It starts with Linda, the narrator, speaking from some sort of institution, a day centre maybe. She describes herself as someone ordinary, nondescript, who keeps herself to herself. Where she is, why and how she got there, is the narrative hook to be unravelled.
The main narrative goes back six weeks to the discovery locally of the body of a young woman. Linda discusses the murder with her husband, Terry, and her mother, who lives nearby. There is no father; he died when Linda was a child in far off Wales, his death following a scandal for which Linda feels partly responsible. She has not trusted the police since.
Linda’s life goes on inconsequentially against the background of the murder investigation, but she is distracted by some post, specifically catalogues, that arrive at her house addressed to a Rebecca Finch. The catalogues hint at a lifestyle she can only aspire to – elegant clothing and clean-lined interior décor. An obsession develops. She feels a connection, and a compulsion to meet and befriend to Rebecca Finch.
The three storylines
– the childhood scandal, the murder inquiry, and the search for Rebecca Finch –
move forward sporadically but without really gelling together. And I am not
sure if everything was resolved in the end, but by then I was not bothered
much. Maybe the title was meant to be ironic.
For me, the storylines failed to convince, and none of the characters appealed, which is a disappointment given Joanna Cannon’s enjoyable other work.
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