New release - it's been a while!

I know, I know it's been FOREVER since I brought out a new book but there are reasons for this which I'm unable to share for the moment.  As soon as I can, I will.  Promise.

Anyway, 'Half as Good as You' is now available for pre-order on Amazon and will hit your Kindle on 4th October.  The paperback version will be available shortly, once I decide whether to publish through Lulu or Amazon.

If you read it and love it, PLEASE leave a review  - your words help to sell mine.  If you've enjoyed any of my other books, I'd be really grateful for even a one line review.  They really DO make a difference.

Right ... here's the blurb ...

The day after discovering her husband’s infidelity, TV make-up artist Fizz finds herself knocked off her feet (quite literally!) by a passing stranger in the busy Covent Garden rush hour.  

Rescued by an elderly gentleman, an unusual friendship forms, a mystery lottery ticket appears and Fizz realises that she’d never really been as content in her marriage as she’d allowed herself to believe.

With the arrival of two new men on the scene, how long will it be before Fizz hits the jackpot?

And the links for UK Amazon

And USA Amazon 

Just £1.99 - less than a coffee and will last longer!

With thanks to Mr Cute

About 18 months ago I decided it was time for us to have a dog in our lives again, having lost our beloved rescue dog Ralfie back in 1997.  Looking back, it could have been considered madness. I had an elderly mother to care for and two cats - one who gave the impression that she'd never accept a canine intruder in her house.

Today we celebrate the first year of Alfie living with us and I do it with much joy and a hint of sadness.  I now know that I was led to him (and he was led to me) for a reason.  Put quite simply, I wouldn't have coped as well with the passing of my mum if it hadn't been for him.  He's given me a reason to get up, to smile and to feel love again.  There's nothing quite like doggy kisses first thing in the morning when you wake up feeling low.

I firmly believe that my dad popped the idea into my head on the fateful day that I decided it was 'doggy time' again - he knew it would be what I'd soon need in my life to help me through.

Today reaffirmed that 'stuff' happens for a reason.  On Alfie's first anniversary with us, he more or less re-enacted a pose that our much missed Ralfie did all those years ago. 

Right dog, right time, right place.

From Ralfie to Alfie

And furthermore, he was the inspiration behind my latest novel, 'KISSING FROGS AND DOGS'. So thank you, Alfie.  For the love, the laughs, the hope and the massive lump I have in my heart and my throat as I write this.  As a bundle of cute, you do a pretty good job.

PS:  Mrs Nervy Cat is now totally cool with her new house-mate.  It took a year, of her taking sanctuary in her 'penthouse' above the fridge, but we got there in the end!

Broken Funny Bone

I'm not blowing my own trumpet here but I know that I have many readers who eagerly await my June and December releases.  I thank them for their support and loyalty and I owe them my best.

At the moment I don't think I can deliver that.

Oh, I've been writing like a demon.  35,000 words of one novel and 13,000 of another but ... I'm just not feeling it.  I don't think they're good enough and I won't ever put something out there that I'm not proud of.

When my mum passed away, almost seven months ago, people kept telling me to be kind to myself.  At the time, I didn't understand what they meant.  Now I think I do.  I cared for my mum for almost nine years and now I don't know my life any more.  It's different, beyond different and that's going to take some getting used to.

If I had a regular job to return to where I had daily tasks, routine and a structure, it would obviously be another story.  But writing, especially light, fluffy chicklit, is a whole different kettle of fish.  I don't feel funny.  I don't feel quirky.  I feel grey, bleak and dull - my readers don't want that.  Every sentence is a struggle and the plots aren't allowing me to inject my usual sprinkle of humour.

In short, I'm going to start being kind to myself.  I'm going to stop beating myself up and hold my hands up and say. 'It's OK to cancel my December release.  It's better that way'.  I'm also going to congratulate myself for finding the resolve to get my June release out on time, against difficult odds.

I'm fortunate enough that, although I won't be physically working, I'll still be earning a living from my other books and I'll also have the time to actively promote them and maybe blog a bit more.

So, apologies to those I'm letting down.  Who knows, inspiration might strike and I might ease myself in gently with a Christmas novella but, for now, I'm just letting plots bubble in my head until I feel strong enough again.

As always, thanks to all those who have read my books and continue to support me - not only with my writing but also through a tough time.

KISSING FROGS AND DOGS - New release

Tomorrow (22 June) will see the release of my 11th full-length novel, 'KISSING FROGS AND DOGS' - and you can pre-order now for delivery to your Kindle as soon as it goes live! Also available in paperback at Lulu.

THE BLURB:

Daisy's given up on love.
 
She's had the dirty done on her once too often and has put her heart on ice.
 
A chance meeting with a sexy singleton leaves her kicking herself - what a time to become a Born Again Virgin! - but when he suggests she gets a dog for company, she can't begin to imagine the complications that follow.
 
Join Daisy as she falls head over heels with her four-legged friend, discovers that not all men are mongrels and realises that sometimes, once you stop looking, you'll find exactly what you've been searching for.
 
‘KISSING FROGS AND DOGS’
Which one will lead to a fairy-tail ending?

I'm often asked where I get my inspiration from and, with this book, the answer is easy.  Around about last June I decided that the need for a dog in my life was too great to ignore anymore.  The time was right and a niggling thought began to tell me that it was almost essential that I listened to my gut feeling.  Much searching online, convinced that I'd find a dog who 'spoke' to me, and two months later a black bundle of fur, fun and love came into our lives in the shape of Alfie.

I'm a firm believer that many things happen for a reason. Why was it suddenly the right time to take on another little life?  For those who know me well, it's blindingly clear.  Alfie came to help me during the difficult time of my mum passing and to remind me to smile through the grieving process.  In short, he's been my saviour.

So, that got me thinking about how a dog can change a life and thus 'KISSING FROGS AND DOGS' was born. Alfie was by my side as every word was written.  He was my buddy when I returned to work after losing my mum thinking I'd never get the book finished and he forced me to get up and get on with it - and on the days I couldn't, to just go walking until the block lifted.

Without Alfie, there would be no book.  Although don't tell him that - he might want me to give him his share of the royalties to feed his addiction to Doggy Chocs.

So without further ado, here's . . .

Chapter One

'I really think that tonight may be the night, Grace.  Women get a feeling for these things, don't they?'

I was celebrating my twenty-eighth birthday with my best buddy and a mountain of cakes, sandwiches and Earl Grey tea at a posh hotel in Mayfair.  We'd talked about doing it for years and, with the money finally in my account from a particularly lucrative illustrating job, I'd decided to treat us both.

Through a mouthful of egg and cress, Grace replied, nodding enthusiastically, 'Oh, deffo!  When Milo proposed, I practically said yes before the question even had a chance to form on his lips - I just knew it was coming.'  She rubbed her enormously pregnant tummy and continued, 'Oooh ... pass me another smoked salmon sarnie.  Bubba's hungry today.'

Grace and Milo's whirlwind romance and almost instant baby making had given me hope in the wilderness of single life and disastrous dates.  Theirs was a classic love story that made your heart flutter and your pulse quicken - every girl's dream.  In true tradition, their eyes had met across a crowded bar and ... bam ... within a flash, they knew.  There was no going back - they were done for!  He'd bought her a drink, asked her how many babies she wanted and within a week he'd proposed.  No one questioned it.  They were just so right.  He adored everything about her and she reciprocated.  Their happiness gave the rest of us saddo singletons the faith we needed to keep on looking and to believe that love was out there for us somewhere.

Shortly after Grace and Milo married, I bumped into Reece - quite literally.  I was late for a meeting with an author and their publisher, and my head was filled with pixies, magic dust and flying unicorns.  No, I hadn't been on LSD - my mind's usually away with the fairies because that's what I do best.  My speciality, as my friends call it, is LaLaLand.  It's a cosy place to live and certainly beats the real world.  When the going gets tough, I sketch a mystical creature who bestows love on the world and everything is sparkly and shiny again.

Anyway ... I digress.  Bumping into Reece shook me up a bit.  You see, I'd convinced myself that I'd have the same thunderbolt moment with the man of my dreams.  After all, as best friends, hadn't Grace and I always spookily followed one another in the patterns of our fortunes - good and bad?

Let me give you a few examples so that you don't start to get the impression that I'm totally loop-de-loop and I think you'll see what I mean:

I lost my beloved mum when I was only fifteen.

Grace lost hers a year later.

My dad remarried an older lady - the lovely Elsa.

Grace's dad also found love again - except he bought himself a rather young Thai bride on the internet and was happily knackering and bankrupting himself.

My dad has since passed away but he left me with the best stepmum I could have hoped for.  Grace's is OK too but she looks more like a lady-boy and constantly pinches Grace's clothes and her dad's money.

We both failed our driving tests three times before we eventually passed, had our tonsils out at eleven, had crushes on two separate boys called Tim when we were in the sixth form and neither of us passed our GCSE maths despite numerous attempts.

You see?  So, once she met her Prince Charming, I just knew that it wouldn't be long before I followed suit and I was ready and waiting, legs waxed and sexy underwear on ice.

My collision with Reece was just the way I'd come to expect my own love story to begin.  Lady Luck, fate, Cupid, or whoever had the responsibility for the meeting of soul mates, had plotted and planned to lead us both to that moment when we made our connection - in our case, my head with his back as I hurried through one of those stupid glass spinny doors where you're meant to stay in your own section.  As we both spewed out the other side of it and I fell in a heap on the marble entrance hall, he bent to pick up my bag, file, umbrella and mobile and I swear I heard angels singing.  The bemused twinkle in his eye set off butterflies I didn't even know I had - certainly far more than any that had ever fluttered before.  This was it!

'Well, I've heard of falling for someone, but this is ridiculous!' he said as he took my hand to help me to my feet.

Corny?  Yes!  Win me over?  What do you think?

My poor besotted brain struggled to get through my scheduled meeting - not helped by the fact that the book I'd been asked to illustrate was about a Princess bride and her excruciatingly handsome Prince - because after helping me from the floor, Reece had asked if he could meet me for coffee.  Just to see that I hadn't broken anything, he'd said with yet more of that wonderful eye-dancing stuff.

It had been almost six months since that joyous day and I was walking on Cloud Ninety-Nine.  He was good looking, solvent, generous, attentive, funny and rather good in bed.  The only downside was he worked a little too hard - always at weekends - and I worried that I might end up being a lonely wife and mother.  A small price to pay though for having him in my life, but I was sure that once the first stunning baby came along he'd cut down on his hours a bit.

'Where's he taking you?' Grace asked as she devoured a slice of Madeira cake.  'That could give you a better idea.'

'He's booked a table at The Ivy.  Pretty special, huh?'

Grace smiled approvingly, pouring more tea into our fine bone china cups.  'Oh yes!  That does seem like he might be about to pop the question.  Have you got something new to wear?'

'I bought a gorgeous little black dress and some killer heels.  Figured I couldn't go wrong with those.'

'Lucky you!  I couldn't get this bod anywhere near anything little right now - and as for killer heels, just about any shoes cripple me at the moment.'

'Yes, well with any luck, this time next year it'll be me complaining about those sorts of problems.  Oh, Grace!  I can't wait!  Why can't it be eight o'clock already?'

'Promise me you'll ring me as soon as you can.'  Grace was clearly as excited as I was and she suddenly looked all dreamy-eyed as she stared far into the distance.  'Oh, I can just see it now - the candlelight, the soft music playing in the background, you looking good enough to eat and him all chiselled and groomed.  He'll be a little nervous - and you'll be cacking it - but he'll take your hand ever so gently and then he'll utter those words ... bloody hell ... he's over there with another woman!'

I'd been so wrapped up in Grace's description of how things might play out, like a child being lulled by a bedtime story, it took me a while to feel the impact of the dropped bombshell.  What on earth could she possibly mean - over there with another woman?

Grace had carefully placed her delicate cup and saucer onto the table and, as my eyes turned to see where she'd been looking, I kind of wish I'd done the same myself.

Dropping Royal Doulton porcelain on a marble floor makes one hell of a racket.

*****

Luckily we were at a table where we could see them but were obscured enough by a giant pillar for them not to be able to see us.  It brought bile to my mouth to watch them but it had to be done.  Maybe she was his sister or just a friend?  Maybe we were over-reacting.

The kiss he gave her as he got up was our first clue, swiftly followed by two kids who appeared from a table behind him uttering the words, 'Bye Daddy.  See you later.'

Pretty conclusive evidence, I'd say.  Wouldn't you agree?

'Oh, Daisy!'  Grace looked positively sick - either with sympathy or from excessive cake and sandwich consumption - and I pretty much felt the same.  'What are you going to do?'

I could barely think straight but I knew I couldn't just let him get up and walk out of the hotel without him knowing he'd been rumbled.  Gathering every bit of my courage and taking a massive breath, I stood and began to approach the treacherous bastard.  It would be cold comfort but I just wanted to see the look on his face when he realised that his game was up.

The woman I now assumed to be his wife smiled pleasantly at me as I got closer to their table.  Reece had his back to me as he readied to leave and turned to see who she was acknowledging.  He may just as well have had 'Guilty' branded on his forehead - the colour drained from his face, he gulped, his eyes darted like a cornered animal and I could almost hear his sphincter pucker.

Good.  He deserved it, and a whole lot more, and it was on the tip of my tongue to reveal the whole sordid story there and then - to let his, really rather pretty, wife know what a cheating heel he really was.

But then I saw his kids - two girls, wide-eyed and innocent.  Probably Daddy's girls who believed that he was the best man in the world.  I realised then that I couldn't do it to them, I couldn't rob them of that.  A vision of my own dear dad popped into my head and I had to swallow down a mounting sob.  It was because of him that I'd followed my chosen career path.  Years of bedtime stories filled with dragons, magical people and fantasy lands read in his myriad of voices had given me a vivid imagination and a dreamy outlook on life.  In light of recent events, maybe too dreamy, but I couldn't shatter these little girls' lives.  I may have drawn many wicked witches but I would never be one.

'Reece!  How lovely to see you,' I said as lightly as I could manage.  Grace later told me that it was Oscar worthy.  I then turned to his wife and added, 'Hi.  I'm Daisy.  Reece and I worked together years ago.'

'Pleased to meet you,' his wife replied, offering her soft and beautifully manicured hand.  'Was that at Newton Pierce?'

'Yes!  Yes, that's right,' Reece cut in hurriedly.  'Good to see you again, Daisy.  Where are you working now?'

Taking my final look at him and meeting his gaze head on, I replied, 'Oh, I don't work any more.  I'm married with two kids.  You know … these things happen, don't they?'

The colour returned to his face in a flush but he was unable to answer and I was done with him.  I just needed to get out while my dignity was still in one rather fragile piece.

'It was nice to finally meet you,' I said to his wife.  'Reece used to talk about you so much,' I lied with my last reserve of fake jollity and then, as I turned to walk past Reece, I mumbled loud enough for only him to hear, 'May you rot in hell, you stinking piece of crap'.

As birthdays went, it wasn't the best I'd ever had.

*****

Grace insisted that I went home with her and stayed for dinner with her and Milo.

'You can't be alone and miserable on what should have been your special day.  It's unlucky.'

'Unlucky?  Not much more can go wrong, can it?  I thought I'd be betrothed by now and instead I'm single once again and feeling like a complete and utter mug.  I hold you two wholly responsible.  If it wasn't for the fact that you and Milo had given me such unrealistic expectations, I'm sure I wouldn't have been quite so gullible.'

'That's a bit unfair, Daisy,' Milo said gently.  'We were as surprised by it all as you were.  The right man's out there for you somewhere though - you just have to believe.'

As Grace placed a bowl of ice-cream with a lit candle for me to blow out, I said, 'Well, I don't believe any more and ...' extinguishing the candle with a violent huff, added, 'You wanna hear my birthday wish?  I wish that my heart becomes like stone and I never let another man take me for a ride again.  I'm done with love!'

I hope you enjoyed the taster - and remember, you can pre-order NOW!  Also in paperback at Lulu.

Alfie has his copy!

 

There’s a new Cat Café in Town

FANFARE PLEASE ... !

'Catnaps & Flapjacks' is now available to pre-order from Amazon for your Kindle.

Release date is still WEDNESDAY 2nd DECEMBER but if you order now it can be on your Kindle the minute it goes 'live'.

DOUBLE FANFARE ... !

Cover reveal, including the back cover/blurb for the paperback which can soon be bought at Lulu.com.  Details to follow shortly.

Here's my lovely new cover ... 

[Click to Enlarge]

... and the blurb on the back:

[Click to Enlarge]

Kindle copies can be bought NOW in the UK and US (elsewhere please check your local Amazon site)

Pull up a Seat at 'Catnaps & Flapjacks' !

As promised, here's the blurb and the first chapter of my next release, 'Catnaps & Flapjacks'.

If you're tempted to read more, it will be available to pre-order on Amazon for Kindle from 25 November for release on 2 December.  It will also be out in paperback at Lulu.com from the beginning of December.
 

THE BLURB

Abandoned and fostered as a babe-in-arms,

I've spent my life yearning to belong.

Pregnant at 16 by the boy I loved, I thought I'd found my happy place.

How wrong I was.

Becoming a grandmother at 34, I believed my daughter and granddaughter

were all I needed - along with the cats I cherish in my café.

Wrong again!

Suddenly people from my past are crawling out of the woodwork

and hot men are coming along like buses.

Grab a coffee and a cake at

'CATNAPS & FLAPJACKS'

and snuggle up with one of my fur-babies

as my story unfolds.

* * * * *

Chapter One

‘So, after ogling his cute little buns for approximately two hours, five minutes and nineteen seconds - not that I was counting or anything - he finally came over and spoke to me.’

Ross was putting the finishing touches to our last batch of cupcakes and filling me in on his night at a newly opened gay bar he’d been so excited about visiting.

‘And …?’ I asked as I wiped down the surfaces and checked that we were on schedule for opening time.

‘Oh Ellie.  I could have cried!  In fact, little tears of pain did spring to my eyes!  You could have stripped paint with his breath.’  He paused and wiped his hands on his frilly pinny, emblazoned with the sequinned words ‘Diva on Duty!’  As he shook his head with a huff, he continued, ‘You know what it reminded me of?  Remember that time Rupert had his gammy tooth and it cost you a fortune at the vet?  It was exactly the same rancid stench.’

Oh yes, I remembered it well and the smell, combined with the memory of the bill, almost brought tears to my eyes too.

‘Not your dream man, after all then?’ I stated obviously as I removed my dirty apron and replaced it with a clean one.  ‘Still … plenty more fish in the sea, eh?’

‘In the sea?  Pfft!  I reckon he had a whole shoal of dead ones hiding under his tongue!  Uggh.  I could vom just thinking about it.’

Poor Ross had been looking for ‘lurve’ for as long as I’d known him.  Not the type for endless one night stands, his dream was to settle down with Mr Reliable.  He hankered for cosy nights in front of the TV, weekends in the country and the ideal of living with and being cherished by his soul mate.

‘I give up Ellie!  I’m going to die a lonely old man surrounded by cats and stinking of pee and flea spray.’

‘Ross!  Will you stop it?  You’re thirty years of age - you’re not going to die lonely.  And anyway, I wouldn’t let you.’

Smiling bravely, Ross sighed and said, ‘Well as lovely as that is, Elles, I think we need to remind ourselves that you don’t have the necessary qualifying equipment so you kind of fall at the first hurdle.  And anyway, you’ll no doubt be married to the sensible Stefan by then - I don’t think he’d take too kindly to me muscling in on the act, do you?’

Opening my mouth to reply, I quickly closed it again as I realised it wasn’t the time to tell Ross about Stefan’s proposal the previous night or my lacklustre reaction and the confused feelings which seemed to have set up camp in my head, leaving me tossing and turning into the early hours.

No.  I needed to come to terms with the whole idea before I discussed it with anyone - in particular my prickly and stubborn daughter, Poppy.

That was not a conversation I was looking forward to.

*****

‘Well as long as you don’t expect me to call him Dad, it’s up to you what you do.’

Poppy was in her usual ‘shut-down mode’ as she handed cubes of cheese and cucumber to her good-natured three year old, who was happily flicking through a sticker book whilst chewing and humming.

‘Ria!  Will you please just eat and stop messing about,’ my daughter reprimanded unnecessarily - and I found myself, not for the first time, wishing that she’d just lighten up a little.

Stroking my granddaughter’s head and winking at her, I soothed, ‘You’re a good girl, aren’t you Sweetheart?  Eat up for MumsMum,’ I encouraged, using her pet name for me.

I was rewarded with the smile that never failed to melt my heart - a smile I couldn’t imagine life without.

And yet becoming a granny at the tender age of thirty-four had come as quite a shock - but what right did I have to judge?  Poppy had simply followed in my foolish footsteps and fallen pregnant before she’d even hung up her school uniform.  Yes, we’d both ‘got caught’ - as my headmistress had so delightfully put it - at the age of sixteen as a result of our first foray into the complicated world of sex.

That was where the similarities ended though.  My ‘happy accident’ had actually been premeditated.  I'd been in love, believed I was being loved in return and I'd planned to create a little being who would feel cherished and wanted - one who would become the centre of my universe.

Yes, I knew how Poppy had come to be and I also knew how close we’d been, how happy and carefree she’d been until the day she fell pregnant.

That was the day I lost her, when she pushed me away and refused to let me - or anyone else - in.  Almost four years later, I was none the wiser about the father or the circumstances behind how it happened.  It was a story she still wasn’t prepared to tell.

*****

I’d lost count of the foster carers I’d stayed with by the time I was thirteen.  They’d begun to morph into faceless, nameless blobs who offered me a bed, put a roof over my head and food in my stomach.  They did their jobs well and I couldn’t fault them but, although they cared, they didn’t love.

To be fair, most of them weren’t given the chance to even start to love me, as the authorities seemed to think that it was perfectly acceptable to move me from pillar to post at the drop of a hat.  By the time I’d reached ten, I was an old hand - after all, I’d been offloaded since I was a few months old - and so I developed the knack of living out of a suitcase - what was the point of unpacking only to move on again?

There were always reasons for my upheaval - some that I could understand and others that made no sense to a young, vulnerable girl in desperate need of stability and a family to call her own - but I learnt to spot the signs.  My social worker Pat would arrive with her briefcase and folders, there would be muffled chat in another room and then she'd join me for ‘The Pat Chat’.

Over the years I’d heard it all - foster mum was going into hospital, foster dad had changed his mind, foster mum was pregnant, foster parents had decided to adopt a baby and wanted to devote all of their time to their new child.  It seemed that nobody wanted me ‘for keeps’ and that hurt.

But at thirteen, everything changed - at least that’s what I’d thought at the time.

Arriving at 21 Flaxton Avenue on that bitterly cold December afternoon had felt different - I had no idea how but it just had.  Despite the sprinkling of snow on the pavements and the black ice on the roads, I’d felt warm and cosy for the first time in my life and I liked it.

Eric and Eileen had welcomed me with open arms and I’d stood in awe, gaping at their gaudily dressed Christmas tree, which was surrounded by enticing looking parcels and boxes.

‘Father Christmas came early this year, my love,’ Eileen told me with an easy grin.  ‘Lots of goodies under there for you - and not too long to wait now!’

She’d then taken my hand in hers, ordered Eric to get the hot chocolate ready and told me she’d show me to my room and help me to unpack.

For once, I didn’t question the logic in taking all of my things from their cases and placing them in beautifully scented, lined drawers as I looked at the comfy duvet on my pretty bed.

I was staying.  I was home.

*****

In their mid-sixties, my new foster parents had devoted their lives to caring for children.  Their flock-papered walls proudly displayed photographs of all the lives that had come into theirs - some for short stays, the majority until they were old enough to leave and care for themselves.  Most of them were still in contact with Eric and Eileen - one big happy family.

To name just a few, there was Adrian who lived just around the corner with his wife and son, Maggie who had moved to Ireland but often came back for visits and Lillian who popped in every day on her way home from work.

Sometimes I could be found engrossed by their little ‘Rogues Gallery’ as Eileen affectionately referred to it, and Eric would come in and tell me stories about them that made me laugh.  I loved to hear about each child and the funny or naughty things they’d got up to and Eric was a great raconteur - although Eileen would often chuckle and give him a telling off with, ‘Oh Eric!  That’s not how it happened at all.  You do exaggerate so.’

In short, I’d never been happier and the icing on the cake was when I started at Newton High School and met Lauren.

It had been a happy coincidence that we both started attending the school in the January term - two lost souls, nervous and terrified, we’d taken comfort in one another and instantly hit it off.

By the end of that first term we were inseparable.  Weekends, holidays and after school would see us at one another’s houses - chatting, studying, practicing our make up skills, confiding our secret crushes or listening to music.

But the thing that really sealed the deal on our friendship was our mutual passion for cats.  As much as I grew to love Eric and Eileen and felt comfortable taking Lauren home, the time I spent at her house was treasured because there were always cuddles of the furry variety.

Major Tom - the fat tabby - and Madonna - the slinky tortoiseshell - gave their love unconditionally and I soon became besotted.  When we found out that Madonna was expecting kittens I could think of nothing else.  I had to have one.

Of course, after two years of living with Eric and Eileen I knew that they were pushovers.  If something made me happy and it was within their power to make it happen, then they would allow it.

When I got the call from Lauren at just gone three o’clock one morning, Eric dragged himself from his bed and drove me bleary-eyed, in his tartan pyjamas, to see the tiny mewing scraps just after Madonna had delivered them.

I knew the minute I set eyes on Pebble that he was the cat for me and Eric nodded in agreement, dabbing at his eyes with his sleeve like the big softie I’d grown to love.

‘He’s a fine cat,’ he declared with a nod.  ‘Yes.  He’ll have a happy home with us.’

I couldn’t possibly have known that within a year, Pebble would be back living with Lauren and that I would, once again, be without love.

*****

Eric and Eileen were killed instantly in the motorway accident that was to change my life forever.  Two days after my sixteenth birthday, when I was riding on the crest of a wave and had well and truly shaken off my insecurities, they’d set off to visit Eileen’s elderly aunt and never returned.

The authorities swung into action again and, being considered a ‘difficult age’, I was allowed to stay with Lauren and her parents for a while before I was moved on to interim care.

And so I went back to living out of a suitcase - no one really wanted a sixteen year old and I just had to accept that while dealing with the grieving process at the same time.  Having Eric, Eileen and Pebble in my life I’d learnt how to love and be loved, and suddenly nothing made sense any more.

Maybe I didn’t deserve that privilege.  After all, my birth parents had abandoned me hadn’t they?  I began to believe that it was all my fault that I'd be alone and unloved forever.

Then I met Robert.

* * * * *

One-liners

I was watching Sky News this morning -  in between feeding cats, searching for the teen's hair gel and kicking said teen out of the door to work - and the delightfully tasty Martin Kemp was being interviewed about his new film 'Age of Kill'.  I didn't listen to a great deal of what he said because he really is rather easy on the eye - ask my 88 year old mother, she was swooning over him yesterday - but I did hear him say that it's great to be able to sum up the plot for a film in one line.

So that's exactly what I thought I'd do with my books.  If you've read any of them, let me know if you agree with the summaries below and, if you haven't, maybe these might just be the tasters you need:

'DIARY OF A MUMMY MISFIT'

One mum's journey as she tries to find her place at the prep-school gates.

'THE DARKER SIDE OF MUMMY MISFIT'

She's got it all now but how long can it last and does it bring fulfillment?

'COMPLETING THE PUZZLE'

It's never too late to find that missing piece of happiness.

'STILETTOS & STUBBLE'

Enter a world of glitz and glamour and learn 'It's what's inside that counts'.

'LOTTIE'S LUCK'

You might think your life is heading in the right
direction, but what happens when fate has its own ideas?

'TABBY & KAT'

Watch out!  There's a cuckoo in the nest and she's trouble.

  

'THE ALL OR NOTHING GIRL'

Poor little rich girl loses everything
- but gains so much more.

'LIFE AFTER SETH'

When being jilted is the best thing that can happen to a girl.

'RECIPE FOR CHANGE' - available to pre-order 10th June for download on 17th.

Take one reality cookery show, mix in five contestants and leave to simmer.

THE CHRISTMAS NOVELLAS:

'CHRISTMAS DELIVERANCE'

A family gather for the festive season and unwrap their secrets.

'CINDERELLA'S BUTTONS'

A pantomime shakes up a sleepy village as it waves its magic wand over it.

So, there you go - short, sharp snapshots of each of my books.  

Don't forget that you can pre-order 'Recipe for Change' from next Wednesday 10th June and all of my books are also available in paperback at Lulu.

Introducing ... "Recipe for Change"

For those who have been eagerly awaiting the publication of my next novel, as promised, I have a little something to whet your appetite.

I hope you enjoy my cover reveal/blurb/first chapter and may I remind you to make a note of the following dates:

10^th June - available to pre-order on Amazon

17^th June - published on Amazon for Kindle and in paperback at Lulu.

Now ... grab a coffee, have a read and let me have your thoughts.

THE BLURB

Take 1 single mum

Stir in:

1 hunky male housekeeper

1 new love interest

2 cute kids

Marinate with:

1 randy neighbour

2 feisty OAPs

2 recently dumped broken hearts

METHOD:

Lightly toss in a reality TV show.

Add a spoonful of salsa and a liberal sprinkling of rumba.

Leave on a slow simmer and watch it bubble.

* * * * *

 INTRO

Fancy yourself as a bit of a whizz in the kitchen?

Want to see yourself on TV?

Contestants needed for the popular cooking show

‘Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner’

Five nights, five hosts, five menus.

The guests mark each meal out of 10 and

at the end of the week the winner walks

away with a thousand pounds.

Contact RealLife TV now!

* * * * *

Krista

‘It’s absolute madness, Krista!  You can’t even boil an egg without setting off the smoke alarm.’

Alfie was ironing my crisp, white work blouses and looking at me as if I was in dire need of psychiatric help.

I slipped out of my cripplingly high heels and sat rubbing the balls of my stockinged feet.

‘Well thanks for that vote of confidence Alfie, but I don’t actually pay you to pass judgment on my lack of culinary skills so I’d be grateful if you could keep your opinions to yourself.’

‘Fine.  I’ll say no more on the subject,’ Alfie shrugged as he expertly pressed a collar and then placed the finished shirt on a hanger, ready to take to my en suite dressing room.  ‘By the way, there are some letters from the school on the breakfast bar and Harry’s got a school trip next week followed by a football match on Saturday.  You need to sign the forms.’

I stood to flick through the paperwork, feeling a little mean that I’d snapped at him.  We worked well together and my life had never been easier since he’d interviewed for the position of housekeeper.  His thoughts on my madcap idea to take part in a cookery programme did matter because he wasn’t just an employee - he’d become a good friend too.

When Joss and I divorced, I was a mess.  I’d had no idea that all his late nights at the office had meant that he was banging his secretary - not terribly original, huh?  Ironically, the reason I hadn’t twigged was because I’d been too busy working actual overtime myself.  You don’t become a hot-shot music lawyer without putting in the hours and, looking back, I couldn’t really blame Joss for popping out for a juicy steak because the boring old hamburger clearly wasn’t on the menu at the time.

Harry was four when we split and had been nursed by more au pairs and nannies than I cared to remember.  I wasn’t proud of this appalling record, or appearing to abandon him into the care of others at such a young age, but it was just the way it had worked out.  We couldn’t afford the huge house, holidays, private education or any of the finer things in life if I didn’t graft and, with Joss living in Hong Kong with a new family to support, this had become even more apparent.  I had to work.

But what hadn’t worked was the endless stream of young girls who floated through my house to look after Harry.  The majority of them, I chose to forget - to blot them from my memory bank - but some would haunt me forever.

There was Olita, a sullen Lithuanian who I found borrowed my clothes and shagged my (now fired) gardener in my bed.

We moved on to Felina - she was great with Harry but I ended up spending most of my time clearing up after her or cooking (Read: burning) meals for us all.  It was like having two children.

Marguerite was the one I still had nightmares about.  She broke the door off the Aga, left Harry in the park, threw up all over my prized Persian rug after ‘over-celebrating’ her new job the night before and made an overseas call to her mother that cost thirty quid - all on Day One.

I soon found that I was working more and more days at home or dragging Harry into the City where he’d cause havoc in the office, purely because the poor kid was bored witless.

My life was a mess and I was failing in just about every aspect.  I needed reliable help before my career suffered and we lost everything.

‘You need a housekeeper,’ Justine, my neighbour told me.  ‘Someone with a bit of maturity who looks after Harry and you.  Stop going down the au pair route and all your problems will be solved.

And she was right.  When Mrs Withers moved in, my life became … smoother.  Smoother but a little regimented.  Harry would eat at six pm - not a moment later - he would spend no longer than ten minutes in the bath and I would call by four if I wasn’t returning for supper.

It was like living with my mother and, although I could go to work knowing that my son was safe, my cupboards filled and my laundry clean, it was a little stifling.

Good old Granddad came to the rescue and, for once, I praised his incorrigible ways.  Granddad, or Ernest as he prefers me to call him, lives at the end of the garden in the summer house - painted in shocking pink, surrounded by gnomes and with a wooden plaque on the door telling all visitors that they are about to enter ‘The Love Shack’.

Yes at eighty-five, Ernest is a bit of a character.

So the third time he pinched Mrs Withers’ bottom and chased her around the breakfast bar saw an end to my problem of how to dispose of her.

And a return of my old problem.  As she packed her bags with pursed lips and hefty tuts, I was left without help again.

Until Alfie appeared.

*****

Looking back, I can’t believe that I very nearly didn’t offer the job to him.  Why would I want a strange man and his daughter living under my roof?

Yes, he came with baggage in the shape of a shy nine year old called Nancy.  Of course she’s now a chatty pre-teen and I love her to bits.  It’s great having a bit of female company around and we often have girlie days or sit sobbing over romcoms and munching on our guilty secret of ice cold Maltesers.

But … it so nearly didn’t happen.  Alfie’s CV and experience were perfect, his manners impeccable, his demeanour easy - and yet I just couldn’t envisage myself having a man work for me.  He’d be washing my knickers for heavens sake!  He’d know my bra size!

‘OMG!  He’s gorge!’  Justine had popped in for coffee when she’d seen him leaving on the day of the interview.  ‘Lucky old you, eh?  Cor!  I wish I had an excuse to take on a housekeeper but I don’t think Rod would agree to one when he knows I do sod all every day as it is.’

Yes.  Alfie was gorgeous.  That was another reason why it hadn’t sat well with me.  How could I have a hunk of a man under my roof as I flitted about in PJs or rollers and face pack?

Fate forced my hand though.  A HUGE meeting cropped up in town, just as Harry came down with measles and so I made a frantic call to Alfie.  He was still available and had moved in to the top floor of our town house with Nancy and their belongings by the end of that day.

That was three years ago and we’ve never looked back.  He does wash my knickers.  He does know my bra size.  He’s even brought me pain killers and camomile tea when he knew I had crippling period pains.

But I only ever saw him as just … well, Alfie - the man who ran my house, cared for my son, brought order to my life and went on to become a confidante.

And now it’s virtually impossible to imagine how I managed without him.

*****

‘Oh that is funny!’  Nancy was tucking in to her supper and looking at me, shaking her lovely dark hair and laughing.  ‘Krista?  Cooking?  Seriously?’

I noticed Alfie stifling a chuckle as he shot his daughter a ‘Ssshh’ look.

Harry wriggled and fidgeted, picking at his food and desperate to join in the ribbing.

‘Mummy won’t cook.  She’ll order pizza.  It’s what we lived on before you came here.’

‘Oh ha ha!’  I pouted and looked at each of them in turn.  ‘You can mock all you like but I’m doing this.  I am going to cook and, furthermore I’m going to meet a man in the process.  My friend Georgie says it’s the ideal way to get your face out there as a singleton.  Nothing else has worked for me, so what have I got to lose?’

‘A few fingers as you chop your veg?  The kitchen when it goes up in flames?  A law suit when the other diners sue you for food poisoning?’ Alfie quipped back at me.

My withering look was enough to silence him and he offered an apologetic smile before continuing, ‘So Georgie’s part of the production team is she?’

‘Yes’, I nodded enthusiastically.  ‘She said it’s amazing how many of the contestants find love after appearing on the show - either with another guest or through viewers getting in touch when it goes on air.  It’s so exciting!’

‘How come she doesn’t go on it herself then?  She’s single, isn’t she?’ Alfie asked as he heaped more carrots onto Harry’s plate.

‘Oh no, she … you know … she’s not into men.’  I pulled a face at Alfie and tipped my head surreptitiously in Harry’s direction.

‘Is she a Thesbian?’ my son piped up.

Spluttering a mouthful of pasta across the table, I wiped my mouth and smiled.  ‘No darling, she’s not an actress - and it’s thespian, by the way.  No, she works on putting the show together.’

‘I know she’s not an actress,’ Harry spoke through a mouthful of food.  ‘I meant is she a lady who loves other ladies?’

‘Where on earth have you heard …’

Thankfully any further discussion was thwarted by the arrival of Ernest as he came through the back door, closing it behind him and wiping his feet on the mat.

‘Evening troops!’ he bellowed as he twiddled his handlebar moustache.  If you imagine the Major in Fawlty Towers, you’ve more or less got my paternal grandfather!

‘What fine looking tucker have you conjured up tonight, my good man?’ he asked Alfie as he slapped him heartily on the back.

‘There’s plenty of pasta bake and veg, Ernie.  Grab yourself a plate and join us,’ Alfie offered as he pulled out the chair next to him.

‘No no.  Can’t stop.  Just pour me a quick snifter and I’ll be off.  Got a date with a little dame.  Wouldn’t do to keep her waiting, eh?’

I loved my grandfather dearly but sometimes I just wished he’d slow down a little.  He was always out with a different woman, went to the gym with Justine and basically had a more eventful social life than I did.  With my parents also living in Hong Kong and seeing more of my ex-husband and his kids than they saw of me and Harry, I felt responsible for him and worried that he overdid it sometimes.

‘Hey!  Listen to this, Ernie.’  Alfie poured him a glass of red wine and continued, ‘Krista’s going on that cookery programme.  You know the one we watch at five on weekdays.  Can you believe it?’

Ernest’s laugh boomed out as he wheezed and wiped at his rheumy eyes with a silk hankie retrieved from the top pocket of his blazer.  ‘Heavens to Mergatroyd!  That is the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while. She cooked me a shepherd’s pie once.  On the karzie for days, I was!  Now if you’d told me she was going on that dancing programme, I might have understood.  But cooking?  Krista?’

‘Well I’m delighted that you all find the whole thing so amusing,’ I told them as I sat back and crossed my arms defensively.  ‘Yes.  It would be better if I’d been invited on that ballroom show but as I’m not a celebrity that’s never going to happen.  I’m doing this show, no matter what you may think.  And by the end of it, I’ll have a man.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have my dance class to go to - I’ll leave you all to have a jolly good gossip about my inadequacies while I’m out, shall I?’

As I left the kitchen, I heard Harry say, ‘Alfie?  If Mummy gets a new husband, what will happen to you?’

I didn’t stick around to hear the response because it had been a question that had been hovering unanswered in my head for a while.

****

Originally the dance classes had been Justine’s idea as a way for me to meet single men and for her to flirt with them while Rod was away.  What we didn’t know was that the class was filled with women with the same idea - and gay men.

We might not have continued had we not grown to love Paulo, our teacher, and I found that I had a real flair for dance.  After a stressful day in the office, I loved to simply let my hair down, put on a swishy skirt and some sexy shoes and just let rip on the dance floor.

Justine struggled a little, though.  Her curves and blatant sexiness were more suited to pole-dancing or burlesque but she persevered, partly from boredom at being stuck in a huge house alone and partly because we found we really enjoyed it.

‘Oooh!  Krista!  Loving the cleavage tonight, girlfriend.  Look at those tatas!’ Our friend Felix commented as he saw me practising my rumba with his boyfriend Neil.

‘She’s just been telling me she’s gonna be a TV star,’ Neil said, turning to his partner.  ‘Our Krista’s gonna nab herself a bloke on that dining programme.’

‘Sheesh!  Really?  The last time she tried to cook for us we were laid up in bed for a week!  Remember, Honey?’

As I strutted and sashayed, I found myself questioning my sanity.  Just what was I thinking of?  My friends and family were right - I couldn’t cook if my life depended on it.  Tea and toast were my speciality and once, when Alfie had been struck by a bad case of the flu, I’d even stuffed that up.  The toast was burnt on one side, still bread on the other and I’d even forgotten to put the teabag in the cup.

If the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, I was destined to be single for the rest of my life.

But … as Felix swung me in to a sexy dip, the blood must have rushed to my brain and given me a light bulb moment.

There was still a week until the show started filming - and an extra four days after that until I was scheduled to host my own dinner party.  Alfie was a master in the kitchen - he was a trained chef, for heaven’s sake.  He could teach me everything he knew - well maybe not everything, that was a bit ambitious, but he could teach me enough to get me through the ordeal.

My housekeeper was going to help me cook my way to a man.