It's my stop on the blog tour for The Place We Call Home today. I have an extract to share with you and if you like the sound of that, click here to order your copy. All the author info is at the bottom of this post. Please remember to stop by the other blogs on the tour for more exclusive content and reviews.
Here's what it's all about...
Welcome to Ballycove, the
home of Corrigan Mills...
Set against the backdrop of the
beautiful Irish countryside the famed mills have created the finest wool in all
of Ireland. Run by the seemingly perfect Corrigan family, but every family has
its secrets, and how the mills came to be the Corrigan's is one of them...
Miranda and
her husband were never meant to own the mills, until one fateful day catapults
them into a life they never thought they'd lead.
Ada has
forever lived her life in her sister's shadow. Wanting only to please her mother
and take her place as the new leader of the mill, Ada might just have to take a
look at what her heart really wants.
Callie has
a flourishing international career as a top designer and a man who loves her
dearly, she appears to have it all. When a secret is revealed and she's
unceremoniously turfed out of the design world, Callie might just get what's
she's been yearning for. The chance to go home.
Simon has
always wanted more. More money, more fame, more notoriety. The problem child.
Simon has made more enemies than friends over the years, and when one of his
latest schemes falls foul he'll have to return to the people who always believe
in him.
Ballycove isn't just a town in the Irish
countryside. It isn't just the base of the famous mills. It's a place to call
home.
And here's that extract for you...
Miranda
stopped a moment, watching as a seagull swooped with precision into the water
beneath her. She would walk to the cliff edge and back. It was less than a
mile, and for many years, she had walked it easily, but these days, she was in
the habit of moving more slowly, more thoughtfully. A fall at the end of last
summer had left her with little more than bruises, but it set off a series of
pains and aches that managed to slow her down whether she liked it or not.
In her mind, Miranda connected that fall with her almost heart attack.
It reminded her that time was passing, she was getting older, and she did not
have forever stretching out ahead of her. Not that she wasn’t still a busy
woman. Miranda had no intention of sinking into old age anytime soon, but maybe
she was coming close to being able to put some time aside just for herself. She
was no longer a young woman and still sitting at the helm of the family woollen
mills. Perhaps she didn’t travel as much as she used to, but her eye for detail
was as sharp now as any young thing and her instinct for colour and trends had
only honed with experience.
Miranda loved the mills. Ada accused her of loving them more than she
had her own family, which of course was typical of her eldest child. Miranda
believed Ada wanted no more than to make an old woman of her mother and to take
over the reins of the family business. But Ada lacked vision. Ada’s strength
was in saving, cutting and snipping. There would be no sentimentality, no
thought to the men and women whose lives were linked for decades with the
Corrigan family through working in the mills.
Ada was a tiny woman, in so many ways. She had always been a little
sparrow hawk, with fine shoulder blades and delicate features in her pinched
face. She wore her hair such a dark colour that it looked as if it might have
been dipped in blue-black ink and it sat in a neat halo gently curled inwards
around her head. She always wore a string of pearls at her neck and tweed suits
of varying weight depending on the season. She was the quintessential
bookkeeper, but she would make a poor leader. It was just a pity she could not
see this for herself. She was forty-eight this year and her measured approach
to life meant that she’d spent nearly five decades squeezing the good out of
everything so she was left with only what had little value to her.
Of course, she cared for her mother; she had been the first one to the
hospital when Miranda fell last year. Ada arrived, her eyes filled with
concern, her slightly too high voice demanding the very best care for her
mother. Poor Ada – Miranda was only relieved that she hadn’t brought along
Tony. The arrival of Anthony Jackson might have just about finished her off,
Miranda thought at the time.
Miranda took a deep breath. This place, the scrubby greens - surely
there were more than just forty shades? The earth that could be brown, grey or
black or any colour in between depending on the mood of the tide and the sky
above, had been the reason why the mills had survived. Maybe it was why Miranda
was walking here today. This place had inspired her when Paddy Corrigan died
leaving her with a business on the brink of bankruptcy, a cottage on the edge
of collapse and a family about her that she promised a better life than the one
she had known herself.
Miranda had taken inspiration from the landscape around her to create an
award-winning collection of products that had the good luck to resonate with
customers from New York to Beijing. The first year had been hard, but she
persevered enough to set them back on track and it took ten more to establish
the Corrigan Mills as an international brand to rival the other big Irish
exports of whiskey, pharmaceuticals and Guinness.
About the Author
Faith
lives in the west of Ireland with her husband, four children and two very fussy
cats. She has an Hons Degree in English Literature and Psychology, has worked
as a fashion model and in the intellectual disability and mental health sector.
Follow Faith:
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@GerHogan
Facebook:
@faithhoganauthor
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