Sunday, January 23, 2022

That Certain Spark by Isobel Hart - Book Tour

That Certain Spark

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.

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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 –

Born in London, Isobel Hart's childhood was spent in the Middle East before being sent to boarding school. It meant she had a lot of time to read. Now based in the UK, she writes about what she knows - real women, with flaws.

A romantic at heart, happily married for nearly twenty-five years, her novels focus on relationships - good and bad - and the women at the heart of them. She is ever hopeful others will find their happy-ever-afters or Happy-For-Now’s too.

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