Snow Angels - blog tour

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Snow Angels – Nadine Dorries

About the author

Nadine Dorries is the author of three bestselling novels about St Angelus Hospital and of The Four Streets trilogy, now available in one volume. She grew up in Liverpool and trained as a nurse in the 1970s. She has been MP for Mid-Bedfordshire since 2005.

Follow Nadine:

Twitter: @NadineDorries

Facebook: @NadineDorriesAuthor

About the book

Spend Christmas with the nurses of St Angelus Hospital.

Christmas is coming, but will the doctors and nurses of St Angelus get a chance to enjoy it?

Sister Emily Haycock and her husband are anxiously counting the days until the signing of final adoption papers for their precious baby Louis. But someone has got it in for them and Emily is about to get caught out in a dangerous lie.

Nurse Victoria Baker is heavily pregnant. But as the snow begins to fall, has she made a big mistake about her dates and put the life of her unborn baby at risk?

And who is the figure obsessively watching St Angelus from the shadows? Or the mystery woman who turns up one dark, windy evening, begging for a room?

In Snow Angels only one thing is certain. Christmas will be anything but peaceful.

Buy links:

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2o50U4o

Kobo: https://bit.ly/2kcrd6D

iBooks: https://apple.co/2oMpE1a

Google Play: https://bit.ly/2oMMJBa

 EXTRACT

Liverpool, Winter

Malcom Coffey was not expecting anyone to knock on his door this late at night. He had only just slipped the first forkful of creamy mashed potato into his mouth and settled down to listen to the six o’clock news on the radio. It was his favourite supper, steak and heel pie made by Melly, the daily who came in six days a week and helped him to run his boarding house for seamen that lay close to the docks.

‘You’re a creature of habit you are. I swear to God, if I left you a pan of scouse on a Thursday instead of the pie, I’d come back in here on a Friday morning and find you’d dropped dead by that oven door,’ Melly would laugh, the well-rounded raucous laugh that he heard most nights, slipping back in through the walls from the bar of the Silvestrian next door, long after Melly, in bodily form, had left. Melly made him the same meal every Thursday and, as a man accustomed to regimental order, that suited him just fine.

‘I like to wake up in the morning and know exactly what the day will bring, and that includes my dinner – I hate surprises,’ Malcolm would reply. He disapproved of Melly drinking in the Silvestrian, known locally as the Silly but it appeared that no matter how much Melly drank – and it appeared to be a huge amount – she still turned up for work on time every morning, completed her duties to his satisfaction and appeared none the worse for it, giving him no grounds for complaint. ‘That’s a woman who is used to her drink, that is,’ his late mother’s friend Biddy would say, ‘and there’s nothing you can do, Malcolm; if she wants to drink what she earns, that’s her choice. Don’t interfere. I’d clock anyone who stood between me and my vices. If Emily tried to deprive me of my buttered potato cakes or the bingo I’d find another job.’ Malcolm took all Biddy’s advice with the same degree of adherence he would that of the priest, or his mother if she were alive and, so far, Melly had never missed a day’s work. As he settled down to his supper, he was jolted by the sound of Melly’s piercing laugh penetrating through his wall; and once again he wished that she would find another public house to drink in.

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