– ‘The Magic of Wor(l)ds’ blog is a hobby, reviews and other bookish stuff on this site are done for free. –
Today I’m on the ‘The End of the World Survivors Club’ blogtour, organised by Random Things Tours.
To promote this book I have an excerpt, but b
About the Author :
Adrian J Walker was born in the bush suburbs of Sydney, Australia in the mid ‘70s. After his father found a camper van in a ditch, he renovated it and moved his family back to the UK, where Adrian was raised.
Ever since he can remember, Adrian has been interested in three things: words, music and technology, and when he graduated from the University of Leeds, he found a career in software. His novel The End of the World Running Club, a post-apocalyptic running fable about hope, love and endurance, was a Simon Mayo Radio 2 book club choice.
He lives in Aberdeen with his wife and two children.
THE LONG-AWAITED SEQUEL TO THE RADIO 2 BOOK CLUB BESTSELLER, THE END OF THE WORLD RUNNING CLUB
FOR FANS OF MATT HAIG’S THE HUMANS AND ANDY WEIR’S THE MARTIAN
IN THE END OF THE WORLD RUNNING CLUB EDGAR HILL RAN 550 MILES AFTER AN APOCALYPSE TO TRY AND FIND HIS FAMILY.
HE HAD IT EASY.
THIS IS HIS WIFE’S STORY.
Beth Hill has survived the apocalypse with a baby and toddler in tow. And what’s more she’s done it alone – without her husband’s help. He’s never been any help. But when disaster strikes and someone steals her kids, she knows what she has to do.
The new world might be very different: no government, no law, no infrastructure and a whole lot more ocean than there used to be. But one thing hasn’t changed – the lengths a mother will go to save her family…
Richard had a way of talking that made me want to up my game. I found myself saying things I wouldn’t normally say.
Things such as this: ‘You appear very well versed in nautical affairs. How come?’
‘I used to be a wreck diver,’ he replied. ‘Back in the day. Did a fair bit of sailing in the Med. Boy’s stuff, really, nothing serious.’
I looked at him, staring into the wind with those steely eyes of his. Though slim, his chest was broad and taut, and I followed the sinews in his neck down the length of his arms. It was a natural physique, one that could not have been sculpted within a gym. But it was his eyes that drew me in; they seemed to hide stories.
It felt strange to let my gaze wander over him freely like this – dangerous, yet somehow acceptable, as if I was hanging over a ravine from a safety rope. The last man I had appraised in this way was Ed as I watched him change one morning in the barracks. The view then was, well, different.
He’d put on weight in the five years of our marriage, but that wasn’t the problem. Everything else was the problem. The stoop, the downturned mouth, the lethargy in his movements. In my opinion there’s absolutely nothing wrong with a bit of chunk on a man, so long as he’s happy. But Ed wasn’t happy, and it showed in everything he did.
Richard glanced at me and I looked away, following the white trails of froth in the boat’s wake.
‘Better go,’ he said. ‘See if Josh is feeling any perkier.’
‘Aye,’ I said, straightening up. ‘Me too, better get back to the kids.’
We stood facing each other, caught in that awkward moment where possibilities present themselves without warning. Suddenly the ship gave another lurch and he fell into me. I caught him by the elbows and we froze for a few seconds, looking at each other, trapped in our own inertia.
When the moment had passed, the engines started again and he pulled away, clearing his throat.
‘It’s, er, good to see you, Beth. Bye.’
He strode off down the deck, and I watched every single step he took until he’d disappeared inside.
Go ahead. Throw your stones.
It won’t take much to break the glass in this house.
The Magic of Wor(l)ds