href="#litres_trial_promo">Pull Me in the Pullman Carriage Helen Lederer
The Sun, the Moon and the Stars Pauline McLynn
The Shell of Venus Victoria Routledge
Storm Clouds Sheila O’Flanagan
The Seven Steps from Shag to Spouse Tiffanie Darke
Saving Amsterdam Chrissie Manby
Hurrah for the Hols Helen Simpson
It’s difficult to see what devastatingly handsome men, heart-breakingly wet tissues and the odd glass of Cava have in common with a school in Rwanda and a playground in Kosovo. But here, in this glorious book, you have it.
This book was the brainchild of writing friends Chrissie Manby, Jessica Adams and Fiona Walker. Meeting up for drinks one night, they talked about the host of young women whose unique brand of fiction currently top the book charts, and decided to bring all that talent together in one book for one terrific cause. Scribbling ideas on napkins, they were determined from the outset to create a book that raises spirits as well as funds. Within twenty-four hours, this unique collection was born.
The approaching deadline saw stories flying across the internet and writers who had previously been head to head in the book charts asking each other for advice. Of course, there were a few obligatory girls’ nights out to discuss narrative structure over a glass or two as well! With best-selling authors from the UK, Ireland, America and Australia donating their stories free of charge, the generosity and enthusiasm of all involved has been extraordinary.
One pound from every copy of Girls Night In goes towards War Child’s Safe Play Programme in the Balkans and an educational programme in Rwanda. In Kosovo, thousands of children have been left without anywhere to play, have fun, or have a normal childhood. In Rwanda most girls have no access to education. So thanks for buying this book – you’ve just helped these children, have a great night in on me.
Why War Child Are Great:
Since it was founded in 1993, War Child has alleviated the suffering of tens of thousands of children throughout the World. Providing mobile bakeries and supplying insulin to stricken warzones, the charity directs aid where it’s needed most. But they do not disappear when the guns have stopped shooting and the fires have died down. They are also instrumental in healing the psychological damage caused to children by their experiences of war.
The money raised from this book will fund two essential projects:
The Safe Play Areas Programme runs throughout the Balkans on land cleared of mines, unexploded bombs and rubble. War Child builds playgrounds where children of all ethnic backgrounds can play without fear, encouraging them to make friends and build bridges for the future.
In Rwanda, girls rarely have the opportunity to be educated into their teens – in fact as few as 8% complete primary school and are able to go on to secondary school. In partnership with Girls’ Night In, War Child will fund essential improvements to a girls’ school near Kigali, ensuring that a greater number of young girls are given the opportunities taken for granted throughout the West.
Freya North
Freya North was born in London but lives in rural Hertfordshire with her family, where she writes from a stable in her back garden. A passionate reader since childhood, Freya was originally inspired by Mary Wesley, Rose Tremain and Barbara Trapido: fiction with strong female leads and original, sometimes eccentric, characters.
In 2012 she set up the Hertford Children’s Book Festival, which she continues to run. She is an ambassador for the charity Beating Bowel Cancer and a judge for the CPRE Rural Living Awards. Her 14 bestselling novels have been translated into many languages and published around the world.
‘Lady – is your nose itching?’
Finty McKenzie took the palm of her hand from the tip of her nose, where it had been doing all manner of pressing, rotating and jiggling, and looked up. Locating the owner of the husky mid-Atlantic drawl, he who had posed the question, she alighted on an elderly man, clad in plaid.
‘You got an itchy nose, huh?’ he pressed, not waiting for an answer. ‘Honey! Doncha know? You’re gonna kiss a fool!’
The exclamation mark soared instantly from floor to ceiling of the plush hotel bar, but it was the word ‘fool’ which reverberated; the ‘f’ having been expelled from teeth and lips like a bad taste, the ‘1’ lingering on a very spiked tongue tip. The aged American chuckled extravagantly (because he knew what he was talking about), Finty whooped with sudden laughter (because she hadn’t a clue what he was talking about), but Brett, the man sitting next to her, he who had been bedding her these past three months, gave no hint of reaction.
To prove a point, but not quite sure what, or to whom, Finty affectionately kissed Brett in front of the American. This served to make the man guffaw so heartily that a fit of coughing befell him and expedited his exit from the bar.
‘What a character!’ Finty laughed.
‘Shoot me when I get like that,’ Brett said measuredly. Immediately, Finty experienced a quite violent reaction which she had come to term ‘a moment’. She’d never had one until she’d met Brett. Every so often, something he would say or do would, for a moment, alarm her so severely that it would course through her blood like acid. The searing horror came as much from self-disgust that she could be with such a man, as from his crime itself. However. Here she still is. These were but moments. And she wasn’t sure from where they originated. Head or heart. And which should rule which? These were but moments. Wasn’t she just looking for things to throw at the relationship? She’d scold herself for sabotaging something that might well be very good indeed. More tolerance,