Her Last Breath by Tracy Buchanan – #BlogTour/Extract

Hi guys. Today I am absolutely delighted to be taking part in another blog tour. I am so sure that all of you have heard about Tracy Buchanan and her compelling, intriguing novels – on 29th June her fourth book, Her Last Breath, was published by Avon and do watch this space for my review coming soon! In the meantime, I have a brilliant extract for you – enjoy!

33645202[Extract 5 from Chapter 2 pp. 15-16]

‘Would you like a drink?’ she asked Louis. ‘Water? Green tea? Organic beer?’ She leaned forward, lowering her voice. ‘Or we do have normal drinks that Seb keeps stowed away in a cupboard somewhere.’

He laughed. ‘Water would be perfect, thank you.’

She poured them both some water from the jug she kept in her fridge, then sat down across from him, brushing her blonde fringe from her eyes.

Louis peered towards the oven. ‘Don’t you use a timer?’

‘No. I’ve been baking so long I have an instinct for time.’

He laughed. ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me? So, just a month until your book launch. How are you feeling?’

Estelle felt a tremor of nerves. She’d been waiting so long for this moment and thought she was ready for it, but the closer she got, the more she felt like a fraud. Did she really deserve this? A friend of hers who’d had a novel published said she’d felt the same. Despite the fact she knew how hard she’d worked, it still felt alien, unearned. She called it ‘imposter syndrome’ and Estelle had it bad.

‘Nervous,’ she admitted. ‘Excited too though.’

‘No need to be nervous. So, let’s start at the very beginning. Where do you think your interest in food first came from?’

Estelle hesitated a moment. She could tell the journalist it had all started with how scarce good food was when she was a child, pale meals shoved in a microwave, cheap takeaways bought by her parents. She could tell him how, when she went into care and foster homes, it wasn’t always much better so she’d had to learn from an early age how to prepare food, the simple things like making scrambled eggs. She could tell him about how she paid attention in cooking classes at school because of this, unlike her peers, because she had no choice if she wanted to feed herself. She could then go on to tell him about Lillysands and the Garlands. Finally a place where food was something to be treasured and enjoyed, making dishes with her foster mother Autumn, helping to serve up business lunches for her foster father Max.

But she didn’t.

‘I really don’t know,’ she said instead. ‘It’s just always held a fascination for me.’

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