#Where's that tweet about a glimpse into my sick and twisted mind..... Because this it

[quaksi]

Emmrook to me is like a durgetash detox in which they actually get to touch without sick shit being involved

[loveforlouis]

I feel like fans sometimes project a greater social conscience onto Louis than he has demonstrated. He's incredibly charitable, kind, loyal to his family, friends and community of Doncaster, but he's never really exhibited an interest in social change. He spent election night in the back of a car complaining about traffic. Not judging him for it. Takes some young people time to invest in greater social issues. Just interesting to see how we sometimes idealize Louis to fit a person he may not be

I think you also have to be conscious of the image Louis has been pushed into over the years. Think about Louis circa 2010-2012, he was a much different Louis than we see today and it’s clearly not because he “grew up”. I’m talking about both outward personality and image. I think that he also got a quick breakdown on what a boy who once considered himself flamboyant was now going to act like and care about. Louis Tomlinson got turned into Louis lad bro dude. And Lad Bro Dudes don’t always find it cool to care about political or social rights or equality. Especially someone who is pushed so far back into the closet he can’t even see the door.

Now for someone who has been stripped completely of who he is (for outside purposes) he has done a pretty stellar job at letting us know he’s still there, if you’re looking close enough. What a lot of “fans” and non fans tend to miss is when he actually does show us because you have to peel back layers of disgusting forced image to see it. Think about what he has managed to show us outwardly. As you’ve said he’s charitable and loyal to his community. Now think about everything he’s done for charities, the princess ball, red nose day. Tends to go overlooked huh? I love Harry Styles to death but if he hosted that princess ball it would be the number one story for a month. Louis does things like that because that is the type of person he is and the type of person his mother was. Think about how many rumors we’ve gotten of him seeing sick kids and donating money to charity that was supposed to be hush hush, just because that’s the type of person Louis is. He’s incredibly kind and caring. But kind and caring don’t really fit with a lad image. Doesn’t fit with that party boy, see my kid whenever kind of image. 

Look at the kind of girls Jay raised, Louis’ sisters are strong women and Louis continues to show how much he loves and cherishes them. Don’t tell me Louis doesn’t believe in equality, doesn’t believe in social change. I think what people tend to forget about Louis is how much of himself he can’t be. About how much of his social media isn’t his. About how severely, severely closeted he is. Harry can tweet about all this stuff because he’s not in the same situation is he? And I am forever grateful for that kid and for their relationship because you know what? I’m honestly not sure if Louis could have gotten through everything on his own. Harry is his support, that relationship is so solid and we’ve seen that over the past year and I personally believe that harry’s beliefs and louis’ kind of go hand in hand. So anon, what I’m trying to say is, when your image is twisted as fuck and your persona is warped and you can’t even get through an interview about your music that you worked so hard on because his fabricated personal life is A okay’d by his own goddamn team then speaking freely isn’t exactly allowed. So no he doesn’t have the luxury at the moment to be able to speak his mind. I personally believe that if he could he would be amazing af because we see glimpses of Louis Tomlinson coming through all the damn time and he is an amazing human being. He’s fiercely loyal, a protective brother, a constant support for his family, an extremely supportive and loving significant other, a selfless human being. His day will come where he will be done with the bullshit and I for one can’t wait. 

[lovebooksgroup]

Hello Lovelies, Thank you for stopping by, today I have my stop on the blog tour for Give Me the Child which was published on the 27, July 2017 by HQ Stories. On my stop, I have sneak peek for you. I do hope you enjoy. Kelly xoxo

Book Jacket

An unexpected visitor.

Dr Cat Lupo aches for another child, despite the psychosis which marked her first pregnancy. So when Ruby Winter, a small girl in need of help, arrives in the middle of the night, it seems like fate.

A devastating secret.

But as the events behind Ruby’s arrival emerge – her mother’s death, her connection to Cat – Cat questions whether her decision to help Ruby has put her own daughter at risk.

Do we get the children we deserve?

Cat’s research tells her there’s no such thing as evil. Her history tells her she’s paranoid. But her instincts tell her different. And as the police fight to control a sudden spate of riots raging across the capital, Cat faces a race against time of her own…

Compulsive, dark and devastating, Give Me the Child is a uniquely skilful thriller with an unforgettable twist.

Sneak Peek

CHAPTER ONE

My first thought when the doorbell woke me was that someone had died. Most likely Michael Walsh. I turned onto my side, pulled at the outer corners of my eyes to rid them of the residue of sleep and blinked myself awake. It was impossible to tell if it was late or early, though the bedroom was as hot and muggy as it had been when Tom and I had gone to bed. Tom was no longer beside me. Now I was alone. We’d started drinking not long after Freya had gone upstairs. The remains of a bottle of Pinot Grigio for me, a glass or two of red for Tom. (He always said white wine was for women.) Just before nine I called The Mandarin Hut. When the crispy duck arrived I laid out two trays in the living room, opened another bottle and called Tom in from the study. I hadn’t pulled the curtains and through the pink light of the London night sky a cat’s claw of moon appeared. The two of us ate, mostly in silence, in front of the TV. A ballroom dance show came on. Maybe it was just the booze but something about the tight-muscled men and the frou-frou’d women made me feel a little sad. The cosmic dance. The grand romantic gesture. At some point even the tight-muscled men and the frou-frou’d women would find themselves slumped together on a sofa with the remains of a takeaway and wine enough to sink their sorrows, wondering how they’d got there, wouldn’t they?

Not that Tom and I really had anything to complain about except, maybe, a little malaise, a kind of falling away. After all, weren’t we still able to laugh about stuff most of the time or, if we couldn’t laugh, at least have sex and change the mood?

‘Let’s go upstairs and I’ll show you my cha-cha,’ I said, rising and holding out a hand.

Tom chuckled and pretended I was joking, then, wiping his

palms along his thighs as if he were ridding them of something unpleasant, he said, ‘It’s just if I don’t crack this bloody coding thing…’

I looked out at the moon for a moment. OK, so I knew how much making a success of Labyrinth meant to Tom, and I’d got used to him shutting himself away in the two or three hours either side of midnight. But this one time, with the men and women still twirling in our minds? Just this one time?

Stupidly, I said, ‘Won’t it wait till tomorrow?’ and in an instant

I saw Tom stiffen. He paused for a beat and, slapping his hands on his thighs in a gesture of busyness, he slugged down the last of his wine, rose from the sofa and went to the door. And so we left it there with the question still hanging.

I spent the rest of the evening flipping through the case notes of patients I was due to see that week. When I turned in for the night, the light was still burning in Tom’s study. I murmured ‘goodnight’ and went upstairs to check on Freya. Our daughter was suspended somewhere between dreaming and deep sleep. All children look miraculous when they’re asleep, even the frighten- ing, otherworldly ones I encounter every day. Their bodies soften, their small fists unfurl and dreams play behind their eyelids. But Freya looked miraculous all the time to me. Because she was. A miracle made at the boundary where human desire meets science. I stood and watched her for a while, then, retrieving her beloved

Pippi Longstocking book from the floor and straightening her duvet, I crept from the room and went to bed.

Sometime later I felt Tom’s chest pressing against me and his breath on the nape of my neck. He was already aroused and for a minute I wondered what else he’d been doing on screen besides coding, then shrugged off the thought. A drowsy, half-hearted bout of lovemaking followed before we drifted into our respective oblivions. Next thing I knew the doorbell was ringing and I was alone.

Under the bathroom door a beam of light blazed. I threw off the sheet and swung from the bed.

‘Tom?’

No response. My mind was scrambled with sleep and an anxious pulse was rising to the surface. I called out again.

There was a crumpling sound followed by some noisy vomiting but it was identifiably my husband. The knot in my throat loosened. I went over to the bathroom door, knocked and let myself in. Tom was hunched over the toilet and there was a violent smell in the room.

‘Someone’s at the door.’ Tom’s head swung round.

I said, ‘You think it might be about Michael?’

Tom’s father, Michael Walsh, was a coronary waiting to happen, a lifelong bon vivant in the post-sixty-five-year-old death zone, who’d taken the recent demise of his appalling wife pretty badly.

Tom stood up, wiped his hand across his mouth and moved over to the sink. ‘Nah, probably just some pisshead.’ He turned on the tap and sucked at the water in his hand and, in an oddly casual tone, he added, ‘Ignore it.’

As I retreated into the bedroom, the bell rang again. Whoever it was, they weren’t about to go away. I went over to the window and eased open the curtain. The street was still and empty of people, and the first blank glimmer was in the sky. Directly below the house a patrol car was double parked, hazard lights still on but otherwise dark. For a second my mind filled with the terrible possibility that something had happened to Sally. Then I checked myself. More likely someone had reported a burglary or a prowler in the neighbourhood. Worst case it was Michael.

‘It’s the police,’ I said.

Tom appeared and, lifting the sash, craned out of the window. ‘I’ll go, you stay here.’

I watched him throw on his robe over his boxers and noticed his hands were trembling. Was that from having been sick or was he, too, thinking about Michael now? I listened to his footsteps disappearing down the stairs and took my summer cover-up from its hook. A moment later, the front door swung open and there came the low murmur of three voices, Tom’s and those of two women. I froze on the threshold of the landing and held my breath, waiting for Tom to call me down, and when, after a few minutes, he still hadn’t, I felt myself relax a little. My parents were dead. If this was about Sally, Tom would have fetched me by now. It was bound to be Michael. Poor Michael.

I went out onto the landing and tiptoed over to Freya’s room. Tom often said I was overprotective, and maybe I was, but I’d seen enough mayhem and weirdness at work to give me pause. I pushed open the door and peered in. A breeze stirred from the open window. The hamster Freya had brought back from school for the holidays was making the rounds on his wheel but in the aura cast by the Frozen-themed nightlight I could see my tender little girl’s face closed in sleep. Freya had been too young to remember my parents and Michael had always been sweet to her in a way that his wife, who called her ‘my little brown granddaughter’, never was, but it was better this happened now, in the summer holidays, so she’d have time to recover before the pressures of school started up again. We’d tell her in the morning once we’d had time to formulate the right words.

At the top of the landing I paused, leaning over the bannister. A woman in police uniform stood in the glare of the security light. Thirties, with fierce glasses and a military bearing. Beside her was another woman in jeans and a shapeless sweater, her features hidden from me. The policewoman’s face was brisk but unsmiling; the other woman was dishevelled, as though she had been called from her bed. Between them I glimpsed the auburn top of what I presumed was a child’s head – a girl, judging from the amount of hair. I held back, unsure what to do, hoping they’d realise they were at the wrong door and go away. I could see the police officer’s mouth moving without being able to hear what was being said. The conversation went on and after a few moments Tom stood to one side and the two women and the child stepped out of the shadows of the porch and into the light of the hallway.

To order your copy here is a wee link ~

https://www.amazon.co.uk/d/cka/Give-Me-Child-Mel-McGrath/0008215596/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1501765895&sr=8-1&keywords=Give+Me+The+Child

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  Give Me The Child @mcgrathmj @HQstories #Excerpt Hello Lovelies, Thank you for stopping by, today I have my stop on the blog tour for Give Me the Child which was published on the 27, July 2017 by HQ Stories.