Two short stories from the Mary Hades series.
Shadow
When Mary visits her Aunt Izzy's remote seaside bungalow, past and present collide. She soon realises a dark shadow hangs over her childhood memories, leaving her a task she would rather not complete...
A haunting ghost story that explores the delicate relationships between women.
Sister
In 1997 Isabel Quirke sits down to write a letter to her sister. A letter she never intends to send. Within the pages of that letter she describes the frightening events that lead up to the disintegration of their relationship.
Susan Quirke, before she became Susan Hades--mother of Mary--goes through a transformation so extreme it changes her forever. Her younger sister Isabel can only watch.
With frightening scenes, adult themes and strong language, this book is best suited to readers aged 16+.
This is a companion story to the Mary Hades series which has sold well in the past and is at around 500k in the Amazon rankings at the moment.
I was born five months after Lila. The second grandchild. In my psychology class, theorists teach us that the order in which children are born affects our psychological health. As the second grandchild I should always be seeking approval, made self-conscious by the fact that my older cousin gets all the attention. It’s true that Lila was more outgoing as a child. She was chattier and funnier. At Christmas she would sing songs in front of the television and make my Grandma giggle. But as the first, second, and last grandchildren amongst the Quirkes, and the only children in our respective families, we were able to seal an almost sisterly bond that could never be broken by petty rivalries or pseudo-psychology.
It was a prickly beginning to a beautiful friendship. One blue truck in a pile of red and we both wanted it. Lila won, and that set the precedent for us both. After the loss of the blue truck, followed by an afternoon tantrum, Lila brought me her last gummy bear, and all was forgiven.
The blue truck is my earliest memory. A few years ago I asked Lila if it was her earliest memory, too, but she said hers was us playing on Scarborough beach with a bucket and spade. This was after the truck incident. I remember it because our mothers had a row and I cried when Lila had to go home early. Lila told me not to be sad and hugged me, our chubby, childish arms grasping each other.
Mum is always arguing with Aunt Izzy. That’s why I visit her alone now. They would make up for a few months each year, and Lila and I would spend blissful weekends on the beach, exploring coves and squealing at the sight of a jellyfish washed up by the sea.
I loved those weekends, but for some reason, when I think back to them, there is the itch of a memory, like a half-formed scab. I feel as though if I scratch the scab and let the memory pour out like blood, there will be something unpleasant lurking beneath.
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French
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Already translated.
Translated by Jennifer Joffre
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Italian
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Already translated.
Translated by Francesca Marrucci
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Author review: Always an excellent job! :) |
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Aranzazu Sanchez
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Author review: Aranzazu always meets deadlines, communicates well and does a great job. Thank you again. :) |
