The Diary Of A Bookseller – Shaun Bythell 

The Bookshop, Wigtown, is Scotland’s largest second-hand bookshop. It’s a booklover’s pardise, a Georgian townhouse full of twisting corridors and roaring fires, set in a beautiful town by the edge of the sea. A rummage on its crooked shelves can produce anything from a sixteenth-century leather-bound Bible to a first edition Agatha Christie. 

But behind the scenes of this slice of literary heaven, things are very different. Meet Shaun Bythell, owner of The Bookshop, bibliophile and misanthrope extraordinaire. Seen through his honest and wryly hilarious diaries, we get a very different view of bookselling: one beset with malfunctioning heating, eccentric customers, bad-mannered bin-foraging employees and a perennially empty till. 

As Shaun takes us with him on buying trips to old estates and auction houses, recommends books (both lost classics and new discoveries), introduces us to the thrill of the unexpected find, and evokes the charms and horrors of small town life, we gain an inside look at the trials, tribulations and joys of life in the book trade. 

Shaun Bythell bought The Bookshop in Wigtown in November 2001, and has been running it since then with an increasing passion for the business matched only by a sense of despair for its future. In 2004 he became involved with the Wigtown Book Festival, during which The Bookshop wines and dines the 200 (or so) visiting authors. He enjoys cycling- usually to the pub- and lives above the shop with his cat, Captain.

pg.58

“The old woman who complained about the price of the Stalin biography came back. When she found out that I had put the price up, she told me that I couldn’t do that. I told her that I could. She was furious, but she bought it, muttering that she would never set foot in the place again.”

I have a slight obsession of reading books about books or very bookish people – so, this book fitted right in and I devoured it in one sitting.

Shaun’s writing makes you feel like you have a front row seat to what is going on in his amazing book shop. I love his brutal honesty about each of his customers, his staff and the book industry as a whole. I have to confess that since reading this amazing book I have taken the decision to only use internet bookshops as a last resort. As, I have to confess, I used to use them alot because it was easier, especially when you have two screaming children who have decided to annoy everyone in your local Waterstones, or I have attempted to take them into my local second hand book shop and have not managed to even get the buggy in the door due to the vast amount of books. My husband has kindly agreed that as and when I need to spend some time browsing bookshops, he will take custody of the children and distract them – which I am looking forward to taking him up on this offer.

Shaun is a great ambassador to reading and books in general and what he has done for his local community and to the wider reading world is amazing and I hope this continues. I am also in the process of trying to persuade my husband that we need to holiday in Scotland, so we can stop near or around Wigtown just so I can visit The Bookshop. I wonder whether Shaun will let me just stay in the shop for the day of course looking at all the books and I may have to purchase a few books whilst there but the one thing I would love to do is spend the day people watching.

If you would like to catch up with The Bookshop click here for further information. 

To purchase a copy of Shaun’s amazing book or to find out more information on Profile books please click here. 

You, Me and Us – Liam Hurley 

“F*** you for breaking my f***ing heart…..”

Jimmy Rowland has the perfect life. He works in his favourite bar by day, and by night he lieves his dream with his two best friends in his band. 

Erin Poppet crashes into Jimmy’s life like a beautiful storm. He falls in love with her as quickly and as deeply as possible. The intensity of their relationship leaves Jimmy with a broken heart, a useless vacuum and a demon inside him. 

When he hits rock bottom, he decides he only has one choice to rebuild his life from scratch. He has to get back the life he had before Erin. 

This is her story. This is his story. This is their story. 

Or as Jimmy would say….. 

“this is the story of You, Me and Us.”

About The Author 

Liam is an author from Manchester. He loves three things in this world:

Writing

Reading

Viral video of the Irish family trying to catch a bat (Liam’s girlfriend, family, friends and cats may be unhappy with this).

Liam’s hobbies include listening to podcasts, watching grown men fight and trying every possible type of ground coffee in the world.

Liam’s Top Ten reasons to read his book:

1. It won’t cost you much.

2. It will be over relatively quickly.

3. He would be very grateful.

4. You can tell other people about it if you enjoyed it.

5. If not, don’t bother.

6. It’s always fun to have something in your hands to flick through.

7. You can review it online.

8. It will leave a mark on you.

9. You won’t want to put it down.

10. It’ll make you laugh.


Liam has kindly provided an extract for you. In the following extract Jimmy has been dragged along to a New Years’ Eve party at his Dad’s golf club. They have just arrived at the club and are queuing up for parking. Jimmy does not want to go in so decides to spend the evening making his own fun…

“My dad was drumming his fingers against the wheel with impatience. He kept looking out at the drive and shaking his head. I was toying with the idea of winding him up further when what looked like a small child pulled open the driver’s door and popped his head into the car.

I almost threw the second punch of my life, fearing we were being robbed by this extra from the Rugrats, but before I could even consider clenching my fist a warm smile broke across the youth’s face.

“Ah, Dr. Rowland!” he said.

“Timothy.” My dad chimed back at him.

“Mrs. Rowland.” He said with a smile at my mum.

“Hello.” She replied.

He then turned his attention to the backseat. He raised his eyebrows at me.

“Don’t worry about me, I just came with the car.”

“What?” he said.

“Ignore him.” Said my dad. “So, they’ve got you lot doing valet service tonight?”

“Yeah me and two other caddies.”

“Well thank you Timothy.”

Timothy stepped backwards and allowed my dad to get out the car, he then raced around the back of the car and ripped open my mum’s door. She smiled politely at him and stepped out too. I realised then I too wouldn’t be subject to this treatment as Timothy had clearly taken my dad’s advice. I pushed my door open and dragged myself out from the seat.

Timothy jumped into the driver’s seat, pulled the car out, and drove slowly into the darkness.

I looked to the entrance and saw my mum and dad waiting besides the large oak doors. I walked towards them and the doorman pushed the doors open. He greeted my dad with a handshake, and my mum with a hug. I smiled from the back of the party and he offered his hand to me, I shook it.

“Happy New Year.” He said to us all.

The three of us returned the sentiment. The warmth from this doorman made my mind wander to a long time ago when a certain doorman in the Gay Village wasn’t as up-to-date with his greetings. I stopped in my tracks for a moment as the memory of first meeting Erin flooded my brain.

“Come on James.” Mum hissed at me.

They were striding into the building so I jogged to catch them up. We were walking along the main foyer. There was a large desk with brass fixings to our left, an empty seat sat behind it. On the wall to our right was a huge leader board, inscribe with numerous names and numbers alongside them. It might as well have been written in Swahili for all the sense it made to me. I hated golf.

We took a left at the end of the foyer and my dad pushed the doors open below a large sign reading ‘banquet hall’. I shook my head, ‘hall’ would have been fine. As we entered I noticed two things, the room was huge, and there was a lot of people here.

Mum and my dad were instantly lost in a crowd of people, shaking hands and giving hugs out. I had no desire at all to be introduced to anyone. I scanned the room and locked my eyes on the far-left corner, there was bar.

I made a purposeful start towards it, jumping left and right to avoid people dancing and talking. I noted that I was the youngest person here by a good twenty years. Eurgh I needed to drink.

I arrived at the bar and found myself at the back of a queue, thankfully it was only two-deep, (not so bad in the porn industry that one), so I patiently began to scan the optics for the options available. All manner of drinks were on offer. And if my eyes weren’t deceiving me there was a bottle of single-malt resting on top of the worktop at the back of the bar.

“Will there be anything else Mr. President?”

I was distracted by the barman’s question. I looked to whom he was talking to. It was an old white man. They were all old white men. He didn’t look like any of the Presidents I’d heard of. Maybe some far-flung nation.

“No that’ll be all thank you.” Said the President.

He lifted his tray of drinks and started to hobble his way back into the crowd. I darted into the space he’d just vacated. The barman looked at me with a slight shadow of shock creeping across his face. This was probably the first time he’d served someone not from the cast of Cocoon.

“Yes sir?” he said to me.

I span around to check who was behind me.

“Oh me?”

He laughed.

“Yes sir, what can I get you?”

“Erm how much is the single malt?”

“It’s a free bar sir.”

“It’s a what?”

“Free bar.”

“Woah don’t say it too loud, you’ll cause a stampede.”

“Well the tickets and fees cover the cost.”

“There were tickets for this thing?”

“You don’t know much about this place, do you?” he asked.

“Less than nothing.” I said. “So yeah, the malt please, and ice. Make it a double.”

The barman gave a little nod and turned towards his worktop. He turned back to me and placed a crystal class half-filled with golden liquid in front of me.

“Brilliant.” I said.

“Will that be all sir?”

“Yes. Oh no wait. Why were you calling that guy Mr. President?”

I pointed behind me in the general direction he’d gone. The barman looked over my head.

“He’s President of the club.”

“And you call him Mr. President?” I asked.

“I have to call him Mr. President.” He replied.

“Erm excuse me, are two going to continue to natter all evening or can I get some service?”

I turned around. A small woman wearing a peach suit was staring at us. Layers of make-up were encrusted into her wrinkles. She was glaring at us both.

“Sorry love, yeah let me get out of your way.”

I stepped back.

“I am not your ‘love’ young man, I am the First Lady of this clubhouse.”

She stepped into the space. I looked at the barman, he let his eyes flicker back at me for a moment but kept his lips slammed shut. I looked back at the First Lady.

“Sorry, I should’ve realised.”

“Yes, get me a gin and tonic.” She began her order. She stopped for a moment and looked at me. “Wait, why should you have realised who I am? Have we met before young man?”

“No, it’s just that you look like the First Lady. The first lady to even exist.” I smiled at her. She began to bluster. I nodded to the barman. “Thanks for the drink.”

You can catch up with Liam via his website which is available here. 

Or you can follow Liam via Twitter @LjHurleywriter.  

The Children Act – Ian McEwan 

Fiona Maye, a leading High Court judge, renowned for her fierce intelligence and sensitivity, is called on to try an urgent case. For religious reasons, a seventeen-year-old boy is refusing the medical treatment that could save his life. Time is running out. 

She visits the boy in hospital – an encounter which stirs long-buried feelings in her and powerful new emotions in the boy. But it is Fiona who must ultimately decide whether he lives or dies and her judgement will have momentous consequences for them both. 

About The Author 

Ian’s first published work, a collection of short stories, First Love, Last Rites won the Somerset Maugham Award. His novels include The Child in Time, which won the 1987 Whitbread Novel of the Year Award, The Cement Garden, Enduring Love, Amsterdam, which won the 1998 Booker Prize, Atonement, Saturday, On Chesil Beach. Solar and Sweet Tooth. In 2011 he was awarded the Jerusalem Prize. 

Extract From Book 

Pg.82 

“John Tovey rose and, somewhat breathlessly, told Fiona that given the hour he had no questions to ask of Mr Henry, but he would call the social worker, the Cafcass officer. Marina Greene was slight, sandy-haired and spoke in short precise sentences. Helpful, at this stage of the afternoon. Adam, she said, was highly intelligent. He knew his Bible. He knew the arguments. He said he was prepared to die for his faith.”

This is the first novel I have read by Ian McEwan and I certainly was not disappointed. I read this book in one sitting as I just could not put it down. It is a thought provoking book which left me in a dilemma as to what was right or wrong and to this day I still think about this book and what I would do if I was in the Judge’s position. What a difficult choice to make. It also made me think about what if I was in a position where a decision was taken out of my hands with regards my own children and my own personal beliefs. In addition, how I would feel if my child was sick and I was fighting with those health professionals looking after them. So many questions were left without a definitive answer. 

From reading this book, Ian has certainly done his research and ensured there was no biased on both sides and was compassionate towards his readers. I believe this book is being made into a film which I will be going to see once it is released. 

Ian’s website and books are available here. 

Fragile Lives – Professor Stephen Westaby 

Grim Reaper sits on the heart surgeon’s shoulder. A slip of the hand and life ebbs away. 

The balance between life and death is so delicate, and the heart surgeon walks that tightrope between the two. In the operating room there is no time for doubt. It is flesh, blood, rib-retractors and pumping the vital organ with your bare hand to squeeze the life back into it. An off-day can have dire consequences – this job has a steep learning curve, and the cost is measured in human life. Cardiac surgery is not for the faint-hearted. 

Professor Stephen Westaby took chances and pushed the boundaries of heart surgery. He saved hundreds of lives over the course of a thirty-five-year career, and now, in his astounding memoir, Westaby details some of his most remarkable and poignant cases – such as the baby who had suffered multiple heart attacks by the age of six months, a woman who lived the nightmare of locked-in syndrome, and a man whose life was powered by a battery for eight years. 

Professor Stephen Westaby is a world-famous heart surgeon who is renowned for being the first surgeon in history to fit a patient with a new type of artificial heart, which showed that humans did not need a pulse in their circulation. During his thirty-five-year career as a surgeon he worked at several of the world’s top hospitals and performed over 11,000 heart operations. He won a Ray C. Fish Award for Scientific Achievement in 2004 and the same year was featured in the BBC documentary Your Life In Their Hands, a long-running series on the subject of surgery.

Extract from the Book 

pg.180

“When it was established that the heart was a tissue match for Stefan, and that he and the cystic fibrosis patient shared the same blood group, the process was scheduled to kick off during Saturday night. Could anything be bettwe than that? We’d operate in Oxford on a quiet Sunday morning with minimal fuss.” 

I have a fasination with medical books always have, always will this was before a massive life changing incident happened to me. My son was born three months early at 25 weeks and so I went through a lot of medical issues with him and learnt a lot about tiny humans and medicine. Including about tiny humans hearts. 

Professor Westaby is an amazing Doctor and one that the NHS should be thankful that they have managed to retain and not lose to another country for good or to the private sector. He is what is missing in the next generation of Doctors. Professor Westaby is willing to try and improve his patients lives no matter what, the fact he is always thinking about ways he can fix a heart that other Doctors would have given up on is a true inspiration and I only hope that any Doctors that worked with Professor Westaby have picked up his skills and his know how to get a job done. All I can say to Jeremy Hunt is you, need this man in the NHS even just on an advisory role. 

What I loved about this book, although there is a lot of medical information I didn’t feel like I was overwhelmed by medical jargon, but just in awe and thankful to the Doctors, Nurses and other medical professionals and the work they put into each and every patient no matter what. Don’t be scared to read this book, even if you get queezy over blood its an excellent read.

Professor Westaby’s book is available here. 

The Girl I Used To Know – Faith Hogan 

A beautiful, emotive and spell-binding story of two women who find friendship and second chances when they least expect it.

Perfect for fans of Patricia Scanlan, Amanda King and Tess Cliffe are strangers who share the same Georgian House, but their lives couldn’t be more different.

Amanda seems to have it all, absolute perfection. She projects all the accoutrements of a lady who lunches. Sadly the reality is a souless home, an unfaithful husband and a very lonely heart.

By comparison, in the basement flat, unwanted tenant Tess has spent a lifetime hiding and shutting her heart to love. It takes a bossy doctor, a handsome gardener, a pushy teenager and an abandoned cat to show these two women that sometimes letting go is the first step to moving forward and new friendships can come from the most unlikely situations.

Faith was born in Ireland. She gained an Honours Degree in English Literature and Psychology from Dublin City University and a Postgraduate Degree from University College, Galway. She has worked as a fashion model, an event’s organiser and in the intellectual disability and mental health sector. 

She was a winner in the 2014 Irish Writers Centre Novel Fair- an international competition for emerging writers. 


The amazing Faith and the staff at Aria Publication have provided me with a sneaky extract, enjoy!

“The cottage was silent this morning, apart from the continuing marking of time; the Swiss carriage clock wore seconds across rooms that no longer paid any heed. Although the village children were on holidays for weeks on end, her father would walk down to the schoolhouse this morning. Sometimes, she wondered what he did there, each day. She suspected he just went because he didn’t know what else to do with his time – her mother talked of his impending retirement with a sense of doom worthy of an undertaker. ‘Not long now,’ she would say when he left the house. Everything about their family was tied up in that school. Even this cottage, ‘the Master’s house’, long ago gifted to the family. Her father would have his ties cut in two years’ time, three if they were lucky. Finding a replacement who’d want to settle in a little village like Ballycove might not be easy. As for her father, a pillar of the community, he would have to find some other way of being proper or drift into old age with only the past to buoy him towards the end.

Then, Tess heard it. A creak that meant she was not alone. She skipped into the little hallway, the sunlight reaching dusty rays down to dance upon the silky blue envelope that lay composed on the floor. Tess picked it up, her parents’ names in flowing font gave nothing away. The stamp, measured into the corner, seemed to wink at her, impish in all that hid within. She rushed into the kitchen, placed it carefully in the centre of the table and went about making as much noise as she could. First, she boiled the kettle and set about emptying the stove that burned in all weather, it worked harder than her mother did, but it seemed to get more care.

‘It’s here,’ Nancy carolled her words so they filled the kitchen, she was still in her night clothes, wakened perhaps by Tess’s soft movements or the early morning birds intent on starting a new day before anyone else. ‘I can’t believe you’ve waited, it’s…’ Nancy inspected the envelope in her hand. ‘Are you nervous?’ Almost identical eyes found each other and Tess realised that this affected Nancy as much as it affected her. If she got a place in Trinity, Nancy would be uprooted too. Nancy was older by just eleven months, it gave her the advantage when it came to being the one her parents credited with having ‘sense and moral fibre.’

‘I…’ Everyone knew it was all she wanted, but the fear of failure drove Tess back from saying the words aloud. ‘No, of course not, as they say, que sera, sera?’ Then she laughed a nervous tickle that stretched into tight silence between them. She couldn’t fool Nancy.

‘Oh, come on. I don’t believe you for a minute; let’s get mamma and father up here.’ Nancy skipped down to the door that led into her parents’ room. ‘Mamma, Tess’s letter has arrived.’ Her voice bubbled with a lighter version of the nerves playing at the back of Tess’s throat. In the kitchen, Nancy came over to Tess now, reached towards her arm and squeezed it because maybe, she could feel the longing too. It had always been that way for them. Tess thought, they knew each other inside out. Of course, the similarities were only on the surface, but a deeper connection skirted about the everyday; a connection that went beyond sisterhood. Their mother believed it came from long before they were born. Nancy said it would be there long after they died – wherever life took them on the way and, somehow, this made Tess feel warm inside.

‘Right,’ her mother said as she took the last hairclip from her lips and slid it into hair that grew greyer with every passing day. She patted back the stray ribs that no longer settled with a comb. By the time her parents arrived in the kitchen, nerves had almost gotten the better of Tess, what if they didn’t want her after all? ‘Let’s see what they have to say.’ She handed the envelope to her husband with a reverence that came as much from respect as expectation.

Tess passed him one of the ivory-handled knives that she’d placed on the table earlier.

‘I dare say, this’ll be the end of having the table set before we all start our day,’ their mother smiled. Tess would not be quite so earnest tomorrow morning if this letter contained the invitation she’d worked so hard to get. Maureen peered across her husband’s shoulder, narrowed her eyes to read the embellished font. ‘Now that you’re going to be a…’ she didn’t get to finish off the sentence. They wanted her in the college of music and as her father read out the letter, Tess and Nancy started to dance around the kitchen – Tess had never been so happy.”

Faith has an amazing website which you can look at all of her available books which you can see here. 

Or, you can catch up with Faith via Twitter @GerHogan or Instagram – faithhoganauthor.  

A Wedding At Mulberry Lane – Rosie Clarke 

Love, marriage, birth, death and betrayal in the East End of London  make up life in Mulberry Lane. Perfect for fans of Nadine Dorries, Cathy Sharp and Dorina Douglas. 

Maureen Jackson knew life as a trainee nurse wouldn’t be easy, but she didn’t expect her hospital to be badly bombed on her first shift. Plus Maureen still has her family and friends in Mulberry Lane to keep her busy- she’s needed as much there as she is by her patients. 

Running the pub on the corner of Mulberry Lane, Peggy Ashley is used to taking in all sorts of waifs and strays. But the arrival of a dashing American captain has got tongues wagging about Mulberry Lane’s favourite landlady. 

Janet Ashely’s husband is back from the frontline. Which is more than so many of the wives of Mulberry Lane. But her beloved Mike is a completely different man from the one she fell in love with – and what’s more he doesn’t remember her, or their young daughter. How do you cope when your darling husband is a virtual stranger?

As WW2 continues around them, the women of Mulberry Lane know that community spirit and friendship is the key to surviving the Blitz.

Rosie was born in Swindon, but moved to Ely in Cambridgeshire at the age of nine. She started writing in 1976, combining this with helping her husband runs his antiques shop. In 2004, Rosie was the well-deserved winner of the RNA Romance Award and the Betty Neels Trophy.

Rosie and the kind staff at Aria Publication have provided a sneaky extract from this amazing book. I hope you enjoy.

“That morning towards the end of January, the rain was coming down with a vengeance in the pub yard, the sky a threatening grey that had made the last few days seem dismal. Little puddles had collected between the old-fashioned cobbles, which were muddy and slippery, and belonged to a long-ago time and ought to have been replaced with flagstones. Inside her big kitchen, Peggy Ashley was warm as she worked, her fair hair sticking to her damp forehead as she prepared the food that kept customers coming to the Pig & Whistle even in these dark days of war.

The folk of the lanes knew that a warm smile and good home-cooked food would await them, even though Peggy might not be able to provide all the marvellous cakes and pies she’d been known for before the hostilities. Peggy’s pub was at the corner of Mulberry Lane, close to the market and not far from Frying Pan Alley and Artillery Lane, where her stepfather Percy Ambrose and her mother had lived until their last days.

Local people often used the lane as a shortcut to Spitalfields Market, rather than get lost in the maze of little alleys and courts that were a leftover from ancient times. Perhaps for that reason she’d never known the pub to be empty during opening hours; there was always someone popping in for a beer, a drop of whisky or, these days, quite often a cup of tea with a slice of her famous apple pie. Sometimes they came simply for a chat, because the Pig &Whistle and its landlady were at the centre of life in the lanes, bringing everyone together in these dark times.

‘While this place is still standing it’s a symbol that life goes on,’ Jim Stillman told her as he brought in a box of vegetables from his allotment and was given an apple and blackcurrant tart to take home. ‘Alice Carter was tellin’ me how you took ’em all down to the cellar again the other night when the siren went. She reckons she’s safer in your cellar than in some of them bleedin’ shelters the council put up…’ More than one air raid shelter had collapsed under a direct hit during the Blitz, causing terrible injuries and loss of life, which meant a lot of people didn’t trust them and preferred the underground stations, where they congregated in large numbers every night.

‘Well, she’s welcome to come, and so are you if you’re near the pub,’ Peggy said, smiling as he took his leave.

Seeing her daughter hurrying through the yard, Peggy opened the door and beckoned her in. ‘I thought you were never coming, Janet. Was your train late again?’

‘We stopped three times because there was a blockage on the line,’ Janet said and shivered as she dumped her wet coat on a peg over the door. ‘It’s so cold I thought it would snow – in fact it was sleeting when I got off the train, but it’s turned to rain now…’

One look at her daughter’s pinched face told Peggy Ashley that the news was not good. She went forward and brought Janet closer to the warmth, taking her cold hands and gripping them firmly as she urged her towards the large comforting armchair by the kitchen range, which was freshly polished, made up with coke to last the day, and gave off generous heat.

‘Sit there and tell me all about it,’ Peggy said. She glanced round as the door opened behind her and Nellie made to come in, but on seeing Peggy’s warning look she nodded and backed out, mouthing that she would finish in the public bar. With her husband Laurie away, Peggy relied more and more on her friends to help her keep this place running. ‘What has happened to make you look like that, Janet love?’

Janet had bent to look at her daughter asleep in her carrycot. She’d left the child with her mother while she went to visit her husband in hospital. Janet stroked her daughter’s head, blinking hard to hold back her tears. ‘Has she been good?’

‘Maggie is never any trouble,’ Peggy said, ‘but you’re upset – what’s wrong?’

‘It’s Mike,’ Janet said, her eyes drenched with tears as she spoke of her husband who had been wounded while on duty with the Navy, and thought lost for months, before being transferred to a British hospital. ‘He just stared at me as if I was a stranger and… I don’t think he liked me. I tried telling him about Maggie and he shook his head, didn’t want to know.’

‘The hospital did warn you that it was still too soon. Mike almost died of his wounds, Janet. Perhaps the only way he can cope with his illness and the horror of what happened is by shutting everything else out of his mind – and it must seem strange to be told he has a wife and daughter he doesn’t know.’

‘Oh Mum, I can’t bear it,’ Janet sobbed, because after two days visiting at the hospital, Mike’s attitude towards her was worse not better. ‘We were so much in love. Mike was always desperate to touch me and kiss me – and when I tried to kiss him yesterday afternoon before I left, he asked me not to…’

Peggy’s heart wrenched with grief for her beloved daughter. Janet was a lovely girl, both in looks and nature, and she didn’t deserve this on top of all she’d gone through. Her fight to get married, before Mike left to join the Navy at the start of the war, had pulled the family apart, and then Janet had suffered the loss of her home and months of not knowing if her husband was alive. Peggy believed one of the main factors in the breakdown of her own marriage was the quarrels with Laurie over Jan’s behaviour. She’d taken her daughter’s side, especially when she’d confessed that she was having Mike’s baby before they were wed. Janet’s confession had finally forced her father’s hand and he’d had to give in and agreed that Peggy could sign the necessary forms, but he’d vowed he wouldn’t see her again. Laurie had since relented, but it was too late to restore what had been – at least for Peggy.”

If you would like to catch up with what Rosie is up to or to purchase this or other books Rosie has written, please click here.

I would like to thank Rosie and the team at Aria Publication.