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Audiobooks Narrated by Roshina Ratnam
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Would you sacrifice your son to save your daughter?
There’s something different about Kate’s four-year-old son. He wasn’t created the old fashioned way. Now a violent cult wants him dead and Kate will do anything to protect him – until they take her daughter.
Glimpse JT Lawrence’s chilling vision of the all-too-near future in this dark kidnapping thriller with a twist that will send you reeling. How We Found You is the second book in the futuristic dystopian series When Tomorrow Calls.
Don’t blink, or you’ll miss it.
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'Somehow, the elephants got into my soul, and it became my life's work to see them safe and happy. There was no giving up on that vision, no matter how hard the road was at times.'
Françoise Malby-Anthony is the owner of a game reserve in South Africa with a remarkable family of elephants whose adventures have touched hearts around the world. The herd's feisty matriarch Frankie knows who's in charge at Thula Thula, and it's not Francoise. But when Frankie becomes ill, and the authorities threaten to remove or cull some of the herd if the reserve doesn't expand, Françoise is in a race against time to save her beloved elephants . . .
The joys and challenges of a life dedicated to conservation are vividly described in The Elephants of Thula Thula. The search is on to get a girlfriend for orphaned rhino Thabo - and then, as his behaviour becomes increasingly boisterous, a big brother to teach him manners. Françoise realizes a dream with the arrival of Savannah the cheetah - an endangered species not seen in the area since the 1940s - and finds herself rescuing meerkats kept as pets. But will Thula Thula survive the pandemic, an invasion from poachers and the threat from a mining company wanting access to its land?
As Françoise faces her toughest years yet, she realizes once again that with their wisdom, resilience and communal bonds, the elephants have much to teach us.
'Enthralling' - Daily Mail
Junichuro Matsumato is a handsome 42-year-old man: dark-haired, wealthy, and devastated.
He stares forlornly at the small glass buddha statue illuminated by the blue LED light behind it.
There are thousands of the buddhas behind the glowing panes of glass, five hundred per wall.
For easy identification, the light behind his wife’s buddha glows a different hue as he swipes his card to enter.
He doesn’t need to be shown where his wife’s glass box is.
Junichuro visits here every day and has done for 21 months. He never cries.
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'Lawrence makes every word count, telling each story with elegance and emotional punch.” — Patsy Hennessey
'Each story is masterfully constructed ... Humorous, touching, creepy, but most of all entertaining, this collection is superb.' — Tracy Michelle Anderson
A soldier fighting from the trenches in France in 1916 writes letters to his love.
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'Lawrence makes every word count, telling each story with elegance and emotional punch.” — Patsy Hennessey
'Each story is masterfully constructed ... Humorous, touching, creepy, but most of all entertaining, this collection is superb.' — Tracy Michelle Anderson
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If you're a fan of historical fiction, you might enjoy this wartime epistolary romance.
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My suspicion kindled. 'You young people. You're doing that Bird Box challenge, aren't you?'
She frowned. “Bird Box?”
“When you blindfold yourself and then do something stupid. Tell me the truth,” I said, gesturing at Comet. “Did you do this blindfolded?”
The groomer shook her head, her stubborn silence adding fuel to my fury. She glanced at the dog as if he would back her up in some way, but I could tell he was beginning to get the idea. He was starting to understand that, despite his excellent breeding, he currently looked like a mangey pavement special. I wondered if I should get him a cone for his neck so that he wouldn't have to witness this new, burning humiliation. We'd cancel our plans. We'd stay at home until he felt less ashamed of his awful appearance. Poor boy.
“There’s the drive back home, invariably in the dark. Not safe.”
“She has plenty of space. We could have just stayed over.”
Linda shook her head. “No. Not allowed. Against the rules.”
“What do you mean?” Andrew took off his glasses and frowned at her. “Hodgey was always begging us to stay the night. I’ve never understood—”
Linda drummed her fingers on her knees.“It’s just a thing, okay? An agreement.”
Andrew’s furrows deepened. “Between you and Hodge?”
“Between Peter and I. We sibling-swore.”
“‘Sibling-swore’? What are you two? Twelve?”
Linda stopped drumming. “We were sixteen, if you must know.”
Andrew laughed. “Why? Is the house haunted?”
“In a way.”
He stopped laughing, perhaps remembering that Linda had lost her parents when she was sixteen. “In a way?”
“Bad things happen. If you stay over.”
The priest turned his back on the old man so he wouldn’t notice if his fingers shook while pouring. He would have poured himself a drink before the impromptu meeting, to steady his nerves, but he knew he’d be driving that night, so he had reluctantly abstained. When he sat down, a sigh escaped the priest’s lips.
“I assume you know why I asked to see you,” said the bishop, his long wiry eyebrows knitting in an accusing way. His raptorial eyes were unblinking.
“Yes, Your Excellency,” Father Sanderson said. “It is unfortunate.”
“Unfortunate, indeed,” said Bishop Francis. “This report could be a significant problem for Stuart Hall.”
'Yes,' agreed the priest and took a shaky sip of his sherry. Despite the clear crimson liquid on his tongue, his mouth remained dry.
“I’m going to have to ask you a few questions.”
“Of course,” said Father Sanderson. Suddenly impatient with his trembling hands, he threw the rest of his sherry down his throat and was glad to be rid of the glass. His foot was still vibrating.
“As you know, Sister Agnes had a complaint from one of the boys.”
“Maybe,” says Margaret, “when you see this place you’ll understand. It’s like Club Med! There’s a heated pool and a rec centre and a cocktail bar and everything. They have 24-hour room service!”
Andrew guffaws. “A cocktail bar? At a nursing home? What’s next? Happy Hour?”
'It's not a ‘nursing home,' Andrew, dear. It's a ‘Retirement Destination.''
“A what?”
“It’s all about marketing, you see? Kids don’t feel half as bad sending their decrepit parents off to a ‘holiday club’.”
“Still. A cocktail bar?”
“Judy, do you see now why I can’t live with you two? I’m 86 bloody years old—”
“Language!” scolds Andrew.
'As I was saying, I'm 86 BLOODY years old, and if I want to spend the days swearing and drinking Pimm's and playing bloody strip poker, then I will do it WITHOUT the disapproving glare from the very boy whose bare bottom I used to smack for stealing my menthol cigarettes.'
'That does sound quite lovely, Marge. If Andrew gets too strict with me, I shall come and spend a few days with you. We can drink cocktails together. Although I’m not sure about the strip poker …”
Margaret pats Judy on the shoulder. “We all have our boundaries, dear.”
“Some fewer than others,” Andrew murmurs.
We pulled into a makeshift parking lot in the middle of a huge herd of sheep. There were two or three cars, but not a cave or another person in sight. We watched the sheep for a while, not sure what to do, when we saw people walk past us, making their way up the hill. That’s when we realised that we would be working hard for our little bit of fertility magic: we had to hike to get to the cave.
I don’t know what I was expecting. Perhaps something like the virility cave we saw in Thailand: a short, easy walk on a beach and voila! a huge cavern full of phallic symbols. You giggle and admire them while someone chops open a coconut cocktail for you.
Home truths come back to haunt a ghost hunter.
'Lawrence makes every word count, telling each story with elegance and emotional punch.” — Patsy Hennessey
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The last thing I remember is Lorin’s scream as my roadster smashes into the guardrails and flips into the air. There was Lorin’s terrible wail, and then being silently airborne. Then there was nothing.
Later, some bright lights shone through—hospital ceilings I guess—and doctors' terse commands. I piece together the clues I overhear. The crash, the rocks, the fire. Agony like I've never experienced before burns my every organ and bone. Pipes and palpations. Needles, catheters, and a heart monitor that sounds like a ticking time bomb.
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If you're a fan of Stephen King or Gillian Flynn you'll love this compelling story with a twist in the tale.
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