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GOODNIGHT AMYBuy this book

Goodnight Amy

A moving north London saga which sees sisters at war united by love…

Agnes Dodds walked out of the small Islington house which she had called home, leaving her husband and four children, and disappeared into the streets of a London devastated by the Blitz. For her eldest daughter Amy there is no time to feel sorry, it is all she can do to hold the family together. With no mother and a father who is useless, Amy sees little hope for the future until she meets Tim Gudgeon.

Tim, who is secretly in love with Amy, believes that he has seen Agnes. Suddenly Amy is full of determination to find Agnes and discover why she left. But Agnes took with her a secret strong enough to drive a mother from her children and one that Amy may wish she had never heard...

"Hyde Park was at peace with itself. It was in one of those rare moods that didn’t last very long, for there was a war on, and it wasn’t easy to remain tranquil when the sky was raining death and destruction all the time. But tonight was different. Tonight, the giant leafless oak, elm, and chestnut trees were covered in a thin layer of frost, and the air was crisp and free. No wailing air-raid siren to crack the peace, no rumble of anti-aircraft guns to wake the cockney sparrows and their big pigeon cousins, no glare from searchlights crisscrossing the sky like some vast luminous kaleidoscope. This was a park that radiated peace and calm. It rejoiced in it… But tonight the park was safe. Not even the distant rumble of traffic along the blacked-out Park Lane could disturb the pitch-dark of London’s acknowledged premier back garden. Even the surface of the Serpentine’s ice-cold water was still. Now, the spidery shadows of the brigade of lost souls had disappeared into the luxury of their own nests, leaving only one figure to settle down for the night behind the old boathouse at the water’s edge. But this was no ordinary figure, not one of the flock. This was Aggie, ‘Ma’ or ‘Aggs’, as they called her, wrapped up in woollens, raincoat, headscarf, and a mangy old eiderdown. She was barely visible in the dark, but her small, beady eyes could see more than most. They could see the stars bright and clear, sparkling high in the sky above, and the sinister shapes of the tall trees casting their eerie shadows across the water beneath the glare of a crescent-shaped moon. They also saw the past, and a life before. It was a time for recalling nights just like this. It was inevitable. It was past midnight. It was Christmas morning."
‘A wonderfully detailed and involving study of a community surviving the destruction of war’ Barry Forshaw, Amazon, May 2000
‘A potent mix of passion and suspense’ Evening Herald, December 2000