Wishing

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.