Hardcover, 336 pages
Expected publication: February 16th 2016 by NAL
ISBN 1101990260 (ISBN13: 9781101990261)
Setting
When the police
started asking questions, Jean Taylor turned into a different woman. One who
enabled her and her husband to carry on, when more bad things began to
happen...But that woman’s husband died last week. And Jean doesn’t have to be her anymore.
There’s a lot Jean hasn’t said over the years about the crime her husband was suspected of committing. She was too busy being the perfect wife, standing by her man while living with the accusing glares and the anonymous harassment.
Now there’s no reason to stay quiet. There are people who want to hear her story. They want to know what it was like living with that man. She can tell them that there were secrets. There always are in a marriage.
The truth—that’s all anyone wants. But the one lesson Jean has learned in the last few years is that she can make people believe anything…
My Thoughts…
The Widow is Fiona’s debut book. I started reading with no expectations only
hope that I would love this book. I
didn’t love it, but I liked it a whole lot.
I had a hard time
attaching myself to any of the characters.
The characters were not likable.
Jean was just a shadow. She did
what she was told by whoever told her without voicing any questions. She asked questions in her head but didn’t
follow through on any of them. Glen
was plain old creepy. A man who watches
child porn and like naughty pictures of children is never a good guy. Then
there is Dawn, the mother of the child who was kidnapped. She was just stupid. Who leaves a 2 year old alone in their front
yard? Sure, she felt bad about her
being gone and was devastated. But I
just couldn’t relate or feel very much sympathy for her. The police were even scarier; they tried
to put the effort in. It just seems
they came up short at every clue. If it
had been my child I would have been screaming in frustration at the lack of
hard work by the police.
All of that being said I could not put the book down and am
glad that I picked up The Widow to read.
I was never quite sure who the kidnapper was. The guesses kept coming and I picked up on
many clues, but they could have led to any number of characters. I enjoyed that. I liked the not knowing. It kept me reading and needing to know all
the answers to my questions. I still have questions and doubts as to the
ending of the story.
Over all this is a good debut novel and I look forward to
more from Fiona. I recommend checking
out The Widow.
Book Links
Excerpt
Chapter 1
Wednesday, June 9 2010
The Widow
I can hear the sound of her crunching
up the path. Heavy footed in high heels. She’s almost
at the door, hesitating and smoothing her hair out of her face. Nice
outfit. Jacket with big buttons, decent dress underneath and glasses perched on
her head. Not Jehovah's Witnesses or the Labour party. Must be a
reporter but not the usual. She’s my second one today - fourth this
week, and it’s only Wednesday. I bet she says “I’m sorry to bother you at such
a difficult time”. They all say that and put on that stupid face. Like they
care.
I’m going to wait to see if she rings
twice. The man this morning didn’t. Some are obviously bored to death
with trying. They leave as soon as they take their finger
off the bell, marching back down the path as fast as they
can, into their cars and away. They can tell their bosses they knocked
on the door but she wasn't there. Pathetic.
She rings twice. Then knocks loudly in that rap rap rappity
rap way. Like a policeman. She sees me looking through the gap
at the side of my net curtains and smiles this big smile. A Hollywood
smile, my mum used to say. Then she knocks again.
When I open the door, she hands
me the bottle of milk from the doorstep and says “You don't
want to leave that out, it'll go off. Shall I come in? Have you
got the kettle on?”
I can't breathe, let alone speak. She smiles again, head on
one side. “I'm Kate”, she says. “Kate Waters, a reporter from theDaily
Post.”
“I'm”, I start, suddenly realizing she hasn’t asked.
“I know who you are,” she says. Unspoken
are the words: “You are the story.”
“Let’s not stand out here,” she says. And as she talks,
somehow, she’s come in.
I feel too stunned by the turn of events to speak
and she takes my silence as permission to go into the kitchen
with the bottle of milk and make me a cup of tea. I follow her in -
it’s not a big kitchen and we’re a bit of a squeeze as she bustles about
filling the kettle and opening all my cupboards, looking for cups and
sugar. I just stand there, letting it all happen.
She’s chatting about the units, “What a lovely
fresh-looking kitchen – I wish mine looked like this. Did you put it in?”
It feels like I’m talking to a friend. It isn’t how I
thought it would be, talking to a reporter. I thought it would be like being
questioned by the police. Thought it would be an ordeal, an
interrogation. That's what my husband, Glen said. But it isn’t, somehow.
I say “Yes, we chose white doors and red handles because it
looked so clean”. I’m standing in my house discussing kitchen units with a
reporter. Glen would’ve had a fit.
She says “Through here, is it?” and I
open the door to the living room.
I’m not sure if I want her here or not – not sure how I
feel. It doesn’t feel right to protest now - she’s just sitting and chatting
with a cup of tea in her hand. It’s funny, I’m quite
enjoying the attention. I get a bit lonely inside this house now that
Glen is gone.
And she seems to be in charge of things. It’s quite nice
really, to have someone in charge of me again. I was beginning to panic that
I’d have to cope with everything on my own but Kate Waters is saying she’ll
sort everything out.
All I have to do is tell her all about my life, she says.
My life? She doesn't really want to know about me. She
hasn't walked up my path to hear about Jean Taylor. She wants to
know the truth about him. About Glen. My husband.
You see, my husband died last week. Knocked down by a bus
just outside Sainsbury's. He was there one minute, giving me grief about what
sort of cereal I should’ve bought, and the next, dead
on the road. Head injuries, they said. Dead, anyway. I just stood
there and looked at him, lying there. People were running round finding
blankets and there was a bit of blood onthe pavement. Not much blood
though. He would’ve been glad. He didn't like any sort of mess.
Everyone was very kind and trying to stop me seeing his body
but I couldn’t tell them I was glad he’d gone. No more of his nonsense.
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