Tuesday 18 September 2018

The Fake Date
Lynda Stacey

It's publication day and I would like to thank the Author, Lynda Stacey, so much for asking me to review The Fake Date. I have hosted Lynda a few times now on Boon's Bookcase and she is always so lovely and so when she contacted me to ask me to review her latest book, I jumped at the chance! Please find my review of this great thriller below. Thanks again to Lynda for sending me a copy of The Fake Date for review.

Nine hours and eleven minutes …

That’s how long it’s been since Ella Hope was beaten to within an inch of life and left for dead.
She lies, unable to move and praying for somebody to find her, as she counts down the minutes and wonders who could have hated her so much to have hurt her so badly.
Was it the man she went on a date with the previous evening, the man linked to the deaths of two other women? Or somebody else, somebody who wants her out of the picture so much they’re willing to kill?
Whoever it is, they will pay. All Ella has to do first is survive …

Ella Hope has been beaten so badly and left for dead after a date and she is just looking at her watch waiting for either someone to find her or for death to arrive. The opening chapter in this book is amazing and so detailed, that I found myself holding my breath with anticipation of someone finding Ella before it’s too late!

All Ella wanted to do was find a good story for the newspaper she worked for as a reporter, but as she can’t remember much about the date before she was attacked, will she be able to bring the attacker to justice?

Rick is standing trial for the brutal attack of Ella and is strongly defending his innocence. Can Ella remember enough of that night to put him behind bars, or is she clutching at straws and convincing herself he did it?

This is a great psychological thriller and one where I thought I knew what was going on and then the plot thickens and I started doubting myself! 

I would thoroughly recommend this book as it certainly keeps you on your toes from start to finish!

Thank you to the author for sending me a copy for review.

Monday 17 September 2018


Today I am delighted to be able to show you the cover for Jill Mansell's new novel, Maybe This Time. You will have to wait until January until the hardback is published, but by the look of the fabulous cover, it will be worth waiting for!

You can pre-order this book on Amazon by clicking here

Wednesday 12 September 2018

A Letter from Paris
Louisa Deasey
It's my turn on the Blog Tour for A Letter from Paris by Louisa Deasey and what a fabulous cover it is! 

A Letter from Paris is a memoir for Paris lovers everywhere. When Louisa Deasey receives a message from a Frenchwoman called Coralie, who has found a cache of letters in an attic written about Louisa’s father, neither woman can imagine the events it will set in motion.

The letters, dated 1949, detail a passionate affair between Louisa’s father, Denison, and Coralie’s grandmother, Michelle, in post-war London, and take Louisa on a journey to discover who her father - who had died when she was six - really was.
She uncovers his secret service in WWII, his integral role in the international art scene, and his career as a writer, swept under the carpet by a family that considered him a black sheep. Her journey of discovery takes her all the way to the City of Lights and connects her with an extended family she never knew existed and a stepmother she thought she’d lost forever. 

It was late on Saturday night when Coralie first contacted me. Despite a sudden summer storm, my inner-city apartment was stifling. I’d returned from a friend’s house for dinner. An amazing cook, she’d made a small group of us seafood and salads, and we’d talked into the night as we waited for the storm to settle. Dinner at Carmen’s was the highlight of an awful week.
In the space of seven days, I’d attended a funeral, been to the emergency ward, and had to call the police because my downstairs neighbour had gone off the rails.
I’d quit my job at the University a fortnight earlier after an impossible situation, and the prospect of starting from scratch depressed me. The job had been so ideal when I’d started, and ended so awfully, leaving a sad hollow in my stomach, a resistance to giving anything else my all.
I wanted to write, maybe freelance again — but I had to come down from the year-long stint at the University, the disappointment I felt at how that had all turned out. There was no space in my head to plan and dream — everything felt a bit scary. I wondered if there was something wrong with me, for not being able to ‘hack’ the situation at the University, if only to keep earning a regular income.
I felt caught between worlds, unsure of who I was or what I wanted, restless but tired. Anxious and disorientated. Disappointed in myself, somehow.
I sat trying to remember who I was, and what I wanted — if I could trust myself to want something again.
A Facebook ‘message request’ appeared on my phone as my neighbour’s shouts of abuse reached up from her balcony below.
30 January 2016
Hello Louisa,
I hope you won’t mind me contacting you in such an unsolicited way.
My name is Coralie. I live in Paris, France. My grandmother, Michelle Chomé, recently passed away and we found in her apartment a stack of letters written during the year 1949 to her parents in Paris. At the time she was an au pair in London.
In these letters she speaks of an Australian man called Denison Deasey. She met him on the train to London — he was there that same year with his sister. It seems he took her on some very special outings around London ... she was very smitten with him.
Are you related to Denison Deasey? Again, I hope I am not disturbing you in any way ...
Denison. His name was a shock and a surprise, like the stranger who typed it. I hadn’t thought about dad on any conscious level for such a long time. His story was a scar that still tugged and pulled whenever it was exposed.
Seeing his first name and reading of him was an unexpected visitation. It brought him back, it called him in. I realised just how much I missed him without knowing him, how much I still wanted to know.
I returned to that long-familiar longing, the knowing but not knowing, the unfinished story. Unsure what to hope for, unsure if I should.
I’d only reactivated my Facebook account that morning after a two-week break, to stop getting alerts from University pages. Even odder, I’d then changed my profile picture to an old picture I’d taken at the Louvre, an unexpected pang to return to France having surged over me as I sat up in bed after waking. I’d been trying to think of something that excited me, since I was feeling so lost.
I have to go to Paris again this year, I’d written in my diary.
But here was a message — from Paris. It seemed like a confirmation. I had to get back there. But how?

Saturday 8 September 2018

You Let Me In
Lucy Clarke

It's my stop on the Blog Tour for You Let Me In, the new novel by Lucy Clarke. I have a review for you by my lovely guest reviewer, Julie Williams, who has read all of Lucy's previous books and nearly took my arm off to read and review this one!


I have been eagerly waiting for a new Lucy Clarke book to be written as not only do I love psychological thrillers, but I always enjoy this author’s breath holding chilling tales. Lucy’s writing cave is a beach hut so it’s not surprising that she incorporates the sea into all her novels.

Elle, currently separated from her husband Flynn, is talked into renting out her perfect, Cornish coastal house to a stranger on AirBNB. She is not altogether comfortable with this idea, but the money will come in handy so she puts her valuables away and locks her precious writing room and heads off on a break in France.

On her return Elle senses that things aren’t what they should be and doubt lingers as she discovers her writing room unlocked, her late Mother’s brooch missing from her coat and other things that makes her paranoid and at times doubting her own sanity.

Under pressure and desperate to meet her publishers’ deadline for her second book deal, which she has been paid a hefty sum upfront, the words just won’t flow. Panic sets in as if it doesn’t get published then her home will be at risk, losing her dream home is not an option she wants to contemplate. 

As further strange events occur no one escapes Elle’s suspicions or mine either.

The last few chapters give us the reveal and what a surprise it is, I had no idea which is both refreshing and exciting as a reader.

A chilling, pacy story that had me hooked from start to finish. 

Many thanks for the book Julie and for the honour to guest review it for the blog tour on your blog.

Friday 7 September 2018

Summer of Secrets
Nikola Scott
Today, it's my stop on the Summer of Secrets Blog Tour and below you will find my review and a little bit about the author.

* Paperback: 352 pages
* Publisher: Headline Review (6 Sept. 2018)
* Language: English
* ISBN-10: 1472241185
* ISBN-13: 978-1472241184

BLURB: August 1939
At peaceful Summerhill, orphaned Maddy hides from the world and the rumours of war. Then her adored sister Georgiana returns from a long trip with a new friend, the handsome Victor. Maddy fears that Victor is not all he seems, but she has no idea just what kind of danger has come into their lives...

Chloe is newly pregnant. This should be a joyful time, but she is fearful for the future, despite her husband's devotion. When chance takes her to Summerhill, she's drawn into the mystery of what happened there decades before. And the past reaches out to touch her in ways that could change everything...


This is a book that time lapses between 1939 and the present day. I love reading these types of books to see how they reveal how they interact with each other.

Chloe is a photographer who is married to Aiden, a controlling GP whose public persona is completely different to the one Chloe sees behind closed doors.

Maddy and her sister Georgiana live in Summerhill. An idyllic location, but which holds so many secrets and tragedy.

Georgiana has brought back a group of friends to Summerhill that she made through her travels and one in particular, Victor, has caught her eye and becomes her beau, but Victor has eyes for someone else far closer to home….

With the breakout of war in 1939, Maddy witnesses a plane go down in the village and finds the missing pilot (William), but he is in no hurry to return to base.

Back in the present day, Chloe realises she is pregnant and this triggers off a whole array of mixed emotions, which are not always good ones. She has been offered the chance to photograph Maddy at Summerhill as she is the illustrator of a children’s book and has been asked to produce another one. Chloe is excited to be asked to work with such a wonderful lady, but Aidan is not so keen and does everything he can to stop her from working. As he says, she has everything she wants and needs, so doesn’t need to work! Can’t say he is my favourite character in the book!

Chloe also has a severely disabled brother Danny, who lives in a care home, but when she finds out that Aidan has gone behind her back with regards to his living accommodation, Chloe finally comes to a decision that will change her life and her unborn baby’s life, forever.

This is a very cleverly written book which interacts all the characters nicely. Some I liked, some I didn’t! but that’s how a good writer makes you feel! A lovely book that I could possibly see as a film/tv drama!

Thank you so much to Anne Cater and Headline for a copy of this book and for allowing me on the blog tour.


Nikola Scott was born and raised in Germany and studied at university there. Having been obsessed with books from a young age, Nikola moved to New York City after her Master's degree to begin her first job in book publishing, a career in which she could fully indulge her love of fiction!  She spent ten years working in publishing in New York and then in London, editing other people's books, before she decided to take the leap into becoming a full-time writer herself.  She now lives in Frankfurt with her husband and two sons. MY MOTHER'S SHADOW was published in 2017 to wonderful reviews. Her new novel SUMMER OF SECRETS is coming in September 2018.

Please visit http://www.nikolascott.com/for more information,  or find Nikola on
Instagram @nikolascottauthor, 
Twitter @nikola_scott
and  Facebook/NikolaScottAuthor.

Amazon UK https://www.amazon.co.uk/Summer-Secrets-Nikola-Scott/dp/1472241185/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1533569764&sr=1-1

Wednesday 5 September 2018

One Day in December
Josie Silver

It's my turn on the Blog Tour for One Day in December by Josie Silver. I cannot wait to read this book, but you will have to do with an extract for now! So sit back and enjoy the very beginning of One Day in December.


December 21st

It’s a wonder everyone who uses public transport in winter doesn’t keel over and die of germ overload. In the last ten minutes I’ve been coughed on and sneezed at, and if the woman in front of me shakes her dandruff my way again, I might just douse her with the dregs of the lukewarm coffee that I’m no longer able to drink because it’s full of her scalp.

I’m so tired I could sleep right here on the top deck of this swaying, rammed-full bus. Thank God I’ve finally finished work for Christmas, because I don’t think my brain or my body could withstand even one more shift behind that awful hotel reception desk. It might be festooned with garlands and pretty lights on the customer side, but step behind the curtain and it’s a soulless hellhole. I’m practically asleep, even when I’m awake. I’m loosely planning to hibernate until next year once I get home to the nostalgic familiarity of my parents’ house tomorrow. There’s something soothingly time warp-ish about leaving London for an interlude of sedate Midlands village life in my childhood bedroom, even if not all of my childhood memories are happy ones. Even the closest of families have their tragedies, and it’s fair to say that ours came early and cut deep. I won’t dwell though, because Christmas should be a time of hope and love and, most appealing of all at this very moment, sleep. Sleep, punctuated by bouts of competitive eating with my brother, Daryl, and his girlfriend, Anna, and the whole gamut of cheesy Christmas movies. Because how could you ever be too tired to watch some hapless guy stand out in the cold and hold up signs silently declaring to his best friend’s wife that his wasted heart will always love her? Though – is that romance? I’m not so sure. I mean, it kind of is, in a schmaltzy way, but it’s also being the shittiest friend on the planet.

I’ve given up worrying about the germs in here because I’ve undoubtedly ingested enough to kill me if they’re going to, so I lean my forehead against the steamy window and watch Camden High Street slide by in a glitter of Christmas lights and bright, fuggy shop windows selling everything from leather jackets to tacky London souvenirs. It’s barely four in the afternoon, yet already it’s dusk over London; I don’t think it got properly light at all today. 
My reflection tells me that I should probably pull the naff halo of tinsel from my hair that my cow of a manager made me wear, because I look like I’m trying out for Angel Gabriel in a primary school nativity, but I find that I really can’t be bothered. No one else on this bus could care less; not the damp, anoraked man next to me taking up more than his half of the seat as he dozes over yesterday’s paper, nor the bunch of schoolkids shouting across each other on the back seats and certainly not dandruff woman in front of me with her flashing snowflake earrings. The irony of her jewellery choice is not lost on me; if I were more of a bitch I might tap her on the shoulder to advise her that she’s drawing attention to the skin blizzard she’s depositing with every shake of her head. I’m not a bitch though; or maybe I’m just a quiet one inside my own head. Isn’t everyone?

Jesus, how many more stops is this bus going to make? I’m still a couple of miles from my flat and already it’s fuller than a cattle truck on market day. Come on, I think. Move. Take me home. Though home is going to be a pretty depressing place now that my flatmate, Sarah, has gone back to her parents’. Only one more day then I’ll be out of here too, I remind myself.
The bus shudders to a halt at the end of the street and I watch as down below a stream of people jostle to get off at the same time as others try to push their way on. It’s as if they think it’s one of those competitions to see how many people can fit into one small space.

There’s a guy perched on one of the fold-down seats in the bus shelter. This can’t be his bus, because he’s engrossed in the hardback book in his hands. I notice him because he seems oblivious to the pushing and shoving happening right in front of him, like one of those fancy special effects at the movies where someone is completely still and the world kaleidoscopes around them, slightly out of focus.
I can’t see his face, just the top of his sandy hair, cut slightly long and given to a wave when it grows, I should imagine. He’s bundled into a navy woollen reefer jacket and a scarf that looks like someone might have knitted it for him. It’s kitsch and unexpected against the coolness of the rest of his attire – dark skinny jeans and boots – and his concentration is completely held by his book. I squint, trying to duck my head to see what he’s reading, wiping the steamed‑up window with my coat sleeve to get a better look.

I don’t know if it’s the movement of my arm across the glass or the flickering lights of dandruff-woman’s earrings that snag in his peripheral vision, but he lifts his head and blinks a few times as he focuses his attention on my window. On me.
We stare straight at each other and I can’t look away. I feel my lips move as if I’m going to say something, God knows what, and all of a sudden and out of nowhere I need to get off this bus. I’m gripped by the overwhelming urge to go outside, to get to him. But I don’t. I don’t move a muscle, because I know there isn’t a chance in hell that I can get past anorak man beside me and push through the packed bus before it pulls away. So I make the split-second decision to stay rooted to the spot and try to convey to him to get on board using just the hot, desperate longing in my eyes.

He’s not film-star good-looking or classically perfect, but there is an air of preppy dishevelledness and an earnest, ‘who me?’ charm about him that captivates me. I can’t quite make out the colour of his eyes from here. Green, I’d say, or blue maybe?
And here’s the thing. Call it wishful thinking, but I’m sure I see the same thunderbolt hit him too; as if an invisible fork of lightning has inexplicably joined us together. Recognition; naked, electric shock in his rounded eyes. He does something close to an incredulous double take, the kind of thing you might do when you coincidentally spot your oldest and best friend who you haven’t seen for ages and you can’t actually believe they’re there.

It’s a look of Hello you, and Oh my God, it’s you, and I can’t believe how good it is to see you, all in one. 
His eyes dart towards the dwindling queue still waiting to board and then back up to me, and it’s as if I can hear the thoughts racing through his head. He’s wondering if it’d be crazy to get on the bus, what he’d say if we weren’t separated by the glass and the hordes, if he’d feel foolish taking the stairs two at a time to get to me.
No, I try to relay back. No, you wouldn’t feel foolish. I wouldn’t let you. Just get on the bloody bus, will you! He’s staring right at me, and then a slow smile creeps across his generous mouth, as if he can’t hold it in. And then I’m smiling back, giddy almost. I can’t help it either.

Please get on the bus. He snaps, making a sudden decision, slamming his book closed and shoving it down in the rucksack between his ankles. He’s walking forward now, and I hold my breath and press my palm flat against the glass, urging him to hurry even as I hear the sickly hiss of the doors closing and the lurch of the handbrake being released.

No! No! Oh God, don’t you dare drive away from this stop! It’s Christmas! I want to yell, even as the bus pulls out into the traffic and gathers pace, and outside he is breathless standing in the road, watching us leave. I see defeat turn out the light in his eyes, and because it’s Christmas and because I’ve just fallen hopelessly in love with a stranger at a bus stop, I blow him a forlorn kiss and lay my forehead against the glass, watching him until he’s out of sight.

Then I realize. Shit. Why didn’t I take a leaf out of hapless guy’s book and write something down to show him? I could have done that. I could even have written my mobile number in the condensation. I could have opened the tiny quarter-pane and yelled my name and address or something. I can think of any number of things I could and should have done, yet at the time none of them occurred to me because I simply couldn’t take my eyes off him.

For onlookers, it must have been an Oscar-worthy sixty-second silent movie. From now on, if anyone asks me if I’ve ever fallen in love at first sight, I shall say yes, for one glorious minute on 21 December 2008.

Monday 3 September 2018

The Shrouded Path
Sarah Ward
I'm thrilled to be kicking off the Blog Tour for Sarah Ward's latest book, The Shrouded Path. I have loved all of the author's previous books and they just seem to be getting better and better each time, so I was chomping at the bit to read this one and I want to thank Sarah Ward for sending me a copy. 

When you read on the first page that in 1957 six teenage girls walk along the train tracks, enter a tunnel and only five come out, you know that this book is going to be an absolute corker!

Meanwhile in 2014, Mina's terminally ill mother insists she has seen "Valerie" who was one of her childhood friends  in the hospital and wants her to find her, but Mina has no idea who this person is and it becomes a race against time to find out who and where Valerie is. 

Mina also finds some photographs and one in particular of some schoolgirls taken in the church yard, leaves Mina more confused as there seems to be a clue written on the back, but she has no idea who the girls in the photograph are, or what the word on the back, GIVEN, means....

DC Connie Childs is back and is teamed up with a new partner by the name of Paul Dahl and they have been given the task of investigating an unexplained death of an elderly lady who was about to write her memoirs. Was someone trying to stop her from writing about the past?

Connie's boss, Sadler, is having problems of his own when his mother becomes ill and it seems she is keeping some secrets that none of her family would ever have imagined. 

Although there are quite a few characters in this book, the way the author entwines them all is amazing and the attention to detail with the description of Bampton and the surrounding areas of Derbyshire, is second to none. 

This was a fabulous read and one which I think you could read as a stand alone, but I would recommend reading all of Sarah's books as they just keep getting better and better. This was certainly one of those books where I just had to keep reading "one more chapter" before bed! 

I would thoroughly recommend this psychological thriller that will leave you guessing until the very last chapter.

To order this book on Amazon click here