Summary
Dorothy Koomson captivated readers with her international bestseller My Best Friend's Girl. Now she dazzles us once again with a tale of love, friendship, and families--the choices that shatter them, the hope that saves them, and the little moments that happen in between.
Kendra Tamale is looking for a fresh start and a simple life when she rents a room from Kyle Gadsborough. But against her better judgment Kendra soon finds herself drawn into her new landlord's household: a young father in way over his head, a beautiful mother out the door, and six-year-old twins, Summer and Jaxon, with hearts full of hurt. Kendra has plenty of issues of her own, but this family seems to need her so desperately that she's soon falling in love--with Summer's constant chatter, Jaxon's soulful eyes, and the sugar-laden Saturday breakfasts she invents. But when a secret from Kendra's past resurfaces and the children are taken away by their mother, the only way to fix things is to confess to the terrible mistake she made many years ago--and the choice she makes now could break more than one person's heart.
Author Notes
After two years living in Sydney, Australia, Dorothy Koomson is probably now living somewhere in the northern hemisphere (but you just never know with her). She is still a journalist as well as a novelist. Marshmallows for Breakfast is her fourth novel. Her third novel, My Best Friend's Girl , is available in paperback from Bantam Discovery.
Publisher's Weekly Review
A young woman with plenty of issues gets sucked into her landlord's domestic woes in Koomson's heartwarming second novel (after My Best Friend's Girl). When Kendra Tamale moves back to her native England after a stint in Australia, she rents an apartment and becomes enmeshed in the lives of her landlord, Kyle, and his six-year-old twins. His wife's recently left him, and his kids, not taking the separation too well, "run rings" around him. Despite the unconditional acceptance of her surrogate family, Kendra fears that her past hurts will be exposed, threatening her newfound security and catapulting her back into loneliness and misery. Koomson portrays in vivid and tear-jerking detail the effects of fear and isolation, but keeps readers captivated with measured disclosures and the promise of renewal. (Jan.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Booklist Review
Kendra Tamale has to leave Australia in a hurry, so she finds a new place to live over the Internet. The apartment is owned by newly single Kyle Gadsborough, father to a pair of precocious twins, Summer and Jaxon, who are waiting for Kendra when she steps out of the bathroom on her first day in the new place. The children take an automatic liking to Kendra, but having just escaped her own drama, she is reluctant to get pulled into the mess of Kyle's divorce from his alcoholic wife. But, as children do, they draw Kendra in until she is solidly a part of their family. When Summer and Jaxon's mom sweeps back home and takes them away, Kendra realizes she has to come to terms with her own past before she can help Kyle get them back. Koomson's plot is nearly overwhelmed by all the secrets and mysteries concealed by Kendra and Kyle, but the children's attachment to Kendra is sweet enough to keep the reader reading.--Hatton, Hilary Copyright 2009 Booklist
Excerpts
Chaper One You're black." Surprisingly, I didn't scream, yelp or collapse into a quivering heap when I was confronted by an intruder in my home. I reeled back as my heart lurched to a stop; I stared at her with wide, shocked eyes, but I didn't scream. It was early on a Saturday morning. I'd just stepped out of the shower and had been about to dash across my flat to the bedroom to get dressed when I'd found the intruder--intruders, actually--standing in the area outside the bathroom, staring at me. The intruder who spoke to me was about three feet tall, six years old with green eyes that were as dark and glossy as eucalyptus leaves, and shoulder-length black hair--one side bunched with a red elastic band, the other falling in waves to her shoulder. Beside her stood her male mirror image--he had shorter dark hair but was the same height, the same age and had the same green eyes. The pair of them weren't dressed so much as "ensembled." Her pink skirt with ruffles at the bottom she wore over striped blue and white tights, and with a white, long-sleeved T-shirt under a faded orange vest. She had yellow socks bunched like legwarmers around her ankles, while red shoes with big yellow flowers on the front adorned her feet. He wore long blue trousers, one leg of which was tucked into one of his green socks. His white T-shirt was decorated with avant-garde artwork of felt-tip pen marks and grubby fingerprint streaks; one collar of his blue fleece zip-up jacket was folded inwards, hugging his shoulder. Both of them wore clothes that were crumpled and creased, as though they'd slept in them. As well as the dishevelled clothes, the twins also shared grey-white complexions with dark, blue-purple circles smoothed like smudges of dirt under their eyes. They looked like a pair of street urchins, battered and worn by the February cold, who'd wandered into the warmth of my flat. But they weren't street kids, I was pretty certain of that. They were my landlord's children. I'd only just moved into this flat and had yet to meet my landlord and his family because they'd been away overseas when I'd arrived from Australia. Obviously they were back. The children openly explored me with their eyes, took in the clear plastic shower cap that covered my black hair, my cleansed and moisturized face, my damp neck and shoulders, the towel I'd wrapped around my torso and was currently clutching closed in a death grip, my knees peeking out from beneath my towel, and my water-spotted calves. Their gazes lingered on my feet, probably fascinated by my fluffy white slippers. "You're black," the girl stated again, her voice clear and firm; she spoke with the honesty of a child and the confidence of an adult. She knew how to address people no matter how old they were. In her arms she carried a blue, floppy toy rabbit. "So I'm told," I replied. "I'm Summer," she said, confirming she was my landlord's daughter. She jerked a thumb at the boy. "He's Jaxon. We're twins." She looked me over again--from my shower cap to my feet--then whipped her eyes up to mine. Our gazes locked. She had me hypnotized, had my undivided attention for as long as she wanted. Her face, framed in that unusual way by her hair, was innocent and open, yet wise and private. A million insignificant and profound thoughts went on behind that face. Summer shrugged her small, bony shoulders, breaking eye contact as she gave a slight nod of her head. "You're quite pretty," she said. "Erm . . . Thank you, I think," I said. Jaxon leaned across to Summer, cupped his hand around his mouth and began whispering in her ear. He talked for a few seconds and when he stopped, she nodded. Jaxon straightened up. "You're not as pretty as my mumma," Summer informed me. Guessing this was his con Excerpted from Marshmallows for Breakfast by Dorothy Koomson All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
