– ‘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 Girl Downstairs’ blogtour, organized by Zooloo’s Book Tours.
To promote this book I have an excerpt, but before I let you read it first some ‘basic’ information.
About the Author :
Iain Maitland is the author of three previous psych thrillers, The Scribbler (2020), Mr Todd’s Reckoning (2019) and Sweet William (2017), all published by Contraband, an imprint of Saraband. Mr Todd’s Reckoning is coming to the big screen in 2023.
Iain is also the author of two memoirs, Dear Michael, Love Dad (Hodder, 2016), a book of letters written to his eldest son who experienced depression and anorexia, and (co-authored with Michael) Out Of The Madhouse (Jessica Kingsley, 2018).
He is also an Ambassador for Stem4, the teenage mental health charity. He talks regularly about mental health issues in schools and colleges and workplaces.
He’s been watching and waiting. And now he’s found her.
Rosie is homeless and winter is closing in. So she can’t believe her luck when a total stranger, Mr. Adams, invites her to stay.
But Mr. Adams has a secret. He has chosen Rosie because she reminds him of someone very special from long ago. Maybe she can even help him recapture that distant happiness.
Of course, she might need a little encouragement, but that’s fine…
What he doesn’t realise is that Rosie has a secret too, a secret that will have horrifying consequences for them both.
So instead of the heaven he had hoped to find, Mr. Adams finds himself fighting to escape the special kind of hell created by… the girl downstairs.
The Girl Downstairs – the stunning psychological thriller, perfect for fans of Mark Edwards, K. L. Slater, Miranda Rijks.
It is mid-afternoon. The schools are out. It is not yet dusk.
I am back at the pier. On my own. With my hat, scarf and gloves. It is colder now.
Looking for the girl. Before she settles down somewhere for the night.
The pier, at least the length of it stretching out into the sea, is rotten and decomposing. Much like Felixstowe itself. I think it must be dangerous to walk on. It has been closed off for years. It can only be a matter of time before it collapses into the sea. Good riddance to it, I’d say.
It would be better off gone. But it would be a major expense to remove it, and I believe the council bigwigs would rather spend money on schemes that only benefit their own back pockets. These people do very nicely out of us ordinary folk, what with their allowances and expenses and backhanders. And “jobs for the boys”, of course.
The front of the pier is new and busy. A few years ago it was renovated, and there is now a pleasant enough restaurant and fast-food places where you can buy fish and chips and multicoloured fizzy drinks and 101 flavours of ice cream.
She is nowhere to be seen outside.
The girl. She is not begging. Nor hidden away, getting ready for another long, cold night.
I know where she will be. Inside the pier.
When the front of the pier was being rebuilt, many in Felixstowe hoped it would be something like the one at Southwold – upmarket, with small cafes and dainty knick-knack shops. An attraction, drawing in people from far and wide.
What Felixstowe got was an amusement arcade. One huge aircraft hangar of a space, packed front to back, side to side, with machines. All you can hear is whirring and ringing and the shouts and yells and screams of teenagers. It makes Clacton look sophisticated.
The cacophony and the menacing and unbridled feral children everywhere repel me. But I force myself to go in. To see if she is here, checking for left-behind change in the trays of the machines.
I hope that is what she is doing. It could be worse. I imagine there are drugs to be had here, as there are where all teenagers gather these days. Or she could be in the toilets, in a clumsy sexual embrace with some young thug for a rolled-up twenty-pound note.
The Magic of Wor(l)ds