EXCERPT: I flick the kettle on and gaze out of the window while I wait for it to boil. Even though I can see Percy stretched out in the sun by the greenhouse, I could swear I’m not alone. I get that feeling every so often. It’s almost as if Grandad’s spirit is sandwiched between the plasterboard and the brickwork, like insulation. Sometimes I feel his presence so keenly it’s as if her is standing beside me, just out of sight.
But today it’s more than that. I can hear something. A rustling noise, coming from the living room. Not rustling. More like snuffling. I stiffen, my hand gripping the worktop, my head cocked to one side. Hoping to God Percy hasn’t brought in a rabbit – I can’t deal with that, not today – I make my way along the hallway to the front of the house.
At the door to the living room I stop in my tracks. The bottom drawer of Grandad’s old oak bureau, the one with the barley twit legs, has been tipped onto the floor. Diaries and birthday cards, envelopes and notebooks, old seed packets and pens, sticky tape and gardening twine have all been upended on the carpet in a jumble.
But this is incidental. Because it’s what’s lying in the upturned drawer that’s holding my attention.
Tiny fists waving in the air. Chubby legs encased in a white sleepsuit. A fuzz of dark hair.
A baby.
And this makes no sense at all. Because I, Lucy Quinn, might have a husband called Miles and a cat called Percy and a cottage that once belonged to my grandad.
But the one thing I don’t have, the one thing I have never had, is a baby.
ABOUT ‘THE BABY’: Thereās a baby in your house. It isnāt yoursā¦
The day I was told Iād never be able to have a child, my world came crashing down. My husband says he still loves me but I lie awake at night, wishing we could have a family.
One morning, my husbandās side of the bed is cold and empty. I hear a noise and head downstairs.
In the middle of the rug in my living room is a wooden drawer. Swaddled inside, with perfect rosy cheeks and beautiful round blue eyes, a baby gazes up at me.
I shiver. Itās all Iāve ever wanted, but this baby is not mineā¦
MY THOUGHTS: I liked The Baby, but didn’t love it. Lucy is a character who is hard to like or to empathise with. She is emotionally immature and mercurial. She is an alcoholic, although she would vehemently deny this. Her husband Miles is a manipulative abuser, also thoroughly unlikeable. He more than enables, he actually encourages her drinking then punishes her for it.
There’s a lot of repetition as Lucy endlessly agonises over things and questions herself. Some of it is just downright dumb. Like “maybe this baby is mine and I’ve just forgotten I have it”. The baby is sleeping in a drawer. Other than a bag of baby clothes and some formula in the same bag, there are none of the usual accoutrements that seem to come with babies. There are no nappies, no formula, no bottles, no clothes, no crib, no buggy, no toys . . . . Authors – please credit your readers with some brains.
On the plus side – the story of where the baby actually comes from is quite inventive and plausible. I have to admit to enjoying the second half of the story much more than the first, especially the ending, although I do have problems with some of the forensic details.
Narrator Tamsin Kennard was a pleasure to listen to.
āā.5
#TheBaby #NetGalley
THE AUTHOR: A. J. McDine lives in Kent in the UK with her husband and fellow thriller writer A. J. Wills, their two sons and two VERY demanding cats.
She worked as a journalist and police press officer before becoming a full-time author in 2019.
Endlessly fascinated by people and their fears and foibles, she loves to discover what makes them tick.
She writes dark, domestic thrillers about ordinary people in extraordinary situations.
When sheās not writing, playing tennis or attempting to run a 5k, she can usually be found people-watching in her favourite cafĆ©.
DISCLOSURE: Thank you to Bookouture Audio via NetGalley for providing an audio ARC of The Baby written by A.J. McDine and narrated by Tamsin Kennard. All opinions expressed in this review are entirely my own personal opinions.
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