When I decided I would write about a character with OCD I asked around on social media for anyone who could offer any personal experiences that would help shape the character, Regi. I am extremely grateful to Joanne Askew for stepping forward from the world of Twitter to give me an insight into the daily mindset of someone living alongside compulsive behaviours.
I’d like to thank Claire Duffy for her invaluable insight into trauma, PTSD and hyper-vigilance.
Thank you to Ella Proctor for passing on her knowledge on child protection.
I like to save the best to last. Thanks to my lovely family: Chris, Savannah, Bodhi and Huxley, plus the furballs: Ferris and Willow, for bringing all the lols amongst the chaos.
Finally, thanks to you, the reader, for picking up my third book and supporting my writing journey.
Book Club Questions
What did you think of Regi’s neighbour and what did you think the outcome was going to be?
Instagram and social media overuse is a strong theme in the book. Discuss your experiences of ‘overusing’ social media in a way that may have had a negative impact.
There are several other themes running through the book, how many did you recognise?
Who was your favourite house mate and why?
Have you ever been a house mate, if yes, what kind were you?
For the majority of the book, was Regi’s husband’s presence real or purely in her imagination?
Why do you think cleanstagrammers are as popular as they are on Instagram right now?
Why do you think the unnamed narrator in the ‘then’ chapters stays with D and won’t leave him?
By the end of the novel, did you feel Regi was on some sort of path to recovery? Or do you think she will always carry her tics and behaviours with her?
More from Nina Manning
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Read on for an exclusive extract from Nina Manning’s first novel, The Daughter In Law:
Prologue
I sat very still and felt the fear wash through me as the reality of the situation became clear. Little shots of pain pulsated around my body; my abdomen contracted. I felt dizzy and realised that at any point I could lose consciousness. I never thought it would be so easy to surrender myself but teetering on the edge here, I was faced with a choice: carry on or give up.
I tried to cast my mind back to a time when everything made sense, but I couldn’t remember when that was. He was supposed to save me. Now I was lost and another part of me was missing. What was the point in fighting any more? Where could I go from here? I knew I deserved this. It had been inevitable. I had got away with it for too many years already. This was my comeuppance.
Yet somewhere deep within me, a spark was still ignited. If I concentrated hard enough, I could feel it whirring quietly, like a small vibration. An instinct was pushing me forward, forcing me to fight and recover what was mine. It was a desire that was becoming more urgent. I knew what I needed to do and somehow, I would try to push past the weight of despair to find my way to the light again. To find my way to my love. And to the beautiful gift that was stolen from me.
Chapter 1
Annie
My favourite room is the spare bedroom at the front of the house. It gets all the light in the morning and looks so inviting. I’ve done it up like a picture I saw in a lifestyle magazine: a checked throw across the end of the bed, floral sheets and hooked back curtains, a little wicker chair in the corner with a few well-read paperbacks stacked on top of it, and a white vase on the bedside table. It really is the most comforting place to be. Of course, no one ever uses it. I like to keep the house looking nice. But it was only ever going to be me and my son.
Getting out of bed was particularly hard this morning. It has been every morning since Ben left. I keep thinking, what is the point? I’ve been feeling that empty hopelessness for several months now. Since Ben deserted me.
For her.
I’d heard all about empty nest syndrome but I never imagined for a moment it would happen to me. I never actually thought he would leave. I thought we would just keep existing together. Forever.
He kept so much of his stuff here initially, that I felt sure he would return – but just last month, he came and took the lot.
It’s so quiet here now. It was quiet anyway, that’s why I took the house. It’s the house I grew up alone in with my father, but fled from as soon as I was able to support myself.
How do you define an unhappy childhood? In those days it was unheard of to make an allegation about your relative. I accepted the violence – it was, after all, part of him and all I had ever known. Throughout my motherless upbringing, the beach house provided a sanctuary for me with plenty of places to hide. I got stealthier as I grew and with my legs pulled up tightly into my chest and my head pressed to my knees, I would squeeze myself into an alcove, the airing cupboard or the shed with the ringing sound of my father’s threats in my ear. Later on, I would sneak out and find my way back to my bedroom past my father’s drunken snores. The next day he wouldn’t remember a thing. Had I not been able to escape down to the shore
