Don’t tell me you’re not because I know you are, I could smell it on you last night.” “We were celebrating! Last of the unpacked boxes? You had some too.” “I saw you drink three glasses of wine and a glass of whiskey with me, and I saw you down three fingers of whiskey in the pantry and then refill your glass and bring it out again.” No, thought Jacob, don’t do this, stop it. Don’t ruin this house. “Are you spying on me?” “No. Yes. Yes, I was. I spied with my little eye. I’m good at watching you, I have to be.” “For God’s sake! Look, that’s all in the past, isn’t it? It was a hard life for both of us and we both had our ways of coping, didn’t we? And sometimes – sometimes – I used to drink a bit more than I ought to. But now we’re here and we’re safe, so you can stop looking over your shoulder all the time, and I –” “Can stop drinking in secret?” “It wasn’t a secret, it was an impulse. I had one extra mouthful of the good stuff because I was happy and then I came out. It wasn’t three fingers, it wasn’t even three millimetres, it was just a little mouthful. You’re exaggerating again. And I wasn’t drunk, I’m never drunk.” A brief silence. “Now why don’t you come here?” The sound of feet moving above him, and then a single murmur of pleasure with two notes to it that sent him scurrying to the doorway, Ella’s boots clutched tightly in his fingers. He’d been listening at doors since his father’s first hesitant question (“Jacob, would it be all right if I brought a girlfriend home one time?”) – but his parents doing that wasn’t something he wanted to listen to ever. In the kitchen, he found imminent disaster. Ella, industriously busy as she always was when left to herself, had used a chair to climb the worktops, opened all the cupboards until she found the Cheerios, filled her bowl and the surrounding floor with crunchy cereal hoops, climbed another chair to reach the fridge and taken out the milk. Now she was struggling with the screw-top, her mouth open with concentration and her hair tousled and fluffy in the sunlight. He yelped in panic, took the milk from her and put it out of reach. “I told you not to try and get your own breakfast,” he said, unsure whether to tell her off or admire her persistence. “Never mind. Put your wellies on.” That garden! His heart lifted every time he caught a glimpse of its wild neglected tangle. (“It used to be bigger,” the vendor said ruefully as he showed them around a lawn bursting with dandelions, bounded with rose bushes at the sides and with a scrub of brambles and gorse marking the spot where the garden spilled onto the cliffs.) Jacob didn’t care about how big it had once been; what they had now was astounding. In the middle of the lawn, a crabbed old apple-tree crouched over a patch of barren earth made briefly lovely with fallen blossom. Ella made a beeline for the spot beneath the tree, milk and cereal slopping out of the sides of the bowl as she went.
“Come on,” he coaxed Ella. “Let’s go closer to the sea.” She shook her head. “We might see a seal. Like in your animal book?” “I want to sit under the tree.” “No, we’ll sit where we can see the water at least.” She shut her eyes and turned away. “There’s a beach down there. We could paddle maybe. Look for shells. Come on Ella, don’t be a pain. I’ve done everything you want so far, I spent ages yesterday helping you get your room sorted, now it’s time to do something I want.” “No. I don’t want to see the sea, I want to stay here and play in the garden.” “Well, if you won’t come with me then I’m going on my own,” he declared, and marched off with his toast, knowing he’d just invoked the nuclear option and she would follow him, because she worshipped him. He wasn’t being fair, but then it wasn’t fair that he’d spent most of yesterday unpacking clothes into drawers and books into bookshelves while she endlessly rearranged six plastic unicorns along her window ledge, so now he got to cancel out that unfairness with a bit of his own. He heard Ella scurrying behind him. She had discarded her cereal bowl somewhere in the garden. After a minute he took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. Sharing Jacob’s toast between them, they pushed through the grudging gap in the tangle of gorse and brambles that marked what Jacob presumed was the end of their garden. The spines of the gorse glinted with the raindrops it had captured last night. (“Now everything will grow,” his mother had said dreamily, looking out of the window. “Like having a gardener come for free. Free rain. And tomorrow you kids can have free rein…”) Beyond the thin thread of pathway, the cliff-edge rushed downwards. “Is this still our garden?” Ella whispered. “Are we still in our garden?” “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“There’s a path, though. Are people allowed to make a path in our garden?” “I don’t think anyone really comes here anyway. It’s too –” he stopped before the word dangerous could get away from him – “too quiet.” “So who made the path then? Jacob, what if people can come in our garden?” At the foot of the cliff, an empty, shingly beach had rolled itself out. Sunlight washed over the pebbles and struck sparks off the water. A rowboat bobbed a few feet from the shore, oars resting on the cross-struts that braced its wide-bellied shape. There was no sign of the boat’s owner. “We could maybe get a boat,” he said. Ella shook her head. “Come on, it could be fun.” “I don’t want to go in a boat, they’re dangerous.” “No, they’re not. Shall we go down there?” “Please can we go back to the house now?” “No, let’s explore.” A crumbly brown pathway led like a slipway onto the pebbles below. It looked steep but doable. “Hey, this might even be our own private beach. How cool would that be?” “I don’t want to go on the beach, please Jacob, I don’t want to go on the beach.” He picked her up and slung her across his hip. “No, please put me down, put me down, please, Jacob, please –” “Shush. You’ll like it when we get there. And stop wriggling or I’ll drop you.” He scrabbled down the slope. Ella was a dead weight in his arms, fingers hooked into him like claws. He would have bruises later. The sand was as deserted as it had looked from above. They might be the only people left alive in the world. Against his chest, Ella was like a vibrating drum. “Come on,” he said coaxingly, half-ashamed now he’d got his way. “It’s lovely down here. Do you want to paddle?” She shook her head. “We can play some games if you like, or just collect stones and stuff. What’s the matter now?”
Ella pointed to the slick black shape that lay, basking in the sunshine, a few feet from the base of the cliff. “Is it a monster?” she whispered. “Is it? Will it get us?” “Oh, wow.” Jacob’s heart swelled with gladness. “Oh, wow, that’s a seal. Ella, that’s a seal.” “It looks like a monster.” Her fingers were slackening their death-grip on his arms. He put her down before she could grab on again. “Is it really a seal? An alive one? Not a toy one?” “Of course an alive one, who’d make a toy seal that big? Do you want to go closer?” “Should we stroke it?” “Definitely not, but we can look.” “Would it be soft?” “I don’t know, it might be, I know they’re furry but I don’t know what they feel like.” There was something odd about the seal’s shape; it was thinner than he’d thought at first, lacking the acute upward curve of insulating fat, and while its tail-flippers looked right, there was something odd about the fore-flippers. Perhaps it was dead; perhaps that was what it was doing all by itself. “Actually, maybe we shouldn’t get too close, we don’t want to frighten it.” “It’s waking up,” Ella breathed. “Is it going to come and see us?” “No, don’t go any closer, it might not be safe, Ella please, no, don’t –” And then the seal turned its head and he saw that they were stalking a woman, small and round and sturdy, lying in the sunlight in a thick black wetsuit that covered her from cap to toe, and now was sitting up and looking at them. “Sorry,” he muttered, trying to take Ella’s hand so they could get away. The woman shaded her eyes with her hand so she could see them better. “We thought you were a seal,” Ella said. “There are seals around here,” the woman said. “But you shouldn’t go near them. They’re hunters, not cuddly toys.”
“I’m called Ella. And he’s called Jacob. And my mum’s called Maggie and my dad’s called Richard and we live –” “Shush, Ella.” Jacob felt as if his face might burn right off his bones with embarrassment. “And I’m Mrs Armitage.” She got to her feet, taking her time about it. Her face was brown, her gaze piercing. “Do you know there’s no way off this beach?” Jacob looked at her blankly. “We got down here.” Mrs Armitage nodded towards the steep slope of earth. “That’s not a path, that’s a cliff-fall. Coming down is one thing. But if you try and climb back up it, it’s liable to come down on you.” “Oh. Okay. We’ll find another path then.” “You won’t find any. There are no safe paths down here. And you can’t climb the cliffs, they’ll come down on you.” “Jacob,” said Ella, her eyes widening. “Shush,” said Jacob. “It’ll be fine.” “But how are we going to get home?” “We’ll be all right, Ella! Stop fussing!” “You’d better come with me,” said Mrs Armitage. “In my boat, I mean. I’ll row you round to the next cove. You can pick up the path and walk back.” “We’ll be fine,” said Jacob. “You’ll drown if you don’t,” said Mrs Armitage, her voice as flat and calm as a millpond. There was no way off the beach. Or was there? What if this strange woman was simply telling them this so she could lure them out onto the water? “Have we got to go near the sea? Jacob, have we got to go on the boat?” Mrs Armitage was older and smaller, he could probably fight her off if he had to, but what if he couldn’t? And what if she was right about the beach? What was the right thing to do? “Ella, will you just shut up, please!” “I don’t want to go on the boat, I don’t want to go on the boat, please don’t make me go on the boat, the sea will get me!” Ella clung to his leg like a bramble. Her face was white. Jacob realised for the first time the scale of her terror. And he’d made her come down here… “Ella?” Mrs Armitage knelt down at Jacob’s feet. “Ella? Listen to me. I need to tell you something.” “She doesn’t like strangers,” said Jacob wretchedly. “Don’t, you’ll frighten her.” Mrs Armitage took no notice. Instead she smoothed Ella’s hair back to expose the tender pink shell of her ear. She put her mouth against it and whispered. And to Jacob’s apprehensive surprise, Ella’s grip on his leg began to loosen and she turned her face towards Mrs Armitage. “Shall we get on my boat now?” Ella’s face was white, but she nodded and held out her arms. “No, I’m not going to carry you, you can walk.” As if Mrs Armitage had cast a spell on both of them, they trailed in her wake towards the waiting water. “Take your trainers off and roll your jeans up. No, don’t carry them, tie the laces together and hang them round your neck. And the little one needs carrying.” She scooped Ella up under one arm, not the way a woman would normally lift a child but like a farmer lifting a lamb, and held her out to Jacob. The water was so cold it felt as if it hated them. Jacob gritted his teeth and kept wading. Ella’s foot slipped briefly below the surface, and she whimpered and drew herself up against his chest. “The boat’s going to be heavy,” said Mrs Armitage. “So I need you to get in when I say and sit where I say and sit still, you understand me? And don’t put your feet on my scuba gear.” Stacked beneath the seat was a pile of equipment – a tank, a mask, some sort of thing like a thick sleeveless jacket. Mrs Armitage pointed at Jacob. “Pass your sister to me, then get in. Slowly, don’t tip the boat. Now sit right in the middle of that thwart.” “I don’t know what the –”
“The thing like a seat that’s clearly the only place you can sit and that I’m pointing at,” said Mrs Armitage, with no particular emphasis. “And then keep still.” Jacob climbed obediently in. He’d thought the point of boats was to keep the water out, but there was a good inch of sea water sloshing around. He tried not to cringe as it washed over his naked feet. “Now I’m going to pass Ella to you. Sit her on your knee so the boat stays balanced.” Ella’s teeth were chattering with fear and her fingers clung like twigs to the thick black material of Mrs Armitage’s wetsuit. “No, none of that, thank you. Let go. That’s right.” She dropped Ella onto Jacob’s lap. “There you are.” Then there was a quick slither too fast to follow, and Mrs Armitage was effortlessly balanced in the centre of the boat, which – just as she’d said – now rode alarmingly low in the water, with what seemed like only a few inches of woodwork separating them from the waves. Mrs Armitage took the oars and began to pull. This was it. They were officially out at sea with a total stranger. He held Ella as tightly as he dared. Getting the boat moving through the water took a lot of effort. He could see the strain in Mrs Armitage’s face as she wrenched at the oars. After the first few strokes, she paused to push the black cap from her head, revealing cropped brown hair turned tufty and wild by its confinement. “Can I help?” Jacob asked after a while. “I don’t know. Can you row?” “I’ve never tried.” “Then no, you probably can’t help.” She kept rowing. The beach was growing more distant. The silence settled around them like mist. “Our house is going to fall into the sea,” said Ella suddenly. “Ah.” Mrs Armitage nodded. “So you’re the ones. And that’s your house.” He glanced over his shoulder. They were far enough out now that their house was visible. Did this mean his parents, looking out of a window, might be able to see their children afloat on the North Sea with a stranger? He wondered if they were looking for them yet, and how much trouble he’d be in when they finally got home. “It’s not going to fall into the sea,” Jacob told Ella. “Yes it is.” Mrs Armitage’s voice was so flat and calm that it took him a minute to realise he’d been contradicted. “This whole coast is going to disappear in the end.” “Could you stop frightening my sister, please, she’s only six.” “But the good news is,” Mrs Armitage continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “you’re a good twenty feet further from the edge than I am, so mine will go first. So as long as you can still see my house, you’ll know you don’t need to worry. I leave a light on in my bedroom window all night. You’ll be able to see it from your turret window.” She paused for a moment to catch her breath. The boat hopped up one side of a wave and down the other. Ella grabbed onto Jacob’s t-shirt. “I live in the white cottage just along the cliff. My husband chose it. He always liked to be near the sea.” They both looked where Mrs Armitage was pointing. “Then, of course, he ended up drowning in it.” On Jacob’s lap, Ella shuddered. He wondered what would happen if he stood up and pushed Mrs Armitage into the water. “But when your house falls into the sea, you’ll be in the sea too,” said Ella. “And then you’ll drown.” “No, I won’t.” “Yes you will.” “No, I won’t. I told you. I can breathe underwater.” “How? How can you breathe underwater?” “That’s my secret,” said Mrs Armitage. “But I can learn to do it too?” “She’s a scuba diver,” said Jacob crossly. “See those tanks? They’re full of air. She puts them on her back and she can breathe the air through the pipes.”
“A lot of people don’t rate the North Sea as a dive-site. I like it here because you’re not surrounded by holidaymakers making a nuisance of themselves. The water looks muddy but it’s clearer further down. Worse after a storm, of course.” “What is there to see?” “Some good wrecks. Most from the Second World War. A few fishing boats.” When her gaze fell on Ella’s terrified face, her expression softened. “Wrecks are good for the ocean. Fish like them. They make good habitats.” Jacob looked dubiously round at the little boat and wondered how Mrs Armitage could possibly row out far enough to find a shipwreck. “I have another boat,” she said, as if she could read his thoughts. “Bigger than this one. I just use this for pottering around the coast where the water’s shallow.” “Where’s your other boat?” Ella looked around as if it might be hidden under the thwarts. “At the marina, just along the coast from the beach where I’m taking you. You can ask your parents to take you there if you want.” “No, thank you,” Ella whispered. “Ella’s scared of the water,” said Jacob. “No she isn’t. She’s scared of drowning. That’s only common sense. That’s why you have to learn not to drown.” She rested the oars on the rowlocks to catch her breath again. The boat slowed to a rocking, unstable halt. When he looked behind him, Jacob saw the shoreline of another cove, close enough to make out the dogs and people roaming around on it, but too far to swim. Was Mrs Armitage strong enough to get them back to the shore? Was she willing to? Was she even sane? “How about I row for a bit and you –” “No!” Mrs Armitage’s bark shocked him into instant stillness, frozen foolishly in the act of rising from his seat. “Sit still. I told you, we’re too low in the water. If you start wandering around you’ll tip it. Sit back down. Slowly.” Jacob sat back down. “That’s better. So. Why did your parents buy a house that gets more worthless with every year that passes?” “I think it’s what they could afford,” said Jacob, shocked into honesty. Mrs Armitage laughed. “It’s not a bad place to live. Quiet in the winter, but some people prefer that. Not so good for teenagers, of course.” She rested the oars once more. “The tide will carry us in now.” “See, Ella?” Jacob smiled encouragingly. Ella rewarded him with a small stretching of her rosebud mouth. “Nearly there.” Another few strokes. Another break. How deep was the water now? Jacob willed himself to sit still and wait. Mrs Armitage peered down into the water, frowned, rowed another few strokes. “Right, that’ll have to do. Sit tight. Don’t try to get out until I say.” In a slither of neoprene, she slipped over the side and stood thigh-deep in water. “There’s a shelf in the bottom just here, so be careful.” She held Ella as Jacob clambered awkwardly over the side. The water came well above his knees, but when he took a step towards the shore it was just as Mrs Armitage said: a sudden shelf that dropped the water level from his thighs to his calves. “There’s a path at the top of the beach,” Mrs Armitage told him. “It takes you along the cliff to the end of your garden.” She turned her gaze towards Ella. “It goes right past my house, so you could use it to visit me, if you liked. Or you can walk back through the village if you prefer. That takes longer.” “Thanks.” “I’m sorry your house is going to fall into the sea,” said Ella. “Why?” “Because then you won’t have your house any more.” “Then I’ll live in the sea where I belong,” said Mrs Armitage. “Thanks,” Jacob said again, unsure of what else to say.
With Ella in his arms, he began the slow wade back to shore. When Ella’s feet touched the sand, he felt her let out a long breath of relief. “She can turn into a seal,” Ella said to Jacob. “No, she can’t.” “I wish I could turn into a seal.” And then, all in a rush, “Last night I was asleep and I thought the house was falling into the sea and we were falling through the water, and there was an old broken boat and some fish were going to eat our eyes and a crab was going to walk over our skulls.” “Is that why you were so scared? Oh, Ella.” “Is that going to happen one day?” “No, of course it isn’t, that was just a nightmare. Why didn’t you go and get Mum?” “It’s dark on the way to their room.” He sighed. “I tell you what. If you have that dream again, then come and get me. Don’t wake me up or anything,” he added hastily. “But if you’re really scared, you can get in bed with me for a bit. As long as you lie still and don’t wriggle. And you won’t need to be afraid, ever, because we’ll be together.” “Even if the sea comes?” “Even if the sea comes. I promise. Do you want to wave goodbye?” They turned to face the sea and saw that Mrs Armitage was still standing in the water, one hand on her boat, watching them.

Purchase link…..

Giveaway…..

For your chance to win a paperback copy of Underwater Breathing, courtesy of Legend Press, all you have to do is comment ‘Yes please’ on this post and I’ll choose a winner at random! (UK ONLY PLEASE!)

Thanks in advance for joining in!

Good luck!

The Author:

Cassandra Parkin grew up in Hull, and now lives in East Yorkshire. Her short story collection, New World Fairy Tales (Salt Publishing, 2011) won the Scott Prize for Short Stories. Cassandra’s writing has been published in numerous magazines and anthologies. Follow Cassandra on Twitter @ cassandrajaneuk

Reviews…..

‘A dark, powerful and emotional novel with hauntingly beautiful prose. It will compel you to read on even as it sends chills up your spine’ Nicola Moriarty

‘This is a glorious, emotional novel about who we really are, where we belong in the world, and how truly at mercy we are to the events that shape us. I can’t recommend it enough’ Louise Beech

Other books by the author:

The Summer We All Ran Away (2013)

The Beach House (2015)

Lily’s House (2016)

The Winter’s Child (2017)

Check out the rest of the blog tour for reviews, and more, with these awesome book bloggers…..

Enjoy!

An update on upcoming events, from Emma (at City Central Library)…..

As you may know, submissions are currently open for the next 6X6 Reading Café, which takes place on Tuesday 12 June. We’re also looking forward to Poets, Prattlers and Pandemonialists on 18 May. More details of these events are below.

Hot off the press, here are details of two further events in Stoke-on-Trent Libraries. On Saturday 16 June, the Writing Kiln returns to Stoke-on-Trent Libraries, with an event for National Flash Fiction Day  – followed by a novella launch elsewhere in Hanley. And, on Saturday 7 July, we’re running a Paperverse workshop at Stoke Library, combining poetry and simple decorated booklets. Both events are free, but booking is essential.

Fuller details of all these events are below.

Poets, Prattlers and Pandemonialists

Friday 18 May, 7.30pm

City Central Library, Hanley

Cost: £3 including refreshments

What happens when three poets meet up in a pub and decide to put on a show? Join nationally-acclaimed poets Dave Pitt, Emma Purshouse and Steve Pottinger as they come together to plot their path to fame and fortune – will they be distracted by beer and scratchings? Will they put the world to rights? Creative performance poetry at its very best – may contain language!

Contact City Central Library to book your place

Tel: 01782 238455             Email: central.library@stoke.gov.uk

6X6 Reading Café

Tuesday 12 June, 7pm

City Central Library, Hanley

Cost: free

Six writers…six readings…six minutes each. Join us for the ever-popular 6X6 Reading Café, where local authors read and promote their work. The submissions window is open until 27 May; if you’d like to find out more about the café, or how to submit, take a look at the 6X6 blog:

https://6x6writingcafe.wordpress.com/

Contact City Central Library to book your free place

Tel: 01782 238455             Email: central.library@stoke.gov.uk

National Flash Fiction Day event and 2^nd Potteries Prize Launch

Saturday 16 June, 11am– 12:30pm

Cost: free

You are all welcome to attend for a free interactive session about flash (very short) fiction. To celebrate National Flash Fiction we have a great line up of speakers to answer your questions, give advice and to hear readings. Guests include Steve Campbell, Editor of online and print literary magazine Ellipsis Zine, flash fiction writers Helen Rye (Norwich), Adam Lock (Wolverhampton) and Joely Dutton (Stafford), as well as local Stephanie Hutton (The Writing Kiln) to give you the low down on entering writing competitions including the upcoming Potteries Prize.

Bring a pen and paper! Pre-booking is essential.

Contact City Central Library to book your place

Tel: 01782 238455             Email: central.library@stoke.gov.uk

Immediately after the Flash Fiction Day event, local writer and clinical psychologist Stephanie Hutton from The Writing Kiln and co-ordinator of the Potteries Prize will be launching her first novella Three Sisters of Stone. You are invited to come and hear her and other flash fiction writers from across the UK give readings, as well as meet the local artist Louise Ryder-Hall who has designed the front cover.

Saturday 16 June 1pm – 3pm, downstairs at The Exchange, Hanley

Pre-booking is essential for this free event – please contact thewritingkiln@gmail.com by 9^th June or post a comment on their Facebook page @Writing Kiln

Paperverse

Saturday 7 July, 11am-1pm

Stoke Library, South Wolfe Street, Stoke, ST4 4SZ

Cost: free

Join poets Jeff Phelps and Marion Cockin for a creative workshop combining poetry with simple decorated booklets. It’s relaxing, great fun, and with a finished product to take away at the end. Pre-booking is essential!

Contact Stoke Library to book your place

Tel: 01782 238446             Email: stoke.library@stoke.gov.uk

I love Alison Lingwood’s style of writing. I know I’m in for a treat when I start one her books and A Wild Kind of Justice was no exception. I read a lot of crime fiction books, but most tend to be a lot more gruesome than Alison Lingwood’s much more gentle (for want of a better word) murder mysteries. I enjoy both kinds and this has been a pleasure to read.

A Wild Kind of Justice is Alison Lingwood’s third book and I would recommend you read them in order as they do feature the same detective and some of the character’s story lines follow on from the previous books. I don’t think you’d find yourself totally lost if you read this as a standalone though.

In this story DCI Christopher Timothy finds himself in charge of a new mystery when part of a human body is found at the site of a disused mine in Staffordshire. Unfortunately he doesn’t get much of a chance to investigate before losing a close friend to murder and ending up in hospital himself. His team battle to piece together the evidence and try to find any links between the two murders, but nothing much seems to make sense to start with. They miss Chris’ expertise but are determined to solve the case before anyone else gets hurt. With the help of vital witnesses things eventually start falling in to place.

This is a very cleverly written police procedural which is very much plot driven, but also focusses heavily on the character’s.

I really felt for Chris’ wife. It must be terrifying being married to a policeman, especially when your worst fears seem to be coming true. I also felt for his colleagues, desperate to uncover the truth. It just goes to show though, do you ever really know those who you should be able to trust?

I love that this book is set in Newcastle-under-Lyme (my hometown). It’s great when you can picture the places mentioned!

Full of suspense, as always. I’m looking forward to catching up with DCI Christopher Timothy, and others, in the next book.

Purchase here…..

About the author…..

Alison Lingwood was born in Cheshire in 1952. She is an ex-lecturer and retired businesswoman who lives in Staffordshire with her husband.

Alison Lingwood’s Amazon Author Page

Enjoy!

Previous posts featuring Alison Lingwood and her books…..

Local authors

The Bridport Dagger by Alison Lingwood

Q&A with author, Alison Lingwood

Our first #Stoke-on-Trent #bookblogger / #author #meetup – 12th May 2018 😊

Decide to Hope

An unimaginable trauma. A future that seems impossible. When your world shatters, how do you put it back together? For 950 days, Kathleen Conners has struggled with that choice. Behind a scarf and sunglasses, she hides from the world, from herself, from The Event, from any future with anyone. After receiving a box of letters from his deceased mother, Matt Nelson is shoved from his predictable, controlled life to a secluded beach in North Carolina. While trying to understand his mother’s intent, he discovers Kathleen. Matt must choose whether to follow the path his mother orchestrated or rescue the woman who has captured his heart. When the only person Kathleen blames more than herself reappears, can Matt be the strength Kathleen needs to create a new life, or will he be forced to walk away if she decides the climb is too great?

Pre-order Link

Author Bio:

June happily resides in Sandy Springs, Georgia, with her husband, Dave, and their dog, Sodapop. They have two wonderful adult children and two grandchildren. She is an enthusiastic exerciser and an accomplished cook. She and her husband enjoy hiking with Sodapop, traveling, scuba diving, trying new restaurants, concerts, and whatever other adventures they can find. Reading and a constant desire to learn keeps her busy too.

A trauma survivor who struggles with mental illness, June is continuously reaching for hope like the characters in her books. She openly discusses her personal struggles on her blog, JuneConverse.com

Decide to Hope is her first novel and relies a great deal on her own experience with trauma, choices, recovery and hope. If you’d like to discuss trauma, coping and recovery, contact her at JuneConverse.com or DecideToHope.com

Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/JuneAConverseAuthor/

Twitter:

https://twitter.com/juneaconverse

Website/blog:

https://www.juneconverse.com/

Check out the rest of the blog tour for reviews, and more, with these awesome book bloggers…..

Enjoy!

Hiya! 🙂

I was so overwhelmed with the response to our first ever book blogger / author meet up in Stoke-on-Trent! It was the most amazing day filled with some of the most amazing bloggers and authors you are ever likely to meet. A big thank you to the very lovely Steph Lawrence for organising the whole thing with me. I had the best time and I can’t thank those who came along enough. You are all awesome!

There are a few who sadly couldn’t attend in the end and they were very much missed. I have my fingers crossed that they will make the next one.

I managed to get lots of lovely photo’s and I wanted to share them with you all. Please check out everyone’s blogs/websites etc.

The venue

•

Me and my partner in crime, Steph 😉

Steph blogs at https://steflozbookblog.wordpress.com/

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Me and my beautiful daughter, Taylor, who is an aspiring author and has already had a short story published 🙂

•

Waiting for everyone to arrive!

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Susan Hampson who blogs at https://booksfromdusktilldawn.blog/

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Tess Makovesky – author – http://tessmakovesky.com/

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Carla Kovach – author – http://carlakovach.com/

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Nia Ireland who blogs at https://themostsublime.com/

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Stacey Garrity who blogs at https://whisperingstories.com/

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Alison Lingwood – author – https://www.amazon.co.uk/Alison-Lingwood/e/B00J951G3M/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1526302687&sr=8-1

•

Jan Edwards – author – https://www.amazon.co.uk/Jan-Edwards/e/B009BAA3R0/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1526302807&sr=8-1

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Lindsay Hill who blogs at https://bookboodle.co.uk/

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Jo Robertson who blogs at https://mychestnutreadingtree.wordpress.com/

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Authors – Jo Furniss and Mel Sherratt

http://www.jofurniss.com/

http://melsherratt.co.uk/

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Susan Boulton – author – https://www.susanjboulton.co.uk/

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Peter Coleborn – Editor/Publisher – https://alchemypress.wordpress.com/

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Caroline England – author – http://carolineenglandauthor.co.uk/

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Claire Huston and her lovely little boy 🙂

Claire blogs at https://clairehuston.co.uk/

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Caroline James – author – http://www.carolinejamesauthor.co.uk/

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Nikki Ashton – author – https://www.nikkiashtonbooks.co.uk/

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Sharon Sant aka Tilly Tennant – author – https://tillytennant.com/

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Jen Lucas who blogs at https://jenmedsbookreviews.com/ and her sister, Mandie Griffiths, who guest reviews on Jen’s blog.

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Sue Flint – writer/blogger – http://sueflintsfs.blogspot.co.uk/

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John Pye – author – http://cathedraloflies.com/index.html

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Other fab photo’s taken…..

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I was even lucky enough to come away with two new signed books! 🙂 🙂 🙂

A massive thank you to Carla & Tilly (Sharon) for your kindness. xx

•

I can’t wait to do it all again on 29th September!

Hope to see you there 🙂

Kerry xx

The Things We Need to Say

Sometimes the things we never say are the most important.

Fran loves Will with all her heart. They had a whirlwind romance, a perfect marriage and a wonderful life. Until everything changed. Now Fran needs to find her way again and teaching a yoga retreat in Spain offers her just that. Leaving behind a broken marriage she has some very important decisions to make.

Will needs his wife, he needs her to open up to him if they’re to ever return to the ways things once were. But he may have damaged any possibility he had of mending their relationship and now Fran is in Spain and Will is alone.

As both Fran and Will begin to let go of a life that could have been, fate may just find a way of bringing them back together.

Perfect for fans of Katie Marsh, Amanda Prowse and Sheila O’Flanagan

Purchase on Amazon UK –

http://amzn.to/2kLqSYL

Enjoy!

Rachel Burton has been making up stories since she first learned to talk. After many false starts she finally made one up that was worth writing down. After graduating with a degree in Classics and another in English, she didn’t really know what to do when she grew up. She has worked as a waitress, a paralegal and a yoga teacher. She has spent most of her life between Cambridge and London but now lives in Leeds with her boyfriend and three cats. The main loves of her life are The Beatles and very tall romantic heroes. Her debut, The Many Colours of Us, was an Amazon Kindle bestseller. Her second novel, The Things We Need to Say, is released on 11 May 2018. She is currently working on her third novel in which the heroine follows the love of her life to live in a city in northern England. It has no autobiographical elements at all…..maybe. Find her on Twitter & Instagram as @bookish_yogi or search Facebook for Rachel Burton Author. She is always happy to talk books, writing, music, cats and how the weather in Yorkshire is rubbish. She is mostly dreaming of her next holiday….

Social media links…..

Facebook –

https://www.facebook.com/rachelburtonauthor/

Twitter –

https://twitter.com/bookish_yogi

Instagram –

https://www.instagram.com/bookish_yogi/

THE WEEKEND SPA BREAK

Friendships Online Series

Part Two

After finally meeting in person at the publishing party of the season, Constance and Estelle are determined not to let their friendship return to mere virtual champagne bottles and uploaded pictures of food.

It’s been a busy year, and Constance feels it’s time to reward herself with the spa break Estelle gave her for Christmas. Naturally, Constance wouldn’t dream of taking anyone other than Estelle, and this will provide the perfect opportunity to bond with her new chum.

As the excited pair spend some quality time together, they realise it’s not just writing books they have in common, but something that goes much deeper. After a few Jacuzzi sessions, facials, pedicures, and a massage by sexy Senior Therapist, Julio, everything seems to be peachy until an unexpected visitor turns Constance’s weekend of bliss … on its head.

A two-day spa break.

Sparkling water on tap.

And the perfect massage.

But who’s rubbing who up the wrong way?

Purchase from Amazon UK –

https://amzn.to/2GVSnZX

Anne John-Ligali is a writer and the founder of Books and Authors UK, a popular website featuring author interviews and book reviews. She loves all things books: reading, writing, going to book events, and meeting other book lovers. She has written a series of short stories and is currently writing her first novel.

Anne has always loved stories and read many books as a child, including the entire Sweet Valley High and Caitlyn series. Her interest in writing fiction came years later, when she began writing for pleasure in 2007.

Originally from Peterborough, Anne now lives in London. After moving to London, she studied graphic design at the University of Arts and has held a number IT administration jobs in the city. Anne continues writing and aspires to write more women’s fiction books, a non-fiction book and several children’s books.

Social Media Links –

Author blog:

http://annejohnligali.com/

Author Twitter:

https://twitter.com/AnneJohnLigali

Author FB:

https://www.facebook.com/annejohnligali/

Books and Authors UK:

http://www.booksandauthors.co.uk

Books and Authors UK Twitter:

https://twitter.com/BooksNAuthorsUK

Books and Authors UK Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/Books-and-Authors-UK-674729805905507/

Check out the rest of the blog tour for reviews, and more, with these awesome book bloggers…..

Enjoy!

To Rome…with love?

Mary Smith is turning her very ordinary life upside-down! She’s bought herself a one-way ticket to Rome and is ready for a summer she’ll never forget.

Men might be off the cards for waitress Mary, but within hours of arriving at the utterly charming family-run La Dolce Vita pizzeria, she’s already fallen in love with the bustling capital!

Only Dante Rossi, the mysterious (and drop-dead gorgeous) chef seems displeased with her arrival. And in the heat of the kitchen, it doesn’t take long for long-buried secrets to surface and sparks to fly…

A deliciously heartwarming romance to have you dreaming of summer. Perfect for fans of Debbie Johnson and Caroline Roberts.

Purchase from Amazon UK:

http://amzn.to/2rrwXfT

Enjoy!

Samantha Tonge lives in Cheshire with her lovely family and a cat who thinks it’s a dog. When not writing she spends her days cycling, willing cakes to rise and avoiding housework. She has sold over 80 short stories to women’s magazines. Her bestselling debut novel, Doubting Abbey, was shortlisted for the Festival of Romantic Fiction best Ebook award in 2014. Game of Scones hit #5 in the UK Kindle chart and won the Best Romantic Ebook category at the 2015 Love Stories Awards.

Links

Twitter:

https://twitter.com/SamTongeWriter

Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/SamanthaTongeAuthor

Website:

http://samanthatonge.co.uk/

My review…..

One Little Mistake has been on my Netgalley list for far too long, so I thought it was about time I read it. OH MY! What a tense and often uncomfortable read this is. In a good way, of course.

Vicky seems to have it all, a loving husband, three healthy children, a nice home, money, a good job….. but she doesn’t seem to fully appreciate any of them. I didn’t warm to Vicky until right at the end. She came across as spoilt and a bit self-centred to me. She puts her marriage at risk as well as her baby and lies to cover up it all up. Her biggest mistake, however, is confiding in her so called best friend, Amber. I didn’t warm to Amber either. She had a really rough upbringing and feels that those she trusted failed her, which has obviously affected her mental health and life as a whole, but this doesn’t condone her behaviour towards Vicky and her husband. I am amazed Vicky wasn’t more wary of her sooner, but then Amber is a very manipulative character. I can totally understand why she would envy Vicky though, given her past.

This story builds in tension quite early on and doesn’t let up. I was totally hooked. Having said that, at times I wasn’t sure I wanted to carry on reading as I knew something awful was going to happen. I had to know though!

Brilliantly written!

I will be adding Emma Curtis’s upcoming release to my wish list.

Many thanks to the author and publisher for my review copy via Netgalley.

**When I Find You, the eagerly anticipated next thriller from Emma Curtis, is available to pre-order NOW!**

THE BESTSELLING EBOOK SENSATION

‘A compelling page-turner which kept me reading well into the night.This book will make any woman look at her best friend with more than a touch of suspicion . . .’ Jane Corry, author of MY HUSBAND’S WIFE

*********

YOU TRUSTED YOUR BEST FRIEND . . . YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE.

Vicky Seagrave is blessed: three beautiful children, a successful, doting husband, great friends and a job she loves. She should be perfectly happy.

When she makes a split-second decision that risks everything she holds dear, there’s only person she trusts enough to turn to.

But Vicky is about to learn that one mistake is all it takes; that if you’re careless with those you love, you don’t deserve to keep them . . .

*********

‘A brilliant, gripping read. I couldn’t put it down’ Claire Douglas, author of THE SISTERS and LOCAL GIRL MISSING

‘A tense and utterly engrossing story’ Tammy Cohen, author of WHEN SHE WAS BAD and THE BROKEN

‘A page-turner that explores how friendship, mothering, marriage, and events in the past can collide in unexpected and tumultuous ways’ Beth Miller, author of THE GOOD NEIGHBOUR and WHEN WE WERE SISTERS

‘A dark page-turning debut of friendship, deceit and lies’ Woman & Home

Purchase link…..

Enjoy!

I am thrilled to be kicking off Kathleen Jowitt’s A Spoke In The Wheel blog tour 🙂 

I have a fabulous guest post for you all…..

One day in May 2011 I stepped out of the railway station on my way home from work and found myself in the middle of a bicycle race.

I hadn’t been particularly interested in sports up to that point. I hated school PE, and my parents didn’t have a television, so I had no opportunity to follow professional sports even if I’d wanted to. At university, a friend got me into Formula One, but other than that I filed sport under ‘not my thing’.

Then came that spring evening when I got off the train in Woking, started walking home, and found my way blocked by a metal barrier.

A cyclist came past, a woman in her early twenties, obviously very fit, but also obviously suffering. Then another one. Then, a few minutes later, a whole bunch. I had no idea what was going on, who was winning, who was even riding, but I was fascinated. I applauded everybody who came past. I worked my way around the course to the finish line and learned that this was the Women’s Grand Prix Series, and that the men would race in the Tour Series later in the evening.

I went home and dragged my partner out to watch the men’s race with me.

‘Next year,’ I said when it was over, ‘we’ll watch the other stages, so we know what’s going on by the time it gets back to Woking.’

We did.

In 2012 I also followed the Tour de France for the first time. That was the one where Bradley Wiggins won the general classification, the first British rider ever to do so. But what really stuck with me was the image of David Millar in tears after winning a stage in Annonay-Davézieux, and talking about what that win meant to him, as an ex-doper who was now clean. This was a story that interested me. I was hooked.

That was the year of the London Olympics, of course, and by sheer good luck we were living about a mile from part of the road cycling race route. Well, that was my birthday weekend sorted. We cycled up to see the race go past (the men on the Saturday, the women on the Sunday) and then dashed home again to see the rest of it on television.

I haven’t looked back. Over the seven years since that first race I’ve travelled to York and to Walthamstow to see two different stages of the Grand Départ of the Tour de France, and to Bury St Edmunds to see the Women’s Tour get under way. I’ve sat on a blanket on my own front lawn, glass of wine in hand, as the Tour of Britain peloton passed by. I’ve got back on a bike myself, if only to get from home to the station. I’ve been enthralled, I’ve been disillusioned, and I’ve still got a lot of respect for David Millar. The Grand Prix Series and the Tour Series have left Woking, and so have I.

And I’ve written a book. A Spoke in the Wheel is about many things – it’s about disability, integrity, cycling, and people’s assumptions about all those things – but it wouldn’t have happened without that first race, that race I saw by accident, seven years ago.

Seven years as a cycling fan, and counting. It’s been one heck of a ride.

Thanks so much for taking the time to write this inspiring guest post for Chat About Books, Kathleen, and for the opportunity to kick off your blog tour 🙂

A Spoke in the Wheel

The first thing I saw was the wheelchair.

The first thing she saw was the doper.

Ben Goddard is an embarrassment – as a cyclist, as an athlete, as a human being. And he knows it.

Now that he’s been exposed by a positive drugs test, his race wins and his work with disabled children mean nothing. He quits professional cycling in a hurry, sticks a pin in a map, and sets out to build a new life in a town where nobody knows who he is or what he’s done.

But when the first person he meets turns out to be a cycling fan, he finds out that it’s not going to be quite as easy as that.

Besides, Polly’s not just a cycling fan, she’s a former medical student with a chronic illness and strong opinions. Particularly when it comes to Ben Goddard…

Buy…..

Author Biography

Kathleen Jowitt was born in Winchester, UK, and grew up deep in the Welsh Marches and, subsequently, on the Isle of Wight. After completing her undergraduate degree in English Literature at the University of Exeter she moved to Guildford and found herself working for a major trade union. She now lives in Cambridge, works in London, and writes on the train.

Her first novel, Speak Its Name, was the first self-published book ever to be shortlisted for the Betty Trask Prize.

Social Media Links

Website

http://www.kathleenjowitt.com

Twitter

http://www.twitter.com/kathleenjowitt

Facebook

http://www.facebook.com/kathleenjowitt

Instagram

http://www.instagram.com/kathleenjowitt

Amazon author page

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Kathleen-Jowitt/e/B01CDJN1HE/

Check out the rest of the blog tour for reviews, and more, with these awesome book bloggers…..

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Enjoy!

Previous post, on Chat About Books, featuring Kathleen Jowitt and her books…..

Q&A with author, Kathleen Jowitt @KathleenJowitt