‘The Right to be Forgotten’ was published by Cahill Davis Publishing on the 20th May 2022 and is available in paperback and eBook format. As part of the blog tour I have an excerpt from the book.
“Do you believe her or not?
Is she really in danger or is it a prank?
There’s something in her eyes that tells Milly this is no game.
Stopped at traffic lights, a casual glance at the next car throws Milly into a situation she can’t get out of. She must make a split-second decision.
Follow the car. The life of the woman inside depends on it.
Will Milly catch up to them or is it already too late to save Hope’s life?”
The frozen countryside slides by the windows as the local bus makes its way cautiously up the hill. Her nose is resting against the window. Every time she breathes, a pattern forms on the freezing glass, leaving condensation trickling down the inside. If she cranes her head, she can see the entrance to her road as the bus heads out of Mary Tavy village, on the edge of Dartmoor. With only four buses a day, she has to time her journey to and from Tavistock carefully.
She makes her way unsteadily to the front of the bus, holding on to the tops of the seats to stop herself from falling as the bus lurches up the hill trying to keep a grip on the icy road. The driver barely acknowledges her as he stops the bus to let her off, and before she’s fully clear, the bus moves off.
“Thanks for nothing,” she mumbles to herself, regaining her balance as she prepares to walk across Dartmoor to the cottage she now calls home. She is breathing heavily through her mouth as she attempts to negotiate the frozen ground back to the cottage, pulling her bobble hat lower to protect her ears from the bitter air that is stinging the back of her throat. From the main road where the bus dropped her off, a narrow, tarmacked road crosses Dartmoor, connecting Mary Tavy to Brentor. During the winter, it is often impassable to normal road traffic. The cottage is at the end of a lane just off this road, about halfway between Mary Tavy and Brentor village. Waddling like a penguin, feet wide apart to stop herself from slipping, she sets off on the thirty-minute walk back to the cottage.
When she chose this place, Phil was amazed at her choice, but its very remoteness had attracted her. Phil, her old friend from university, had found three suitable properties that were available to rent immediately, but only this one had felt safe to her.
Once she reaches the front door, she rummages through her bag to find her keys. Her fingers, warm from the thermal gloves, pull back momentarily from the icy feel of the old metal touching her skin. She puts her key in the lock and pushes hard against the door with her shoulder, the wood swollen with the damp and cold. A wall of heat engulfs her from the wood burning stove as she closes the heavy wooden door on the frozen countryside. Letting out a sigh, she rests her back against the door, relieved that she’s managed to negotiate another day without him finding her.
The cottage, a farm workers’ cottage at one time, belongs to Jenny’s parents, who own a farm nearby. Now, it’s used as a holiday cottage during the summer, attracting a constant stream of visitors who enjoy walking the Dartmoor countryside. Phil introduced her to Jenny and her family as his cousin, Anna Brown, which meant he could rent the cottage for her without any questions. He’s owned the café in which Jenny works in Tavistock for ten years. It converts into a bar come brasserie in the evenings. She felt a moment of disquiet on first meeting Jenny—the ease with which Jenny and Phil work together and their camaraderie initially suggested something more than an employer/employee relationship to her. Later, she was to learn that Jenny was his first and longest-serving employee. Gradually, he had been introduced to her family, sometimes hosting family celebrations at the café or attending them by
himself at Jenny’s home. It was only later that Phil mentioned Jenny’s partner Jez, who works for Jenny’s parents on the farm.
Putting her bag down on the old pine table in the kitchen, she lets her gaze travel once again over her surroundings. The kitchen is basic but cosy with a wooden floor that has seen better days and functional cupboards in need of re-staining. The Belfast sink with its brass taps gives the kitchen a shabby chic feel rather than just shabby. The kitchen is the hub from which the other rooms in the cottage sprout like the branches of a tree. The front door opens into the kitchen with the stairs directly in front and the kitchen table snuggled under them towards the back of the room. An outside door on the far wall of the kitchen leads into a small courtyard where a brick-built outhouse covers the oil fuel tank. Next door to it is another old building which houses the washing machine and a tumble dryer. To the left as you enter the kitchen is a pine door that leads into the sitting room—a perfectly square room with the same wooden flooring as the kitchen. The room is sparsely furnished with not much more than a sofa and a bookcase. All the furniture, including the small TV and the short wooden stand it sits on, looks as though it’s been well used but carefully looked after. It makes her think of the junk shops she used to visit on weekends when she was trying to furnish her first flat. Nothing matches but that somehow doesn’t seem to matter. Instead, it gives the cottage a warm, comfortable ambiance that’s often lacking in holiday accommodation.
You can purchase ‘The Right to be Forgotten’ by clicking on this link – www.books2read.com/trtbf.
About the Author
Originally from Northumberland but now based in Northampton, Kris was a Civil servant for 20 years before retraining in the charity sector. She has worked for some wonderful charities, starting with the Motor Neurone Disease Association, and is currently working for a homeless charity in Northampton as well as volunteering at Northampton Hospital.
Kris is married with 3 lovely step daughters and 6 step-grandchildren. When not writing she likes to travel; particularly to see family in Sardinia and Belgium.
While writing Kris likes to listen to Scala radio and Classic FM.