Coming Soon: The Years That Followed
I’m delighted to celebrate the launch of my brand new website with two exclusive extracts from my forthcoming novel.
The Years That Followed will be published in March 2016 in both Ireland and the UK.
The Years That Followed traces the stories of two women, Pilar and Calista, from the late nineteen-fifties until the present day. Although they live thousands of miles apart, events conspire to draw their lives ever closer together with catastrophic results.
Please feel free to follow the link, read and even comment on the extracts! You can use the official hashtag #theyearsthatfollowed in the conversation.
The Years That Followed
Publication date March 2016.
It is 1966: the year the Beatles and President Kennedy came to a grey, rain-filled Dublin.
Calista is seventeen and longing to escape the suffocations of her strict, middle-class home.
When she meets Alexandros, she imagines that he offers her everything she craves: romance, excitement, all the heady delights of adult freedom.
Meanwhile, in Madrid, Pilar has escaped the grinding poverty of her village in Extremadura. She makes a new life for herself.
Then she meets Petros, and is enchanted by the thought of a future together.
Unknown to both women, though, catastrophic events have already been set in motion.
Events that will have a powerful impact not only on their lives, but on the lives of the generations to come.
The Years That Followed: Calista, Extremadura, 1989
Calista sips at her whiskey. Her hand, she notices, has become a little less steady. Outside her window, the darkness of Extremadura is now total. The moon has disappeared, bruised by cloud.
His face, that first time Calista saw him. Glowing, filled with an energy that thrummed beneath the surface of his skin. The smile that creased the corners of his olive-green eyes. Hair so dark it sheened blue in the light. How could she ever forget?
It is a Saturday in April 1966.
The Years That Followed: Pilar, Torre de Santa Juanita, 1957
Pilar Domínguez couldn’t wait to leave her village.
Torre de Santa Juanita huddled itself into the countryside beyond Montánchez, its houses crowded into insignificance. The mountains lorded over it, the land withheld itself, and the inhabitants dressed themselves in all the resentments of poverty. When Pilar finally left, she did as her mother, María Dolores, had bid her.
‘Vete, hija,’ Mamá had urged her eighteen-year-old daughter. Her tone had been full of an unaccustomed urgency. Go, my girl, she said to her daughter.