I’m so excited to be welcoming Emma-Claire Wilson to Novel Kicks and the blog tour for her book, When You Were Mine
One mistake could change their lives forever…
My life is a mess. My marriage is falling apart, and I’d hoped the arrival of our baby girl would bring us closer together. Yet, as she grows, I see less of a resemblance to my husband, stirring unsettling questions.
I was hoping a visit from my friend, Victoria would bring some stability. With her seemingly perfect life in Spain, she embodies hope for a brighter future.
But our reunion has taken an unexpected turn. And when a shock diagnosis shakes our family further, Victoria doesn’t know it yet, but she might just hold the key to saving our family.
But if I want her to help, a big secret has to come out. Revealing the truth risks everything – my marriage, our friendship, our families. Can we weather this storm, or will it shatter us beyond repair?
An emotional and powerful novel of motherhood, friendship and what family means to us all. Perfect for fans of Jodi Picoult and Susan Lewis.
Emma-Claire has kindly shared an extract with us today. We hope you enjoy.
Warning: Strong Language.
*****beginning of extract*****
This extract is from the very beginning of the novel when we meet Nicole. Nicole is in her 40’s, battling with a newborn baby and an eight-year-old young son. Life isn’t exactly going how she thought it was, she had hoped to be moved over to sunnier climes by now, but a ‘surprise’ pregnancy scuppered her plans. With the mundane aspects of life keeping her going, how long can she cling on to the fraying pieces of strings that seem to be holding her family, and her marriage, together.
ONE
Nicole
Dundee – October 2022
I scrabble around, my hand searching in the darkness for something I know is there, but I just can’t find. It’s a dance with the devil that I play every damn day – Lucifer in the form of white goods.
The washing machine. My nemesis. I refuse to let him win this time; I will not stick my head inside the hole of doom.
‘Not today, Satan. You will not win!’
These are the only arguments I know I can win lately, because a machine can’t argue back, roll its eyes at me or sigh in disgust. Small victories – that’s how I fill my day.
‘I know it’s there; just give it up already!’ I hiss into the cavernous metal drum.
Twenty-year-old me wouldn’t recognise the husk of a woman crouching precariously on the balls of her feet in the corner of the kitchen, trying to avoid crunching the abandoned Coco Pops that litter the vinyl floor between her neglected and un-pedicured toes. I never imagined that at the age of forty-three, I would be playing hide-and-seek with a single baby sock.
The remainder of the wet laundry is weighing down my other arm, my once toned biceps screaming in tandem with my burning calves as I attempt to stay on my haunches. They say old age creeps up on you, but I feel like it hit me like a thunderbolt to the face one morning.
‘Oh for fuck’s sake!’ I scream, the wobbling of my knees threatening to derail my determination.
‘Here, Mummy. I help.’
Before I can protest, she is grabbing the sodden clothes from my arms and trailing them across the floor to the kitchen table, picking up the stray chocolate droppings along the way. It takes everything within me not to cry as I think about having to rewash those now filthy T-shirts. I should’ve mopped the floor first.
My beautiful baby girl stands on her tiny tiptoes, as she tries in vain to reach up and place the clothes on the table, only to have them fall heavily on her head, cloaking her like a mini-Joseph with a sodden technicolour-dream-coat-style cloak.
As I close the door of the machine, the blinking error lights flash back at me.
‘I don’t have time for this,’ I hiss through gritted teeth, the frustration building behind my grimace, but the sight of my beautiful bubbly daughter covered in Daddy’s sodden boxer shorts evaporates my anger.
Satan can’t win when she’s around. She’s his kryptonite. My saviour, my Grace.
I crawl across the floor to meet the toes of my tiny toddler and run my fingers like spiders up her legs, tickling her stomach as I pluck the wet clothes from her shoulders and kiss her damp cotton-fresh-scented cheeks.
‘Thank you for your help, baby girl, but I don’t think I need you to wear the wet clothes!’
Her face explodes with a broad grin, eyes wide and sparkling as she throws her head back in delight, carelessly smacking her palm against her face.
‘Doh, Mummy, you are so silly.’
Her perfectly high-pitched voice sounds like a song, and my heart sings back with joy.
I always thought it sounded trite, but these years really are the best. As first-time mums we don’t appreciate it as much as we should, so often too busy looking out for the milestones, eager to get to the next step, that we never truly take in the wonder of those first few years. Now with a son old enough to grunt responses and shoot me dead with just one glare, I appreciate the small moments of innocence. Grace wraps her arms around my neck and plants a raspberry on my cheek.
‘Love you, Mummy’.
‘Love you more, precious.’
As she runs off into the living room, I check the clock and breathe a sigh of relief. It’s almost bedtime. I’ve been dreaming about the half bottle of rosé sat in the fridge since my second coffee of the day.
*****end of extract*****
About Emma-Claire Wilson:
Born in Scotland, Emma-Claire travelled the world as the child of military parents. After almost 20 years in Spain, she returned to the UK with her husband, two daughters, and rescue dog, Pip.
Emma-Claire worked as a journalist for English language magazines and newspapers in Spain and in 2015 launched The Glass House Online Magazine.
When not writing emotional fiction, you can find her dreaming up new book ideas or wrapped in a blanket with a book in her hand.
This is Emma’s second novel.
Connect with Emma-Claire on X, Instagram, Facebook, Substack and Linktree.
When You Were Mine was released by Avon on 1st August. Click to buy on Amazon UK, Waterstones and Amazon US.
Novel Kicks is a blog for story tellers and book lovers.
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