call her now? Would changing your name change who you are? Why does she do it?
What do you think makes Kathryn reach out to Janeece in particular?
If killing Mark was the “right” thing to do, why are Kathryn’s children so angry with her? If she had known how they would react, do you think she would still have killed him?
What Have I Done? tackles some very harrowing issues. There are moments when Kathryn feels life is not worth living. By the end of the book, do you feel hope for the characters?
Why has the author chosen to tell a story about such a painful subject? Do you think the topics are appropriate for a novel? If so, why?
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the incredible team at Head of Zeus whose passion for the written word means that they take a good story and make it great, especially Laura who is not afraid to suggest the bold changes that make all the difference.
My lovely Caroline Michel and the team at PFD whose support and encouragement was just what a wobbly newbie needed.
My lovely boys Josh and Ben who have taken being abandoned in their stride and have pizza delivery on speed dial for those evenings when mum has her head in a lap top.
Thank you to all those women who have shared their stories with me, women from all walks of life who dread the sound of a key in the door. You are not alone.
Finally to my Simeon who is the polar opposite of Mark Brooker, he has my heart in his hands and handles it with great care, I am blessed.
Clover’s Child — Preview
Read on for the first chapter of
Forbidden love in 1960s London has heart-wrenching consequences. The next powerful page-turner in Amanda Prowse’s No Greater Love sequence.
1
It was cold, the pavement was covered with a sugar-like dusting of frost and the January wind that blew off the water felt like it could cut your cheeks. A large ship painted gun-metal grey was moored against the jetty and its unwieldy hawser stirred and scraped against the wall as the Lightermen’s barge made the water swell. The clouds were dark and threatened to burst at any moment. Dot Simpson and Barbara Harrison perched on the flat-topped bollards that stood in rows along the brow of the dock, just as they did in all weathers, in all seasons. When they were little, they had invented elaborate games using the bollards as everything from safe posts during battle to chairs at imaginary tea parties. Now in their late teens, they were more likely to be found sitting there with their faces covered in baby oil, holding up tin-foil reflectors to catch the sun’s rays. Tonight, however, they pulled their cardigan sleeves down over their hands and with shoulders hunched forward shouted to each other as their voices navigated the wind.
‘I’m bloody freezing!’
‘Me too! Dot, look – my fag’s stuck to my lip!’ Barb opened her mouth wide, to show her mate that her roll-up was indeed hanging free of assistance from her gob. They laughed loudly. This wasn’t unusual, they laughed at most things, sometimes because they were funny, but mainly because the two of them were young and free and life was pretty good.
A sailor waved from the deck and the girls waved back before collapsing in giggles. He looked foreign in his dark woolly cap and double-buttoned pea jacket. He ran up the deck towards them and as nimbly as his heavy boots would allow, clambered up the metal ladder and onto the wharf.
‘Shit! He’s coming over!’
Barb yanked her fag from her lip and threw it into the wind, where it was carried along a few feet before getting lodged in Dot’s hair.
‘Jesus! What you trying to do, set me barnet on fire?’
As Dot beat her head with her palms to extinguish any potential flames, her friend sat doubled over on her bollard stool and laughed until she cried. By the time sailor boy reached them, they were slightly more composed. Close up, neither of them fancied him, which was a bitter disappointment to all.
‘Hallo!’ His voice had the low staccato tones of the Baltics.
Barb waved at him.
‘I am new here for some days and would like very much to take you ladies for drink.’
‘We don’t drink.’ Barb looked away from him, tried to sound dismissive.
‘What are your names?’
‘I’m Connie Francis and this is Grace Kelly.’ Dot fixed him with a stare.
‘It’s nice to see you Connie and Grace, I