– ‘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 ‘Mum’s The Word’ blogtour, organized by Rachel’s Random Resources.
To promote this book I have an excerpt, but before I let you read it first some ‘basic’ information.
About the Author :
Lorraine Turnbull was born in Glasgow where she lived until 2005 when she and her family moved to Cornwall to run a smallholding. She relocated to France in 2017 where she continues to make cider, writes books and learns French.
When Ann-Marie Ross murders her abusive husband and feeds him to the pigs, she thinks she’s got away with murder and secured the future of her Scottish cider farm. But she soon finds herself having to keep more than one deadly secret to protect those closest to her.
As four women embrace their new-found independence, Ann-Marie is tormented by the threat of discovery.
A darkly comic tale of murder, friendship and Love.
In a way it was a relief to finally be able to talk about it, and the details began to spill out. Isa sat impassive, whilst Ann-Marie, white-faced and tearful told her everything. In a few short minutes she had completed her confession and sat awaiting her mother’s reaction. The clock ticked sluggishly, stretching every painful second into a lifetime.
Isa sighed and finally spoke.
‘You’re my daughter and I love you; but why oh why did you put up with that bullying, that abuse for all those years? I knew years ago that you were miserable, but it wasn’t my marriage. Wasn’t my place to say anything; and you never uttered a word. And now this.’
She paused and raised her cold blue eyes, searching Ann-Marie’s face for an answer, but Ann-Marie had told all; and had nothing to add. She felt that she had, in fact, said quite enough.
Her mother sat quietly. She didn’t appear to be shocked or horrified, but just said nothing. Meanwhile, Ann-Marie’s brain was in overdrive, going over all the possibilities that this admission might have raised, and whether the confession would result in another stroke.
‘Aren’t you angry at me mum? Disgusted at what I’ve done?’
Eventually, her mother took a deep breath and looked her straight in the eyes,
‘I’m angry that you didn’t do it sooner you stupid girl! Barring the Enquiry, it appears that you’ve got away with it; and I’m glad. You didn’t deserve that and now you’re free from that…creature’, she spat crossly. Ann-Marie’s eyes widened, but Isa wasn’t finished. She got up and went to fill the kettle before returning to the sofa.
‘Can you trust Elaine to keep her mouth shut?’ she asked. Ann-Marie nodded silently.
‘Well then, you can also trust that what I know will go with me to my grave.’
Ann-Marie stood to go and make the tea. Isa pulled her knitting needles back to her and began to knit, ‘Mum’s the word, Ann-Marie. Mum’s the word.’
The Magic of Wor(l)ds