….it’s the final twist that always leaves you breathless. Because at the end of your rope, is the end of your story….
Welcome to the town of Mallis-under-Lyme. England’s grit and spit heart. Built on barbed wire, back in a black and white time when Brexit meant bullets not ballots. A place The Sixties swung by, but didn’t hang around for long. And now fifty years later, just a town called Mallis, where one young female detective, plus two small town suicides, equals an unspeakable truth no-one in their right mind should ever dare find….
Unless that is, you’re Detective Abigail De Lyte, and she speaks for herself….
“Another young drug addict turns up dead. One more nail in my hometown coffin. Bury it and move on. But I’ve seen this once before, all of it, right down to that same unforgettable note on another young woman’s lips. A year ago they said it was just a suicide. Maybe they were right. But this time I’m investigating whether they like it or not….”
“So let the town’s underbelly rise. Let its vested interests and my own past rear up. I’ll still find out why two woman apart in life, share such an intolerable end. Why hidden tragedies and everyday catastrophes play out quietly, half hidden, on those we pass in the street. Why I’m hell-bent on coming face to face with an unbearable truth that simply crushes you….”
“For a town like mine is a town like your’s. Home, till it gets us. Where there are no serial killers hiding round every corner, no bodies buried in swirling fog, no moonlight glistening on these broken pavements. There’s just drunken kisses on ruined lives, helping hands at broken homes, big city smiles and small town suicides. We fall as we fail. Seeking what we’ve always sought….the delight.”
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Marjorie Laurence is a pen-name. Though I always imagined she lives alone on the Isle of Petrel, a small imaginary island just south of the Calf of Man in The Irish Sea. She sits there in her tiny cottage, writing books and listening to the fulmars that nest on the shallow cliffs outside, squabbling away like seabirds do. Maybe she’s happy there. Maybe she’s just biding her time till her boat finally comes in. Or sinks. But anyway….thanks for stopping by and taking an interest in her scribblings and loiterings.