Ava Whitaker, kicked out of medical school, flies to a beautiful Greek island in search of the father her mother won't talk about. But the secrets she uncovers at the old Aegean Dream Resort make her wish she'd never left home. Out in paperback, ebook, audiobook (narrated by Katie Villa) and Kindle Unlimited.
The first book of mine both written and set in Spain. The north coast is heaven for the vanlife community, and we constantly see young couples parked up in the beach carparks on their travels through Europe. This book — my publisher hasn't settled on the title yet — was inspired both by these, and the many van trips I've taken too.
Book three in the Erica Sands series does end on a little bit of a cliffhanger — I'm sorry about that — but I have written the next one, and it's working its way through editing now. Again the name is TBC (maybe either The Calm, or The Kill, but maybe something else as well). It's already out in Spanish with the highest reviews of the whole series, so hopefully worth waiting for.
Posts I keep pointing people at. New ones go up every couple of weeks; the rest of the archive is on Substack.
I've been lucky enough to have some of my books translated, into German, Czech, and possibly Russian (long story). But it's Spanish where they've done best. La Cala (the Spanish version of The Cove) is sitting at number 2 in the whole Amazon.es store, and a couple of weekends ago I was invited to go to Madrid to sign copies of Los niños de la casa del lago for our publisher HarperCollins Ibérica.
I've often found with writing that what appears first as a problem — some issue with the plot, or a mistake I've made with a timeline — can become a strength once recognised and properly addressed. The Lake House Children is the book I was afraid to talk about, because at its heart it's a story about reincarnation — a topic most of us instinctively recoil from as too woo-woo. Six months on, here's me trying to talk about it anyway.
A few years back I went out for croissants while my kids — five and three — were home with Maria. Or so I thought. Maria had actually gone for a run. By the time I got back twenty minutes later, both kids had packed suitcases. They were on the stairs. They were not pleased.
Carnival celebrations aren't really a thing in English-speaking cultures, but here in Spain — it's enormous. The day started early, dressing one child as a peasant, the other as a rock star. Two hundred children, six choreographed dances, a high street closed for the parade. I had no idea what was happening, and it was wonderful.
