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Just My Luck by Adele Parks | Book Review

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Just My Luck, Adele Parks, extract , review

I have loved Adele Parks’ books for years now. Which is handy, as she writes one a year and has done for the past twenty years. Impressive.
Just My luck is another triumph. It has a great premise which is beautifully executed. We have all dreamt of winning the lottery. This book explores what happens when people become rich beyond their wildest dreams. It may be a novel, but it is a cautionary tale that money does not buy happiness. I loved the characters, even the ones I was loving to hate. The twists at the end are hugely satisfying. I find Adele Parks is an expert at picking up on the beautiful details of life, as she is at finding the complexities of the human character. Just My luck is the perfect escapist novel that will leave you hooked until the very last page.

It’s the stuff dreams are made of – a lottery win so big, it changes everything.

For fifteen years, Lexi and Jake have played the same six numbers with their friends, the Pearsons and the Heathcotes. Over dinner parties, fish & chip suppers and summer barbecues, they’ve discussed the important stuff – the kids, marriages, jobs and houses – and they’ve laughed off their disappointment when they failed to win anything more than a tenner.

But then, one Saturday night, the unthinkable happens. There’s a rift in the group. Someone doesn’t tell the truth. And soon after, six numbers come up which change everything forever.

Lexi and Jake have a ticket worth £18 million. And their friends are determined to claim a share of it.

Sunday Times Number One bestseller Adele Parks returns with a riveting look at the dark side of wealth in this gripping take on friendship, money and betrayal, and good luck gone bad…

Just My Luck is available here.

Read An Extract From Adele Parks New Book Just My Luck

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Just My Luck, Adele Parks, extract , review

Lexi

Saturday, 20th April

I can’t face going straight home to Jake. I’m not ready to deal with this. I need to try to process it frst. But how? Where do I start? I have no idea. The blankness in my mind terrifes me. I always know what to do. I always have a solution, a way of tackling something, giving it a happy spin. I’m Lexi Greenwood, the woman everyone knows of as the fxer, the smiler (some might even slightly snidely call me a do-gooder). Lexi Greenwood, wife, mother, friend.
You think you know someone. But you don’t know anyone, not really. You never can.
I need a drink. I drive to our local. Sod it, I’ll leave the car at the pub and walk home, pick it up in the morning. I order a glass of red wine, a large one, then I look for a seat tucked away in the corner where I can down my drink alone. It’s Easter weekend, and a rare hot one. The place is packed. As I thread my way through the heaving bar, a number of neighbours raise a glass, gesturing to me to join them; they ask after the kids and Jake. Everyone else in the pub seems celebratory, buoyant. I feel detached. Lost. That’s the thing about living in a small village, you recognise everyone. Sometimes that reassures me, sometimes it’s inconvenient. I politely and apologetically defect their friendly overtures and continue in my search for a solitary spot. Saturday vibes are all around me, but I feel nothing other than stunned, stressed, isolated.You think you know someone.
What does this mean for our group? Our frimily. Friends that are like family. What a joke. Blatantly, we’re not friends anymore. I’ve been trying to hide from the facts for some time, hoping there was a misunderstanding, an explanation; nothing can explain away this.
I told Jake I’d only be a short while; I should text him to say I’ll be longer. I reach for my phone and realise in my haste to leave the house, I haven’t brought it with me. Jake will be wondering where I am; I don’t care. I down my wine. The acidity hits my throat, a shock and a relief at once. Then I go to the bar to order a second.
The local pub is only a ten-minute walk away from our home but by the time I attempt the walk back, the red wine had taken effect. Unfortunately, I am feeling the sort of drunk that nurtures paranoia and fury, rather than a light head or heart. What can I do to right this wrong? I have to do something. I can’t carry on as normal, pretending I know nothing of it. Can I?
As I approach home, I see Jake at the window, peering out.I barely recognise him. He looks taut, tense. On spotting me, he runs to fing open the front door.
‘Lexi, Lexi, quickly come in here,’ he hiss-whispers, clearly agitated. ‘Where have you been? Why didn’t you take your phone? I’ve been calling you. I needed to get hold of you.’
What now? My frst thoughts turn to our son. ‘Is it Logan? Has he hurt himself?’ I ask anxiously. I’m already teetering on the edge; my head quickly goes to a dark place. Split skulls, broken bones. A dash to A&E isn’t unheard of; thirteen-year-old Logan has daredevil tendencies and the sort of mentality that thinks shimmying down a drainpipe is a reasonable way to exit his bedroom in order to go outside and kick a football about. My ffteen-year-old daughter, Emily, rarely causes me a moment’s concern.
‘No, no, he’s fne. Both the kids are in their rooms. It’s… Look, come inside, I can’t tell you out here.’ Jake is practically bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. I can’t read him. My head is too fuzzy with wine and full of rage and disgust. I resent Jake for causing more drama, although he has no idea what shit I’m deal- ing with. I’ve never seen him quite this way before. If I touched him, I might get an electric shock; he oozes a dangerous energy. I follow my husband into the house. He is hurrying, urging me to speed up. I slow down, deliberately obtuse. In the hallway he turns to me, takes a deep breath, runs his hands through his hair but won’t, can’t, meet my eyes. For a crazy moment I think he is about to confess to having an affair. ‘OK, just tell me, did you buy a lottery ticket this week?’ he asks.
‘Yes.’ I have bought a lottery ticket every week of my life for the last ffteen years. Despite all the bother last week, I have stuck to my habit.
Jake takes in another deep breath, sucking all the oxygen from the hallway. ‘OK, and did you—’ he breaks off, fnally drags his eyes to meet mine. I’m not sure what I see in his gaze, an almost painful longing, fear and panic. Yet at the same time there is hope there too. ‘Did you pick the usual numbers?’
‘Yes.’
His jaw is still set tight. ‘You have the ticket?’ ‘Yes.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes, it’s pinned on the noticeboard in the kitchen. Why?
What’s going on?’
‘Fuck.’ Jake lets out a breath that has the power of a storm. He falls back against the hall wall for a second and then he rallies, grabs my hand and pulls me into the room that was designed to be a dining room but has ended up being a sort of study slash dumping ground. A place where the children sometimes do their homework, I tackle paying the household bills, and towering piles of ironing, punctured footballs and old trainers hide out. Jake sits down in front of the computer and starts to quickly open various tabs.
‘I wasn’t sure that we even had a ticket, but when you were late back and the flm I was watching had fnished, I couldn’t resist checking. I don’t know why. Habit, I suppose. And look.’ ‘What?’ I can’t quite work out what he’s on about, it might be the wine, it might be because my head is still full of betrayal and deceit, but I can’t seem to climb into his moment. I turn to the screen. The lottery website. Brash and loud. A clash of bright
colours and fonts. 1, 8, 20, 29, 49, 58. The numbers glare at me from the com- puter. Numbers I am so familiar with. Yet they seem peculiar and unbelievable.
‘I don’t understand. Is this a joke?’
‘No, Lexi. No! It’s for real. We’ve only gone and won the bloody lottery!’

Just My Luck by Adele Parks is published by HQ, HarperCollins in hardback, eBook and audiobook, and is available to buy here.

What do you think?: A Collection of Poems Extract #nationalpoetryday

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poetry, poetry book, poems, women authors, Scottish writers, poetry book, female writers,To celebrate National Poetry Day here is some extracts from my poetry book What do you think?: A collection of poems. I hope you enjoy them.

 

Thieves

Littered broken hearts

One million men

Tearing me apart

Vestiges of

What I used to be

Leaving behind

All different parts of me

Traces

Chunks

Bits

Intellectual property

All stolen from me

And I will never be complete again

And the waiter came around with decapitated roses

 

 

When women are mean girls

Another barb

To bring a smile to your face

You think it wounds

Not quite

But I will confess it grates

How a woman can act like a mean girl

Time and time again

Her insecurity and bitterness

Coming out in bitchy comments

I guess I should feel sorry for you

That your life has led you to this

Vile and wrapped up in your own bitterness

But woman like you give women a bad name

Lashing out, attacking, trying to cause pain

I know you just don’t like my happiness

That it causes you pain

That your jealousy is like your other face

Sneering, ugly and plain

I take it as a compliment

That you can’t just keep quiet

That you cannot become the adult you are

That you have to let your hate perspire

I move on, of course

And I smile as I do

Because although you bore me and disappoint me

I am happy, because I am nothing like you

(This was written in 2016. I wish it wasn’t as relevant as it is. I do have to point out that men can be bitchy too, but sometimes it just hurts more when it comes from another woman).

 

 

Motherhood

They say that after this I will be a woman

But I feel I already earned that long ago

Long before the waves and the pain

My dues long paid up

Unlike those other dues

This one will be worth it

They say this will change me.

And it irks me that they are not wrong

One bouncing baby

To change the melody of the song

Half a stone of giggles and crying

To bring a joy

That could bring back the dying

 

 

Loved person

Broken promises I knew you could not keep

You only ever tried to love me and in gratitude I lay at your feet

Because I was in love too, but my love was different

My love was the notion of life, a good one

All I wanted from ear to ear; a smile from my own mouth

It did not work

You loved me so selflessly I could not leave

Although I know now it was only through your love for me that I loved you

You lost your own identity

You chose mine but I wanted mine to keep

Still. Here I am

This time only crying at your ever loving feet

I owe you too much to leave

So for the rest of my life. If I never find the courage

I will be the living, loved dead

Even though I see

Your love in an otherwise cruel world binds me

Forgive me. I doubt for all that I was ever worthy

 

 

All poems taken from What do you think?: A Collection of Poems by Catherine Balavage is available from Amazon. 

 

Exclusive An Almond for a Parrot Extract

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Frost loved Sally Gardner’s first adult novel, An Almond for a Parrot so we are very excited to bring you an extract. An Almond for a Parrot follows London’s most famous courtesan, Tully Truegood, from her childhood of neglect in the 18th Century London to an upper-class brothel where decadent excess is a must. Now she is awaiting trial for murder, for which she expects to hang. This is her truth, a letter written to the man she has loved and fears lost…

Chapter One

Newgate Prison, London

I lie on this hard bed counting the bricks in the ceiling of this miserable cell. I have been sick every morning for a week and thought I might have jail fever. If it had killed me it would at least have saved me the inconvenience of a trial and a public hanging. Already the best seats at Newgate Prison have been sold in anticipation of my being found guilty – and I have yet to be sent to trial. Murder, attempted murder – either way the great metropolis seems to know the verdict before the judge has placed the black square on his grey wig. This whore is gallows-bound.

‘Is he dead?’ I asked.
My jailer wouldn’t say.
I pass my days remembering recipes and reciting them to the damp walls. They don’t remind me of food; they are bookmarks from this short life of mine. They remain tasteless. I prefer them that way.

A doctor was called for. Who sent for or paid for him I don’t know, and uncharacteristically I do not care. He was very matter of fact and said the reason for my malady was simple: I was with child. I haven’t laughed for a long time but forgive me, the thought struck me as ridiculous. In all that has happened I have never once found myself in this predicament. I can hardly

believe it is true. The doctor looked relieved – he had at least found a reason for my life to be extended – pregnant women are not hanged. Even if I’m found guilty of murder, the gallows will wait until the child is born. What a comforting thought.

Hope came shortly afterwards. Dear Hope. She looked worried, thinner.

‘How is Mercy?’ I asked.
She avoided answering me and busied herself about my cell. ‘What does this mean?’ she asked, running her fingers over the words scratched on a small table, the only piece of furniture this stinking cell has to offer.

I had spent some time etching them into its worm-eaten surface. An Almond for a Parrot.

‘It’s a title for a memoir, the unanswered love song of a soon- to-be dead bird. Except I have no paper, no pen and without ink the thing won’t write at all.’

‘Just as well, Tully.’
‘I want to tell the truth of my life.’
‘Better to leave it,’ she said.
‘It’s for Avery – not that he will ever read it.’ I felt myself on the brink of tears but I refused to give in to them. ‘I will write it for myself. Afterwards, it can be your bedtime entertainment, the novelty of my days in recipes and tittle-tattle.’

‘Oh, my sweet ninny-not. You must be brave, Tully. This is a dreadful place and…’

‘And it is not my first prison. My life has come full circle. You haven’t answered my question.’

‘Mercy is still very ill. Mofty is with her.’ ‘Will she live?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘And is he alive?’

‘Tully, he is dead. You are to be tried for murder.’
‘My, oh my. At least my aim was true.’
I sank back on the bed, too tired to ask more. Even if Hope was in the mood for answering questions, I didn’t think I would want to know the answers.

‘You are a celebrity in London. Everyone wants to know what you do, what you wear. The papers are full of it.’

There seemed nothing to say to that. Hope sat quietly on the edge of the bed, holding my hand.

Finally, I found the courage to ask the question I’d wanted to ask since Hope arrived.

‘Is there any news of Avery?’
‘No, Tully, there’s not.’
I shook my head. Regret. I am full of it. A stone to worry one’s soul with.
‘You have done nothing wrong, Tully.’
‘Forgive me for laughing.’
‘You will have the very best solicitor.’
‘Who will pay for him?’
‘Queenie.’
‘No, no. I don’t want her to. I have some jewels…’ I felt sick.
‘Concentrate on staying well,’ said Hope.

If this life was a dress rehearsal, I would now have a chance to play my part again but with a more favourable outcome. Alas, we players are unaware that the curtain goes up the minute we take our first gulps of air; the screams of rage our only hopeless comments on being born onto such a barren stage.

 

So here I am with ink, pen and a box of writing paper, courtesy of a well-wisher. Still I wait to know the date of my trial. What to do until then? Write, Tully, write.

With a hey ho the wind and the rain. And words are my only escape. For the rain it raineth every day.

 

Available from amazon.co.uk and waterstones.com

 

Exclusive Because of You by Helene Fermont Book Extract

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We have an exclusive extract of Because of You by Helene Fermont. We will review the book soon, but meanwhile this should whet your appetite.

Exclusive Because of You by Helene Fermont Extract 1

Arriving at the Primrose Hill venue at 8:00pm on the last Saturday in September, Hannah arranged with the cab driver to pick her up at midnight. Wearing a blue sequinned dress accentuating her gure and small waist, she stepped out of the car, carrying a bouquet of owers and Belgian tru es. As she entered the foyer of the large premises to be surrounded by stran- gers, she heard someone call her name.

“You must be Hannah, Mel’s friend?”

Turning to see who it was, she found herself gazing into the friendliest pair of blue eyes.

“My name’s Matthew Jacobs – Mel’s ancé and associate – I’m pleased we nally get to meet.” With his tall, athletic build, short brown hair and big smile, it was easy to understand why Melanie had fallen in love with him.

“Mel’s instructed I take extra good care of you! She’s busy with all the guests.” Taking her arm, he proceeded to introduce her to groups of people, all curious to know what it was like to live in Sweden. A passing waiter o ering sparkling champagne. Dis- creetly watching her take a sip, Matthew agreed with his ancée. She was completely oblivious of her own beauty and of everyone staring at her, the red hair reminiscent of a rich burgundy wine. Engaging in small talk, Hannah asked if he minded Melanie having a career.
“Not at all. I want her to be happy, she’s the woman I love.”

Exclusive Because of You by Helene Fermont author

Just then, they were interrupted.

“Hannah! Just look at you. That dress is simply divine.”

Embracing one another, Melanie exclaimed, “I’m so happy you’re here!”

“Your ancé’s been very nice to me. Congratulations on turn- ing twenty- ve and getting engaged!” Hannah handed her the owers and chocolates.

“How wonderfully decadent! Sweets aren’t good for the gure . . . What the heck, it’s not every day one gets the opportunity to celebrate!”

“You’ve nothing to worry about – I’ve never seen you as gor- geous as you look tonight.” Radiant in a red gown, with matching lips and nails, Melanie wore her hair in a sleek pageboy cut, emphasising her dark blue eyes. Steering Hannah towards the back, she put an arm around her.

“What do you think?”

“Wow! I never saw anything like it!” Hannah gasped at the sight of pink tablecloths on the bu et, candles and roses.

“There’s someone I want you to meet . . .” Walking arm in arm in the direction of a small group of people talking amongst themselves, Melanie made a formal introduction. “This is the girl I’ve been telling you about. Hannah Stein – Benjamin Isaacs. Ben’s my oldest friend, Hannah’s over on a gap year, staying with an adorable lady in Golders Green.”

His eyes glued on the pretty woman in front of him, Ben replied, “Mel’s been singing your praises, Miss Stein. Now I know the reason.”

Eyes locking, both felt an instant chemistry, quite unlike any- thing they’d experienced before. Tall, dark and handsome, Ben bore an uncanny resemblance to Sean Connery, each muscular with dimples in their cheeks. What attracted her most was his impeccable accent, deep voice and big brown eyes, seemingly looking behind the exterior into her soul.

From a distance Hannah heard Melanie say, “I’ll leave you to it, you’re bound to have plenty to talk about. . .”

“I’m honoured to sit next to you, Miss Stein.” Flattered that he’d pulled out a chair for her to sit, Hannah felt his eyes on her. Overwhelmed by her presence, beauty and charm, Ben was acutely conscious of the fact he’d never met anyone like her; the ery red hair, delicate features and emerald green eyes.

Dinner consisted of melon with port, rack of lamb and sorbet with almond biscuits; everything tasting delicious. Ben enter- tained Hannah with stories of the time he and Melanie were enrolled at nursery, while Hannah told him about her country, silently comparing his interest in everything she told him to Mark, who rarely listened to anything she had to say.

After dinner there were birthday speeches, including one from Ben, who told everyone how fortunate he was to have such a caring, loyal friend in Melanie.

“She’s a lousy loser, though. I lost track of all the times I let her beat me at a game,” he teased, raising his glass in a toast to her and Matthew, before returning to his seat.

Touched by his words, Melanie blew him a kiss across the table. They’d celebrated her and Matthew’s engagement at her parents’ house the previous weekend. At twenty-seven, Ben was the brother she had never had.

Turning his attention to Hannah, Ben asked, “Are you plan- ning on leaving in the near future?”

 

“Not until after Christmas. Then I’m enrolling at university.” Relieved she’d be staying a while longer, Ben enquired about her career subjects. “I always wanted to teach.”

“Good for you!”

It felt wonderful opening up to him about her future plans. Un-like Mark, Ben seemed genuinely interested and non-judge- mental.

“I miss home and my family – it’ll be great to go back.”

“I bet they can’t wait to see you. Mine missed me a lot when I travelled to France and America. Tell me to mind my own busi- ness but I have to ask, how old are you?”

“I just turned nineteen.”

“I gathered as much. You’re extremely mature for your age.” Blushing, Hannah asked what he did for a living. “I’m a solicitor, working at my father’s law rm – hoping to start my own one day.” He proceeded to tell her about his younger sister and brother, who were both still at college. “Mum’s preoccupied with her secretarial temping agency. She and Dad are the perfect couple.”

“What a strange coincidence both our fathers are solicitors,” said Hannah. “My mother’s a housewife and extremely proud of it. She speaks several languages. My younger brother, Peter, and I are very close. My maternal grandmother moved to London when she was in her seventies.” It struck her how e ortlessly they communicated with one another, again, totally unlike Mark who wasn’t interested in anyone but himself.

Listening to her, Ben felt much the same, thinking she was special in every way. “I own a at not far from here,” he said. “It’s a typical bachelor’s pad. I only use it to sleep in.” He deliberately wanted her to know he was single, praying she was as well.

Time passed quickly, and while they were engaged in conversa- tion, the other guests drifted into an adjacent room, to drink tea and dance.

“Would you care to join me for a dance, Hannah?” Ben asked shyly, as John Paul Young’s ‘Love Is In The Air’ began to play. She was on the verge of accepting when Melanie approached them.

“Please forgive me for being such a lousy hostess – I’m like a headless chicken,” she told them, looking ustered. “Tonight’s great!” She went up to Hannah, kissing her cheeks. “May I borrow her for a couple of minutes? I promise to bring her back to you.” Sensing Ben’s disappointment, Hannah followed her into a corner of the room.

“Ben’s completely smitten with you,” Melanie enthused. “I never saw him this happy. You’re a striking couple. Didn’t I tell you you’d be perfect for each other?” She was so excited; she couldn’t stand still.

“Before you continue, there’s something you should know. I’m in a relationship . . . I’m sorry I never let on.” Hannah felt awful she had kept it from her.

“But I was under the impression . . . my mistake. I’m really gutted.”

“It’s early days but we’re committed to each other,” Hannah whispered.

“Is it someone I know?” Mel looked as if she was about to burst into tears.

“I don’t think so. His name’s Mark, we only just met.”
“Are you sleeping with him?”
Blushing at her friend’s blunt question, Hannah bowed her head in response.
“I see. What a pity. Men like Ben don’t come along often. If I were you, I’d not rule anything out just yet. I sure hope that guy appreciates you. . .”

“How about that dance you promised me earlier?” Standing behind her, Ben refused to take no for an answer.

“She’s all yours – talk to you later!” Melanie told him, leaving. “Are you alright?” Ben’s eyes probed Hannah’s.
At that moment Hannah wished things weren’t so complicated.

“I’m alright . . . I’d love to dance with you.” Taking her hand in his, Ben led her to the dance oor, Burt Bacharach’s ‘Raindrops Keep Fallin’ On My Head’ echoing in the room.

Keeping a respectful distance between them, Ben commented, “That song goes straight to my heart.” What he meant to say was that she had already captured his. Feeling him so close to her, breathing in the masculine scent of his aftershave, Hannah felt a sense of belonging.

Twenty minutes later she looked at her watch, exclaiming, “I’m sorry but I have to leave, a cab’s awaiting me outside.” Ben was visibly disappointed.

“Can’t you call and cancel it? I’d be pleased to bring you home.”

“That’s impossible, seeing as it’s booked. . .”

“Tonight’s special. Will you let me take you out to dinner?” He’d been telling himself she was a lot younger and the last thing he wanted was to scare her o , but he just couldn’t help himself.

Not sure how to respond, Hannah started to panic. “Listen, I really enjoyed spending time with you Ben, but I’m leaving soon – take good care of yourself – you’re the perfect gentleman.”

“Please wait!” His eyes pleaded with her to stay. “Are you tell- ing me you don’t wish to see me again? The least you can do is explain.” He looked every bit as upset as she was feeling.

“It’s nothing to do with you – I’m seeing someone.”

Ben’s face dropped, the same devastation in his eyes as in Mela- nie’s. “I see . . . That explains everything.”

“I’m sorry I gave you the wrong impression.”

“Me too.” His voice faltered. “I guess it wasn’t meant to be. I hope whoever it is realises how lucky he is. Thanks for being straight with me.”

Their eyes locked for a split second and Hannah knew without a shadow of a doubt the only thing coming between them was that they’d met at the wrong time.

“You’re de nitely an item?” he asked, eyes sad.
“We are – yes.”
Taking a deep breath, Ben replied, “I wish you every happi-

ness. You’re an outstanding young lady, inside and out.” He gave her a card with his number, adding, “I’d love to keep in touch. . .” Listening to him made Hannah feel less upset; the idea of not seeing him again, too di cult to comprehend. “I’ll keep it in mind but you mustn’t expect it . . .”
As he bent to kiss her cheek, both felt the same chemistry as when they’d rst laid eyes on each other. She was on the verge of changing her mind and agreeing to meet up with him, when Mark’s face appeared in her head.

“Goodbye, Ben. I’ll see myself out.”

Waving at Melanie, who was busy talking to a guest, Hannah walked out of the venue and towards the cab waiting for her out- side. Exchanging a few polite words, Hannah’s thoughts turned to Ben. He’d made such a lasting impression. She could only ask herself if it was possible to be in love with one man yet feel attracted to another.

Watching the last guests leave, Melanie and Ben retired to the back of the foyer. Looking into his eyes, she whispered, “I’m so sorry things didn’t turn out the way you’d hoped.”

“That makes two of us. I’m in love with a woman I just met and lost.”

“Listen to ‘Auntie Mel’: I’ve a feeling you’ve not seen the last of her. If I were you, I’d not give up just yet.”

“You’re seriously thinking I stand a chance?” There was a glimmer of hope in Ben’s eyes.

“I do. Trust me on this one, okay?”

That night Ben vowed to not give up on the woman he loved. Mel’s intuition had never failed her before. Despite wishing Hannah and that guy she was involved with every happiness, Ben couldn’t stand the thought of her belonging to anyone but him.

Because Of You by Hélene Fermont (Fridhem Publishing) is released on August 15, priced £9.99 in paperback and £3.99 as an eBook. Visit www.HeleneFermont.com