Something to Celebrate

by Jane Wenham-Jones

Genres: Humor & Satire; Short Stories; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

If you love Milly Johnson, Trisha Ashley and Catherine Alliott, you'll love Jane Wenham-Jones's deliciously entertaining stories! 'Funny, realistic and full of insight' Katie Fforde 'I love Jane's writing!' Jill Mansell 'Feel-good' Woman & Home A Big Birthday, a wedding anniversary, an unlikely encounter, a smashed headlight and a treat to remember. Everyone has something to celebrate in this sparkling collection of short stories by best-selling romantic novelist, Jane Wenham-Jones. Don't miss Jane's delightfully entertaining novels, filled with humour and insight: The Big Five O, Mum in the Middle, One Glass is Never Enough, Prime Time and Perfect Alibis are all out now!

Release date: April 17, 2014

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 25

Sample

Wolf Whistle

I stood in front of the mirror and tried not to cry. It wasn’t just because my swimwear seemed to have mysteriously shrunk or even that a scary anniversary was looming. It was the dose of reality I was facing in the glass. These things creep up on you. One day there you are, happily prancing about in your bikini, and the next you’re aware that everything’s rather wobbly and best covered-up. Suddenly you find yourself in shops, putting back the T-shirt with the sparkly bits and the risqué slogan, as you’re just a bit too old for that sort of thing …

‘You are fat and forty,’ I told my bare stomach. It quivered.

I should have been feeling great. John had brought me here to the most beautiful part of Spain as a birthday treat. He’d really splashed out and I was doing my best to enjoy it. It was lovely. Our villa was gorgeous, cool tiled floors, patio doors opening onto the pool, bougainvillea splashing colour down the white walls. We spent scented evenings sitting on our terrace, the air warm and soft, lunchtimes overlooking the harbour sipping chilled white wine in the hot sun. We’d left the kids at home. It was just the two of us.

It should have been perfect but I had this horrible sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Because they didn’t whistle from building sites anymore.

Builders were putting up new villas down the road. We had to walk past them to go to the beach bar or shops. I didn’t give them a second glance until I went down there on my own one morning to get some bread. The girl walking ahead of me was in her twenties, long blonde hair swinging, denim-skirted hips swaying, acres of long golden leg. There was a chorus of approval from the scaffoldin. . .