Virtual Book Tour Dates: 2/16/15 – 3/16/15
Genres: Psychological Thriller, Crime
Tour Promo Price: 99p (UK) 1.49 (US Dollars) 1.99 (Canadian Dollars)
Free with Kindle Unlimited!
Blurb:
'You died in April 1965, a month before
your fifth birthday. You were probably dead long before Mum downed
her third gin with Porky Rawlings.'
Seven year old Susan is alone with her
younger brother when he dies of an overdose. The guilt informs the
rest of her life. When it threatens to destroy not only her but her
relationship with her baby, she
must revisit her past to discover the truth. The outcome is as
wonderful as it is horrific.
Excerpt:
‘Don’t,
Mark,’ I said as you grabbed Mum’s bottle of ‘sweets’, but
you weren’t used to doing as you were told. She let you do whatever
you wanted. Besides, you were too busy to listen to me. When you
couldn’t unscrew the lid, you wrapped a tea-towel round it just
like you had seen her do countless times before. I’ll never forget
the look of triumph on your face when you finally got the top off.
‘Mum
will be angry,’ I warned.
‘Don’t
tell. Cross your heart and hope to die,’ you said. You were
concentrating hard on removing the cotton wool stopper and tipping
the pills into your hand. Too many for you to hold, you dropped some
and watched as they skittered across the floor.
‘Damn!’
‘Ssch!
That’s a bad word, Mark.’
‘Daddy
says it,’ you replied, showing me your treasure. The sweets looked
lemony, like they might taste of sherbet. Where was the harm? After
all, Mum took them all the time and she was fine, sort of. Perhaps
she said they’d make you ill because she wanted to keep them all
for herself. I reached out to take one, my fingertips just brushing
the smooth surface.
‘Dare
you, Susan.’
‘No,’
I told you, standing back, knowing how cross Mum would be when she
found out. ‘I’m not playing.’
I’d
like to tell you what happened next but I can’t, Mark. Whatever it
was, is hidden, masked by too many memories. It’s the reason I’m
talking to you; I need you to help me discover what went on.
As
I waited for Dad to come home, the only sound was the ticking of the
clock, its black hands unstoppable, moving unstintingly around its
hard, miserable face. I will never forget the exact moment he got
home. The little hand was on the eight and the big hand just past the
nine when I heard his key in the lock. Then I saw his face, which was
one enormous gaping mouth when he spotted you on the floor and me
curled up next to you, like a dog.
‘Mark’s
asleep and he won’t wake up.’
‘What
happened?’ he yelled from the hole in his face.
I
wanted to tell him, I really did but the words were stuck. I pointed
to Mum’s ‘sweets’ scattered across the scratched Linoleum like
yellow polka dots. Fists clenched into weapons, eyes wild, Dad stood
in the doorway, staring down at you. I had seen him angry many times
but never like this. He ran over to you, looked like he was going to
kneel down but then walked away. He paced the room, his eyes on you
the whole time. I started crying, begging him to do something to wake
you up.
‘Shut-up!’
he cried dashing into the hall. I thought he was phoning for help but
I didn’t hear him speak to anyone. After what felt like forever, he
came back and flung himself down beside you, forcing his fingers into
your mouth. When he brought them out they were covered in slime. He
wiped the stuff on his trousers, then pinched your tiny nose between
his thumb and forefinger and put his mouth over yours, like he was
about to give you a kiss. You still didn’t wake up and I watched in
horror as he placed his massive hands on you, completely covering
your chest, pushing down gently at first but when you didn’t open
your eyes, pumping harder and harder, faster and faster.
‘Don’t!’
I screamed running over to try to pull him off you. ‘You’ll hurt
him.’
‘He
swatted me away and put his ear to your chest. Nothing. Silence. More
silence than I had ever heard.
Buy Links:
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Paperback
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About the Author:
Advertising copywriter,
comedy writer, performer, lecturer – Joan Ellis has been them all. With a
full-time job in a top London advertising agency and a new baby, she
did what any right-minded woman would’ve done and set up a comedy club.
She even appeared on the same bill as Jo Brand. Once.
A career highlight was
casting a black and white moggie as Humphrey Bogart for her
award-winning cat food commercial. Other great performers who brought
her words to life include Penelope Keith and Harry Enfield.
As a lecturer, Joan taught
comedian Noel Fielding all he knows about advertising before encouraging
him to showcase his creative talents on a wider stage.
Working for The Press Association, she tutored Wordsworth’s great-grandson in the art of copywriting: Buy a host of golden daffodils and get a blue one, free!
Suffering from swine flu and
sweating like a pig, she moved from London to the Isle of Wight where
she lives on cream teas with her beloved husband, daughter and two cats.
Connect With The Author:
Website
Giveaway:
Win one of five copies of The Killing of Mummy’s Boy (pdf) or a $12
Amazon gift card! Six winners. Open WW. Enter 2/16/15 – 3/16/15.
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USA Today Best Selling author Taylor Lee writes Suspenseful Mystery Thrillers – with a heavy dose of Sexy to Sizzling HOT Romance.
