Good evening lovelies, are you all settled down with your dinner? Feet up while the kids run wild and use the last of their energy up? Good, cause I’ve got an extract from the debut novel, The Good Enough Mother by Anoushka Beazley for you to dig your teeth into!
Here’s the blurb . . .
Gatlin – a leafy, affluent town: Chelsea tractors and ladies who lunch. However, all is not as it seems. Drea, a most unnatural mother, struggles to find private school fees for her step-daughter Ava after her boyfriend leaves her for another woman. Watching the yummy mummies she becomes inspired, hatching a daring and criminal plan…unleashing all hell in the quiet town of Gatlin. Can Drea survive the fallout and the wrath of the PTA? A satirical and hilarious black comedy about love, motherhood and the human condition.
Here’s the extract . . .
September 6th – Monday
Today was the day I was planning to kill myself but then I read Alex’s note and, from there, I became unreservedly and altogether distracted. Alex was a school teacher. A linguaphile. A lover of young minds still malleable and awaiting instruction. The fact that he couldn’t keep it in his trousers long enough to leave the classroom was but a casual digression. Despite this penile lapse, Alex was a staunch patriot of the learned institutional experience so leaving me and his fourteen-year-old daughter on the first day of the new term was more organised than pointed. You had to know Alex. He wasn’t trying to hurt us, he just adored school – he used to tell me, ‘Drea, all manner of good things begin on that first day.’
It was auspicious, apparently.
School was also a big thing for Ava. Alex’s daughter from his first marriage, Ava had come to live with us when she was four years old. It might have been nice to think that some of me had rubbed off on her. However, the things that bond us to our children are not always obvious and her need to achieve was more than a little disappointing.
School was a similarly big thing for me. It filled me with a dreaded sense of foreboding anticipation. A nervous apprehension about I don’t know what. There was still, after all these years, an indescribable but escalating anxiety that chilled me to my bones, made me shudder in the playground and quiver at the gates.
‘Aren’t you taking me in today? I can’t be late.’ I couldn’t bear her dedication. Was that meant to mean something to me – this unspoken threat of an isosceles triangle? She was so eager to learn and completely oblivious to my scholastic emotional landmines. Ava belonged to a species insensitive to any activity not occurring within a millimetre of their physical body. Teenagers.
She callously ripped open the curtains, steering the sunlight in my direction and searing my face. I felt like a vampire touched by the hand of an irreverent hellion hunter. The heavy brown velvet had resisted yellowing, these aged and depressing curtains epitomising the mausoleum that was our house. We lived in the type of place that developers offer a lot of money for so they can gut it and start again. Knock down walls, raise ceilings, install bi-fold doors as the focal point of large, open-plan spaces, rip out carpets and shine up floor boards to capture that modern period feel. We, instead, shimmied dust from one small pokey room to another, a rotten wooden door opening out to a shapeless garden full of weeds and rubbish. Nicotine-stained, embossed wallpaper matched worn fabric lampshades. The most modern thing about our house was our neighbours.
Has that whet your appetite? Good! Now you can pop over to any of the links below to get your copy!
About the author . . .
Anoushka Beazley has a film degree, an acting diploma and a masters in creative writing. She is a full time novelist, lives in North London with three little witches, a lawyer and a Maine Coon.
And you can follow her on the following social media accounts:
Twitter – https://twitter.com/Anoushkabeazley
Instagram – anoushkabeazley