Blog Tour - I KNOW YOU’RE THERE

Blog Tour

I KNOW YOU’RE THERE

by SARAH SIMPSON

On my blog today I have the pleasure of 

sharing with you......

I KNOW YOU’RE THERE 

I would like to thank Victoria from Aria Fiction 

and SARAH SIMPSON for inviting me on the blog tour.

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Book Information 

Is your house as safe as you think? 

Natalie spent most of her childhood feeling afraid. So when she moved into her cosy little flat in St Ives and met her three friendly neighbours, she knew at once it was somewhere she'd feel safe.

 Before long, Natalie's neighbours have become the family she never had. Kind, motherly Morwenna, serious, reliable Nigel, and sweet, anxious Daniel. They collect each other's mail, water each other's plants, and share each others lives. 

But as Natalie knows all too well, the people who are closest to you can also be the most dangerous. And this house is not as safe as she thinks...

Pre-order links:

 Amazon: https://amzn.to/2TnF7yy

 iBooks: https://apple.co/2FkFnJH

 Kobo: http://bit.ly/2CuEwpa 

GooglePlay: http://bit.ly/2OhCvBf

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Excerpt 

Natalie

Here we go again. A horrible, twitchy feeling in my tummy because I’ve forgotten what it is I’m supposed to be worrying about. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not some kind of melancholic, self-defeating person who gets a kick out of worrying. But worrying keeps me safe. If I’m worrying, I’ll not be caught off guard, will I? Anyhow, it’s become an integral part of me now; it wouldn’t feel right without it – you could say we’ve become reluctant friends. Despite me hating myself for it, worrying is my comfort blanket and I’m utterly lost when I can’t reach out and touch it.

With my eyes still tightly closed, I begin to tingle with relief, remembering what it is I need to be worrying about. My father. Thoughts of my father fretting, pacing up, down and around at the back of my mind, are what were missing. And not in the usual, loving daughter to father way – this would be way too simple for me. No, I am terrified that today, or tomorrow or even the day after, I will hear from him again. Or worse, I’ll come face to face with him. Isn’t this so extraordinarily screwed? Jesus, doesn’t this make me some kind of freak? Throwing off my duvet, I crawl to the edge of my bed to pull back one of the ceiling-to-floor curtains, a wonderful online bargain. It’s all gelatinous grey slate shades the other side of the misted glass; summer has bolted without so much as a goodbye. It may still be unseasonably warm during daylight, but the mornings are dark. No one should need to leave their bed in the dark.

Dragging myself from warm bedclothes, I wander to the door for the light switch. Maybe I suffer with SAD? It’s fairly common, I read somewhere, maybe a move to a warmer, brighter climate is the answer? From the corner of my eye I spot the cashmere cardigan still in its box. Shuffling forward, I lift the cardigan from the Turkish-delight, rose-tinted tissue paper, sliding my arms into sophisticated fibres to tie myself up like a fluffy present with a bow. It’s surprisingly warm for something so ridiculously thin. Mark will not be so impressed – this latest gift most probably cost him a fortune – and here I am doubling it up with faded pyjamas. Slipping feet into snuggly mule slippers I leave the bedroom in search of coffee.

It’s not like I ask for these gifts, especially the expensive ones; in fact, if anything, they make me feel a touch cringey. Maybe this is just an unhelpful hang-up from my past, but even so I still can’t help but feel a sense of him trying to own me, his giving of gifts being his way of putting a territorial stamp on me. Or maybe just another screwed thought, Natalie. I stop in the narrow hallway dividing my bedroom from the sitting room to glance in the mirror. Do I need to wash my hair today or can I get away with it? The problem with having dark long hair is it doesn’t work well with those dry shampoo things. Making me look as though I’ve either a bad case of dandruff, or that I’m prematurely aging, with a diet so poor my hair has been squeezed of all natural shine.

As I curl up, flicking through Instagram, only filling a small part of my sofa, niggling thoughts keep me drifting back to my conversation with Mark last night. He felt it may be time to formalise our relationship and maybe I should consider moving into his flat, full-time. His flat, not mine. What with him being my landlord and therefore, also, everyone else’s landlord in this one building, it would be highly inappropriate for him to live here, he emphasised. He hoped I understood and would see the sense. Which, of course, I do, I get it; anyway, it would be equally uncomfortable for them, my neighbours in the remaining three flats, Mo, Daniel and Nigel, for Mark to shack up here. But the problem is, and this is the point, what Mark didn’t and doesn’t appreciate is I don’t want to move in with him, full stop. End of. In fact, I can’t imagine ever wanting to move in with anyone. When I relayed this to him, hoping he too would appreciate my reasoning, the hour’s sulk that ensued indicated he didn’t and doesn’t. I cast my eyes over the kitten-soft cardigan – maybe he’ll ask for it back now? And here I am dribbling coffee and shedding toast crumbs over it.

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Author Bio 

Sarah Simpson has a first-class honours degree in Psychology and has experienced working at a Brain Rehabilitation Hospital. She has spent time as a family consultant for Warwickshire and Oxfordshire solicitors and gained knowledge of the Family Court System.

 She now lives in Cornwall with her husband, three children and animals. 

Follow Sarah: 

 Facebook: @sarahsimpsoncornwall 

Twitter: @sarahrsimpson

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If you enjoyed My Post then please Share so we can get Everyone Reading and Talking about..... I KNOW YOU’RE THERE • SARAH SIMPSON

You can also follow along with the Blog Tour by Checking out the Poster Below ⬇️

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