Time Will Tell by Eva Jordan | #Extract | #BlogTour | @EvaJordanWriter |@UrbaneBooks |#LoveBooksGroupTours

They say the past comes back to haunt you.
Surely the truth will out?
Maybe, but only time will tell…  

Time Will Tell is the much-anticipated follow up to the bestselling All The Colours In-Between by Eva Jordan.

Published on 14th February with Urbane Publications it has been described as ‘a beautifully told tale of retribution, redemption and family bonds’ by author Patricia Dixon.

I am joining Eva Jordan on tour today with an extract from Time Will Tell, so please relax and enjoy.

[ About the Book ]

Writer, Lizzie Lemalf, and her loving but somewhat dysfunctional family are still grieving over the loss of a much-loved family member. Lizzie is doing her best to keep her family together but why does the recent death of a well-known celebrity have them all in a spin? The police suspect foul play; Lizzie and other family members suspect one another. 

Lizzie begins searching for answers only to find herself being dragged back to the past, to 1960’s London to be exact, and to the former life of her father, that up until now she has never been privy to. Every family has its secrets but how can the past hold the key to a present day celebrity death? They say the past comes back to haunt you. Surely the truth will out? Maybe, but only time will tell…  

[ Extract ]
Chapter 5 Christmas Day

PRESENT DAY – LATE EVENING

CONNOR

I stare at the four grey walls surrounding me and shiver. I’m on my own but not alone. If those crime programmes on TV are anything to go by. I’m being watched. I glance at my phone. Forty minutes I’ve been sitting here, waiting. My phone buzzes, it’s another text from Jake asking me where the hell I am. Should I tell him? I decide not to, and instead tap out a quick reply explaining about Uncle Teddy. I press send and put my phone away, surprised when a lump catches in my throat. I bite the corner of my lip and look down. Poor Uncle Teddy.

I stare at my trainers, new for Christmas from Nan; the ones I asked for, the ones with shock absorbers. My vision blurs and my feet swim out of focus as hot tears prick the back of my eyes. I open my eyes, wide, trying not to blink. Can’t let the police see me crying.

Who am I crying for, anyway? Me? Grandad? Uncle Teddy? I know who it’s not for – Hunter-fucking-Black. I’m glad he’s dead. Although, he’s why I’m here, of course.

Shit. I stand up, feel my stomach fall into my arse; the floor beneath my feet feels spongy. Trainers with shock absorbers – yeah right! I pace the room. My armpits feel wet. I cop a sniff, pull away. Ugh. Fuck me – I have BO. How come? Could have sworn I put deodorant on today? Not that it matters. I’m in real trouble here, and there’s no Grandad to the rescue this time.

Mum doesn’t seem bothered either, happy to let Si bring me to the station while she went off to see Aunt Marie. Which I kind of understand. Actually… No. Fuck it. I don’t understand. Why the hell isn’t Mum here, fighting my corner like she’s been doing for Cassie for the last fucking year? I know what happened to my sister was terrible – why else would I be here – but why is it that Mum doesn’t seem to give a shit about me? I know I’m not on my own, that Si is here with me, that he’ll do his best to keep Mum informed, but the bottom line is, she’s my Mum. Surely she should be the one here, waiting for me – shouldn’t she?

My stomach gurgles. I stop pacing the room, mid-stride, and hold my belly. I feel a familiar twinge and my arse quiver. I panic. Can’t work out if it’s anxiety, or the Brussels sprouts I ate earlier. I remain still, like a statue, my stomach cramping into knots. The gas builds inside me, rising like a hot-air balloon and I’m too frightened to move. Shit – what if I shit myself? I stare at the door, hoping they haven’t locked it. I imagine telling the boys about this, if I ever get out of here, that is. See them: Jake, Robbo and the Rickmeister, all pissing themselves laughing. I bend forwards a little, one hand cradling my stomach, the other flapping around in the general direction of my quivering arse. Please god don’t let this be a shart! With no further warning a huge ripping sound shoots out of my backside. I wait a few seconds, just to be sure but – thank fuck – it hasn’t followed through.

Fuck me, it stinks, though. Rank, even by my standards. I wave my hand in front of my face like a fan, and walk towards the window to see if I can open it. It may be cold outside – minus one I think it said in Si’s car – but this room needs fresh air. I lift the paint-peeling handle and push it, hard, but it doesn’t budge. I try the other window next to it: also locked, or stuck. I’m left with no choice but to wallow in my own stinking, eggy butt fumes. I laugh. Karma? That’s what Grandad would have said. I look out of the window, pressing my nose against the cold glass, to watch how it steams up. The grey sky behind it is now black, day has turned into night, and down below, the whole city is crawling with light. It’s too dark to make out individual buildings, but it looks busy enough. Less traffic than usual, though, so it’s eerily quiet, like a flickering TV screen with the sound turned down.

A phone rings next door. I swing round, hear a man answer it; listen to his low, deep voice. His words are muffled though, buffered by the wall between us, as if someone is speaking to me while I’m underwater, so I don’t know who it is or what he’s saying. I think of Simon, sitting in the waiting room down the corridor, and wonder if the police have spoken to Cassie yet? They didn’t know she was staying at Mum’s, said they’d planned to contact her in London and ask her to stop by one of the police stations near to where she and Luke live.

I feel my own phone vibrate in my pocket and expect to see another text from Jake but this time it’s Simon asking me how it’s going. I scratch the back of my head, think about telling him to go home, that I’ll call a taxi when I’m done. Then again – what if they don’t let me go home? What if they want to keep me in overnight – for further questioning? What if someone has set me up? I wrestle with the thought of spending Christmas night in a police cell when my phone flashes again.

I swipe the screen and read Jake’s reply. He says he’s sorry about Uncle Teddy but wants to let me know his uncle has been arrested and is in police custody. I look up from my phone and panic drills down into my stomach. Fuck. I pace the room again, chewing on non-existent fingernails. How the hell did they find him? He promised me there’d be no comeback. They must have evidence though or why else would they have arrested him? And why the hell would I be here? He must have talked. Mentioned my name. Shit. What if they arrest me? Shit. Shit. Shit.

[ Bio ]

Eva Jordan is a published writer of several short stories and Time Will Tell is her third novel.

Eva lives in a small town in Cambridgeshire with partner Steve and three of their four children, who are a constant source of inspiration.

Eva’s career has been varied, including working in a Women’s Refuge and more recently at the city library. However, storytelling through the art of writing is her true passion.

Twitter ~ @EvaJordanWriter 
Website ~ https://evajordanwriter.com/