By Siobhan Dowd
ISBN-10: 0375893652
ISBN-13: 9780375893650
Holly’s tale will go away a long-lasting impact on all who go back and forth with her.
Memories of mum are the single factor that make Holly Hogan chuffed. She hates her foster family members with their too-nice methods and their fake sympathy. and he or she hates her lifestyles, her silly tuition, and how everyone seems to be continually on at her. Then she reveals the wig, and every little thing alterations. donning the lengthy, flowing blond locks she feels reworked. She’s now not Holly anymore, she’s Solace: the lady with the slinkster stroll and the supersharp speak. She’s older, extra confident—the form of lady who can stroll correct out of her humdrum lifestyles, hitch to eire, and locate her mum. the type of woman who can face the area head-on.
So starts off a bittersweet and infrequently hilarious trip as Solace swaggers and Holly tiptoes throughout England and during reminiscence, gaining knowledge of her precise self and unlocking the secrets and techniques of her past.
From the Hardcover edition.
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Additional resources for Solace of the Road
Example text
I breathed. Calm down, Holl. I tried the door. Locked. I pressed the buttons to scroll down the window. Nothing. Stay cool, girl. I peered out. Dim lighting, car on car, lines of bumpers, empty glass, drab colours. Then a lurch and roll. We were moving. Jeez. Mrs Mogit was right. It was the bowels of hell down here. My stomach tilted, a half-beat behind the rest of me. I banged the windows. I hollered like a trumpet but the swaying didn’t stop. The airless heat would pass me out, I felt. Mammy, I thought.
They got in and the four-by-four shook. That’s when the wig slipped. I felt it topple off the side of my head and I couldn’t do a thing. I scrunched up my eyes and clenched my teeth. The owners started talking. The car doors banged shut and the engine started. ‘About time,’ Mr Mogit grumbled. ’ ‘Your decision to leave at the crack of dawn. ’ ‘That was years ago. Before the grandchildren. ’ ‘So. ’ ‘Saints preserve us. Stop gurning. ’ I didn’t know what they were on about. Con-ten-gin-sea. It sounded like a weirdo cocktail, the kind you’d get at the Clone Zone.
Didn’t say anything, as if she hadn’t asked anything. ’ Fiona called after me. Then something about how I’d forgotten my clementine. But I was already halfway up the stairs. I thought I’d just go take another look at Solace, up there under my pillow. Seven More Snooting Heck The winter months passed and I was frozen solid while everyone else rushed by. I knew time moved only because of the tick-tock-no-luck carriage clock on the Aldridges’ mantelpiece, a fancy gold affair that chimed the hours and puttered on like life was muffled up in cotton wool.
Solace of the Road by Siobhan Dowd
by Donald
4.2