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‘And she shook her head to block out the noise. Outside, the bell was ringing and the footsteps of more than a hundred children clattered into place by the door but Pius could hear none of it. The sound in her head was the sound of water, the sound of a stream rushing about her ears, and the touch of a finger moving slowly down her body as a soft voice whispered.’ ‘Slut.’
When Eleanor Morrissey leaves Kildoran on a dark September night in 1930, nobody is sorry to see her go and nobody expects to see her return. As far as the villagers are concerned the Morrisseys have been shamed out of town forever. Fifty years later, some visitors attend the funeral of the convent’s Mother Superior. When the funeral is over, one woman stays behind. Until she is free to leave again, she must struggle to understand her legacy - a legacy of voices. Threatening, angry, accusing voices that only she can hear, because they are soft voices. Whispering.
‘Monica Moran was not the woman she used to be. Or rather she was not just the woman she used to be. She was at least one other woman as well and their combined weight sat heavily on her overburdened bones. Where her breasts had been generous twenty years ago, they were now magnanimous, munificent… If that cleavage was any closer to the ground you could stand a bicycle in it.’
Twenty years ago, when Father Barry ruled the Tullabeg roost, Bernadette Teegan and Monica Moran vied for his attention. Life was a maelstrom of mixed emotions and misplaced extremities – two young girls with plenty to learn. Then Monica went away and life settled down. Now Monica is back. And Bernadette has no intention of making hers a happy visit. She has plans – to snare the most eligible bachelor in town, Cormac Hegarty, Estate Agent, and keep nephew Michael’s soul (and overalls) spotless. But Monica has plans too. A comedy of errors, misdirection and cross-wired agendas, Toppling Miss April is a triumph of flesh over fantasy, when menopause is just a pause between men and experience counts for everything.
‘A melange of hilarious misunderstandings and risqué innuendo, which makes it a pleasure to read.’ Ireland on Sunday ‘A laugh-out-loud screwball comedy featuring lust, mistaken identity and knitting. This is humour sized 44FF: uncontainably funny.’ Meg Gardiner 'At last - a REAL book for real women who've lived long enough to know that love is never perfect. This funny-sad Irish novel will restore your faith in human nature and make you realise that the wobbly bits don't matter!' Sharon Kendrick (Mills and Boon)
‘Lizzie untied the raffia and one end of the box eased open. She tipped the contents onto the table and spread them out. The pieces were beautiful, tiny, intricately shaped. The backs of them were wood, in this case beech, finely cut so that they were more like buttons than jigsaw pieces and on the fronts varying shades from black to white. Lizzie held one out to him, puzzled. “What is it?"'
When Jim Nealon walks into Lizzie Flynn’s shop and proposes that she help him make jigsaws, Lizzie agrees. Putting together one person’s memories so that another person can feel part of them seems like a good idea – and a project that she can fit into her humdrum life without making too many changes. She’s about to turn fifty, heading for her first hot flush. She could do with the distraction. Then Jim shows her the photographs he intends to use. Now the picture that was Lizzie’s life is in the air, swirling around in a thousand pieces and threatening to fall. As she scrambles to put her life back together again, Lizzie realises that it can’t be done. It was never a real picture anyway. Too many of the pieces don’t fit. The Jigsaw Maker is the story of Lizzie’s journey towards the truth.
‘An absolute page-turner…I literally couldn’t put it down!’ Mary Campbell ‘The pieces fit together very well indeed.’ Fay Weldon ‘A brilliant follow up to Adrienne Dines' debut novel, Toppling Miss April. Well plotted and very enjoyable.’ Lovereading.co.uk
Adrienne
Dines was born in Dublin in 1959, which qualifies her as a 'woman
of a certain age' today. She is very proud of this fact. Now
back in Weybridge, she is a contributor to parish and diocesan
publications and a member of the American Women of Surrey Writers'
Group. She is still a speechwriter - for world champion canoeists,
social functions and even ordinations. Many of her speeches are
delivered in verse as it affords her the freedom to 'blame it
on the rhyme'.
Coming Soon
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