My third novel PUT A SPELL ON YOU is out today, and availiable to download from Amazon.
The story imagines what might happen if someone was granted several wishes but they all went wrong. (Just the kind of thing that would happen to me - them going wrong, that is.)
Here's a little taster from Chapter One to whet your appetite ...
Things I would wish for right now if I could wave a magic
wand:
1) My boyfriend Will to stop
being a born-again hippy and propose before I’m shrivelled to the point where
no other man will look at me.
2) To find the perfect location to film Sibling Rivalry before I get fired. (Preferably
one that doesn’t involve the owner changing his mind at the last minute and
chasing me off his property, brandishing a shotgun).
3) Lara’s baby to stop bawling
24/7 so she can get some sleep and go back to being my lovable best friend
instead of a slitty-eyed wreck in ill-fitting clothes.
4) Mum’s boyfriend, Del – a
pervy, tattooed trucker from Letchworth – to disappear.
5) Glossy, flame-red hair
instead of my cowpat-brown frizz. And to be a cup size bigger. With dainty
fingers. And a smaller bum. (And to be less shallow.)
My twenty-seventh birthday started much like any other day,
except that I was cross with Will.
‘You didn’t even buy me a
card!’
‘I made you one, Josie. It’s more meaningful. Anyone can go to a shop
and buy one.’
He spoke softly and without
reproach, because that’s how Will speaks these days.
He did look hurt though – his
hazel eyes sort of bruised – but I was so disappointed I pretended not to
notice. ‘You stuck some dried bits of pasta to a piece of card cut from a Bran
Flakes box.’ I waggled it at him. ‘I made a better fist of this sort of thing
when I was six.’
‘I’ve spelt out your name in a
love heart,’ he pointed out, reasonably. ‘You’ve got to admit that’s romantic.’
‘But some of the bits have
dropped off. It says “Joie”.’
‘That’s because you keep
waving it about.’
I wondered whether to mention
I’d been secretly hoping for an iPad and possibly a trip to Venice, but decided
against it.
‘I’ve made you a commitment
bracelet,’ he said, clearly deciding not to acknowledge his blunder. He pushed
back his wavy brown hair, hoicked up his boxers, and loped across to the dressing
table with puppyish eagerness.
Will never used to lope or
have floppy hair, or be puppyish. Before he was coaxed into a trip to the
Shambalaya – a spiritual retreat in Kent – by his brother Ben (or Moonfox as he
insisted on being called) he’d worked in advertising and was being tipped for
big things.
He wouldn’t have been seen
dead in tie-dye T-shirts and frayed jeans, but the retreat had forced him to ‘reassess
his priorities’ – along with his dress sense, presumably . . .
If you were granted one wish, what would it be? I'm still trying to think of one that encompasses world peace, toned thighs, wealth, and good health forever, without coming across as incredibly greedy.
