A one-bedroom
apartment with creeping damp.
Depressed cat,
complete with litter tray.
Neither was
part of Claire’s five-year plan.
Nor, for that
matter, was divorce.
Left with a
comfort eating habit that’s costing her a small fortune in ice-cream, and panic
attacks flooring her in front of the supermarket meals-for-one, Claire turns to
her mum and Mindfulness in the hope that one of them can help her find real
happiness.
She thinks
she’s cracked it… but then her past comes creeping back.
Now she has to
work out what really makes her happy or risk a life where Ben & Jerry are
the only men who matter.
Purchase Link
US Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08Y7WKY4R
UK Amazon:
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08Y7WKY4R
Only 99p for a limited time!
Excerpt
Claire is trying to get her cat out of the tree she continually gets stuck in when her mother arrives for an unexpected visit.
“Darling, what are you doing?”
I turn to look down
at my mother. I’m standing on the shed roof, the bottom rung of the ladder
propped against my hip to hold it steady against the trunk of the tree. I can
barely hear her over the noise of a passing airplane. “What does it look like
I’m doing?” I yell. “I’m getting the fucking cat down.”
“Language,
darling. Oh, did you get another one?”
“Another
one? What the hell are you talking about? Have you finally become demented?”
“Another
cat.” She points up at the window of my apartment. Sukie is visible on the
windowsill, watching me. I gape at her for a moment, then look back up at the
unmoving lump I have been prodding with the ladder assuming it was her. Now
that I look at it more closely, it does appear slightly green-ish. And perhaps
a bit shiny. More like... like a Marks & Spencer’s plastic bag.
“For
fuck’s sake,” I curse under my breath. I’ve been trying to talk a plastic bag
out of the tree for the last half hour. After a couple of failed attempts, I
hook the bag with the tip of the ladder and yank it out from the branches.
“That
will have been Storm Doris,” my mother says, taking hold of the bottom of the
ladder as I slide it down towards her.
I
grab the bag off the top before the wind can catch it again, and stuff it into
my jacket pocket, then begin the climb down off the shed. “Bloody stupid name
for a storm.”
“You
seem a little out of sorts darling, anything the matter?”
“Apart
from wasting my life getting a plastic bag out of the tree?”
“The
whales will thank you. Plastic bags are killing them, you know.”
“Not
up my tree they’re not. Why are you here, Mummy?”
Author Bio
–
Social
Media Links –
https://www.facebook.com/isobelhartbooks
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please try not to spam posts with the same comments over and over again. Authors like seeing thoughtful comments about their books, not the same old, "I like the cover" or "sounds good" comments. While that is nice, putting some real thought and effort in is appreciated. Thank you.