Today it's my stop on the blog tour for Teresa Driscoll's latest book Her Perfect Family which was published this week. Sadly I knew that I wasn't in a position to read for review so I offered to host an extract instead but first a little about the book.
It’s their daughter’s graduation and Rachel and Ed Hartley are expecting it to be one of their family’s happiest days. But when she stumbles and falls on stage during the ceremony, a beautiful moment turns to chaos: Gemma has been shot, and just like that, she’s fighting for her life.
PI Matthew Hill is one of the first on the scene. A cryptic message Gemma received earlier in the day suggests someone close to her was about to be exposed. But who? As Matthew starts to investigate, he finds more and more layers obscuring the truth. He even begins to suspect the Hartleys are hiding something big—from him and from each other.
While Gemma lies in hospital in a coma, her would-be killer is still out there. Can Matthew unravel the family’s secrets before the attacker strikes again?
I find that I am holding my breath. I trace the names with my finger. Walk, applause. Walk, applause. And then at last.
Gemma Hartley...
I see her appear at the back of the choir stall in her gown and her mortar board with her long dark hair loose over her shoulders. I take in the neutral shoes and the slightly tanned legs. And then there is this little punch of shock as she walks forward.
Not the glimpse of gorgeous pink beneath the back of the gown as she moves. I feel myself frowning. I turn to Ed, but he hasn't noticed.
It's the wrong dress. I don't understand. The dress is pale lemon.
Ed is calling out - 'Hurrah! Well done Gemma' - and everyone is applauding.
I am clapping too and smiling now, trying to cover up the puzzlement.
Gemma recognises her father's voice and turns to spot us. She looks down at her dress and at me with this sort of worried look on her face.
I just smile. I don't understand ... but I deliberately turn the smile up to a beam.
Then she turns towards the guy holding out her certificate so that we are looking at her back as she reaches out her right hand to take her prize.
There is this noise from behind the trumpeters. A sort of thud as if someone has dropped something heavy, like a large music book, at the back of the choir stall.
It startles poor Gemma and the very thing she has feared all her life - at sports days and presentations and the like - happens right this moment. She stumbles.
My hand is immediately up to my mouth. She is flat on the floor and everyone sort of leans forward. I am all at once mortified for her and also overwhelmed with love for her. I want to be beside her telling her that it doesn't matter. That no one will care. Just get up and smile. No one will care. A part of me wants to run to her but I know it will make things worse; magnify her embarrassment.
There's a beat as we all wait for her to get up so that we can cheer her on; signal that it really doesn't matter. But the beat is too long. I stand now, worrying that she may have fainted. Or banged her head?
Two professors sitting nearer have now moved also. All at one they are crouching beside her. Next there is shouting.
'A doctor. We need a doctor.'
I am aware only that I am suddenly pushing. Ed too. I push, push, push past the three people seated in my way and reach the aisle just as they say it...
'She's been shot.'
Next come ugly, unimaginable words. A bubble of bile suddenly surrounding me.
'An ambulance. We need an ambulance. She's been shot...'
And now slow motion. People screaming. Run. Run.
There is a chaotic surge of bodies - parents and students and ushers too. A starburst of panic blocking my way as everyone rushes to the various doors.
I have to shoulder people aside. No longer pushing - shoving. Get out of my way. Out of my way. It's my daughter... I need to get to my daughter.
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