Fearnley Fiction

Buy Here 1. Valentine’s Day As always, Martha Storm was primed for action. Chin jutted, teeth gritted, and a firm grip on the handle of her trusty shopping tr olley. Her shoulders burned as she struggled to push it up the steep slope towards the library. The cobblestones underfoot were slippery, coated by the sea mist that wafted into Sandshift each evening. She was well prepared for the evening’s event. It was going to perfect, even though she usually avoided Valentine’s Day. Wasn’t it a silly celebration? A gimmick, to persuade you to buy stuffed furry animals and chocolates at rip-off prices. Why, if someone ever sent her a card, she’d hand it back and explain to the giver they’d been brainwashed. However, a job worth doing was worth doing well. Bottles chinked in her trolley, a stuffed black bin bag rustled in the breeze and a book fell off a pile, its pages fluttering like a moth caught in a spider’s web. She’d bought the supermarket’s finest rosé wine, flute gla...

Buy Here One As the family gathered in the sitting-room of the tall Bristol house that Sunday afternoon, Quentin Caldwell looked at his three daughters with immense satisfaction and pride. There were none who could touch them for beauty as well as brains – and that was rare enough. Women were not supposed to have any intelligence at all, or if they did, they were not supposed to show it. He prided himself that they got the brains from himself, while the looks were all down to his beautiful wife. At the thought, his composure slipped a little. Frances was so frail and delicate now, her smile alarmingly vacant as she quietly hummed a ditty from the far-off days when she had danced on the stage in front of royalty. Quentin knew she was still there in her dreams. Such royalty, too, he mused. So many changes, in so short a time. The sad death of the old king had plunged the country into mourning, followed by excitement over whether the dashing Prince of Wales would be crowned ...

Buy Here Prologue  I straightened my chiffon scarf so the small forget-menots lay flat against my crisp, white shirt. A quick tug of my sleeves, brushing off imaginary fluff, a pat of my hair, tied back in a neat ponytail, and I was as ready as I would ever be. My rubber-soled shoes allowed me to silently do the last check of the small room. Every seat was presentable – the flowers arranged just so – and the windows and mirrors were spotless. Not a fingerprint or smudge in sight. The lights were set to the correct level, the gaudy air freshener that had been here when I’d arrived was where it belonged – in the bin – the synthetic lily of the valley scent no longer catching at the back of your throat. I smiled at the calming space. It looked perfect. It had been another late night, preparing for today and the other services I had this week. I could hear my boss Frank’s voice warning me that I was going to end up burnt out if I wasn’t careful. I’d already had niggles with ...

Buy Here N O W Claire and I are sitting in the back of a black car, each looking out our separate windows. I see in the window’s reflection that Claire has her hands clasped nervously in her lap, the strap of her handbag wrapped around her wrist. I methodically clench and unclench my fists. Claire reaches over my lap to lay her hand on my thigh, and I feel her looking at me with her sympathetic eyes, hoping I will offer her comfort. I readjust my sunglasses and f luff my pocket square. As the driver turns onto Madison Avenue, a line of similar black cars appears with curbside doors swung open, and Manhattan’s elite filing out onto the sidewalk. The burgundy awning offers little solace beneath the heavy afternoon sun, and sweaty husbands usher their second and third wives inside the building. I hear Claire whisper, “You ready for this?” as I open the door and hold a steady hand for her to take when she steps out of the car. I can’t respond. We are walking quickly down the car...

Buy Here Chapter 1 If Queen Elizabeth were to narrate my last year, there’s every chance she’d call it my annus horribilis. While my castle hadn’t exactly burned to the ground, I had lost my job. There was also the tiny detail of my marriage falling apart. And by that, I mean my husband tripped and fell into my best friend, which meant she was also out of the picture. So was the mutual friend who was acting as sentry for their rendezvous. If only all love affairs came with a lookout, I may not have ended up here in the first place. My dad had taken off on a European backpacking sabbatical, which had evolved into a spiritual hike of the Camino de Santiago. All of this without his girlfriend, who was less spiritual and more surgical. When her first reaction to his holiday plans had been, ‘Over my dead body’, his response was, ‘Tupperware forever’. She called time on their romance very shortly after that. As for Mum, well she hadn’t changed. She was still living it up in Sydney...

Buy Here PROLOGUE The vice of his fingers tightened on my wrist, and tendons crunched as they slid over each other inside my forearm. As he twisted harder, I turned my body in the direction of his grip to try and relieve the pain. His other hand appeared from behind him and the heel of his palm hit the side of my head. As it made contact with my ear, a siren rang in my brain, blocking all other sound. I kicked out, my foot slamming into his shins. His forward momentum increased as he was caught off balance, and his upper body folded. His shoulder glanced off the picture frame on the wall and it fell to the floor with a clatter. The rebound flung him away from me. As he let go of my arm, we fell apart like a tree struck down the middle by lightning. I staggered backwards, calves ramming against the coffee table, pushing it towards the sofa. Terror now ruling my fear, I grabbed the ceramic vase toppling from the table. I swung it ineffectually at his head. I was briefly su...

Buy here CHAPTER ONE HOLLY As Holly looked around, hypnotized by the scene in front of her, she had a good feeling about this trip. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t been to a pool party on holiday before; she’d been to dozens when she’d been in her early twenties. It was just she’d never been to Las Vegas before; the swimming pool was absolutely enormous, the sun blazing, music blasting, the place was heaving with young people and it was a twenty-four-hour party paradise. She felt so pleased that her college friend, Emma Langford, had chosen Vegas as her wedding destination. Holly being a single mother to two young children, it was exactly the kind of place the doctor ordered. The wedding was the perfect excuse to escape toddler tantrums for this oasis of indulgence.   ‘Emma?’ Holly called out hesitantly, as she made her way over to the slender girl in the white bikini taking a selfie. The girl she was calling had her back to Holly and hadn’t heard her voice ove...