Here is an extract from The Thunder Girls by Melanie Blake. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did and cannot wait to read more.
Prologue
November 1989
Carly Hughes stepped from the back of the limousine at the entrance to Shine Records. She was wearing a short kilt and leather jacket. Lacy tights with biker boots; big hair, kooky- looking shades and an oversized designer bag worth thousands. Every inch the pop star. Her driver, Dale, threw a protective arm around her as he steered her past thousands of screaming Thunder Girls fans, Carly stopping to scribble her name on the autograph books and tour programmes being thrust at her. Some of the fans were hysterical. A young girl clung to her, sobbing, burying her tear- streaked face in her idol’s new jacket. Without taking his eyes off her, a handsome lad was snapping endless pictures on a battered Instamatic whilst staring at Carly intently. Dale let Carly know it was time to move. She detached herself from the crying girl and escaped into the building.
MELANIE BLAKE
As they waited for the lift she inspected her jacket. ‘I think I’ve got snot on my sleeve. First time I’ve worn this, as well.’ Dale frowned and handed her a crisp white hanky. She dabbed at the damp leather. ‘I keep telling you not to be so touchy- feely,’ he said. ‘You don’t know where they’ve been.’ ‘Harsh, Dale. They’re just kids—’ ‘Bunking off school, most of them,’ he grumbled. ‘—hanging about in the cold for hours, hoping for a word.’ ‘You’re way too trusting. They could pull a knife, anything.’ Dale was ex- military. Special Forces. Decorated for bravery. Secretly hoping someone would step out of line one day so he could show what he was made of. ‘They’re our fans, they’d never hurt us.’ Carly gave him a dazzling smile. ‘Anyway, that’s why you’re here.’ He shook his head. ‘That weird one taking pictures . . . I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him – his eyes don’t look right.’ She giggled. ‘Don’t be mean. He’s the Mad Fan – goes everywhere we do, just likes to look at us and take his pics, bless him.’ ‘Yeah, well that’s odd as well, the quiet ones are always the worst.’
On the fourth floor of Shine Records, Roxanne Lloyd was in the glass- fronted executive meeting room – the think- tank.
