Wednesday 22 January 2020

Blog Tour: Extract from The Place We Call Home

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:   
Twitter: @GerHogan
Facebook: @faithhoganauthor

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