“Sunshine on a rainy day. A charmingly written slice of warm-hearted escapism.” – Lisa Jewell
“Oozing goodness and charm, this wonderfully addictive summer read will make you all warm and tingly – no matter what the weather is like.” - The Daily Record
“Fun chick lit.” – Closer
“Terrific – like kiss-chase for grown-ups!” – Judy Astley
“A comedy that has more than a hint of fairy-tale fantasy about it” – Linda Gillard, author of Star Gazing
“A delightful read … fun, amusing and heart-warming.”- Trashionista
“Warm-hearted, very sweet and it will charm your socks off.”- Novelicious
“I absolutely adored Molly’s Millions. It’s a book that will make even the hardened pessimist smile. It truly is an outstanding read and just so incredibly enjoyable you’ll wonder where your day has gone once you get started.” – Chick Lit Reviews
Hard-up florist Molly Bailey has just won £4.2 million pounds in the National Lottery. And she needs to get rid of it – fast!
Tom Mackenzie is on the verge of losing his job. He needs one hell of a story if he hopes to secure his future in journalism.
With Ebenezer Scrooge for a brother, and a strong belief that sharing her good fortune is the only way forward, Molly unwittingly becomes the most sought-after person in the country as, in true Robin Hood style, she distributes her wealth to the masses.
With only her terrier pup, Fizz, for company, Molly embarks on the journey of her life, crossing the country in her trusty – or should that be ‘rusty’? – yellow Beetle. But with Tom Mackenzie hot on her heels and the nation on the look-out for her, Molly must outwit them all if she’s to achieve her grand finale.
Will she succeed before her family and the media catch up with her? And with Tom leading the pack, would that really be such a bad thing…?
Excerpt
Molly’s mouth had made a silent and perfect ‘o’ as she was told how much she’d won. Four point two million pounds. For her. And her alone.
She’d been told by the winners’ advisor not to make any rash decisions; to take a holiday and give herself plenty of time to think things through. But she didn’t need time. She knew she couldn’t possibly keep all that money, especially with the men in her family. The trouble had been in deciding exactly what she was going to do with it.
So, Molly had spent two long weeks mulling over her options, whilst slowly coming to terms with the fact that she was a millionaire.
A millionaire, for goodness sake! In the peace of her shop, it was still hard to take in, and it didn’t really make any difference to her daily routine.
Chrysanthemums didn’t care if you were a millionaire: they still wanted watering, which was just the way she wanted it. She wasn’t into exotic holidays, fancy cars or champagne, and her fingers, with their boyishly short nails, would look ridiculous if she were to dress them with large diamonds. Besides, that sort of ostentation had always been frowned upon in her family, and money had been the source of every single family argument. As far back as she could remember, her mother and father had fought over it. Holidays never got more luxurious than static caravans, and birthdays were kept to a bare minimum, usually involving reference books and sensible clothes.
‘Presents should be practical,’ her father used to say.
Her mother had never agreed. ‘Books and clothes aren’t presents, they’re punishments!’
Then the arguing would start, and it would always end the same way: with Cynthia giving in to Magnus. Well, that’s how it appeared on the surface. What Magnus didn’t see was Cynthia picking Molly and Marty up from school and driving them into town for hot chocolate and cake, followed by a trip to the toy store to pick out a present which would be bought on the understanding that their father was never to lay eyes on it. For years, Marty had had to keep his train set tucked under his bed, and Molly’s dolls’ house was hidden at the back of her wardrobe.
For Molly, even today, the filthiest word in the English language was ‘money’. Forget anything with four letters, the word ‘money’ was really quite hateful to her. Ever since she was a child, she’d blamed money for bad behaviour in people. Her father had made their lives miserable at home with his penny-pinching ways. She and Marty had been the only children at school not to be given pocket money. Instead of freely handing out his cash, their father would ask them what they wanted. He would then ask whether it was absolutely necessary and, if they insisted that it was, which they rarely did through fear, he’d give them half of the money they actually needed and told them to find some odd jobs round the house in order to raise the rest.
The only time they ever got any half-decent presents was at Christmas, and that was only because their mother’s family erred on the generous side.
‘They’re children, dear,’ Cynthia, would chide when she thought Molly and Marty were out of earshot. ‘And you’re only a child once. What possible harm can a little bit of spoiling do to them?’
But Magnus Bailey was never convinced by his wife’s sweet reasoning. ‘It wasn’t the way I was brought up,’ he’d growl back, and Molly and Marty, hiding behind the door, would draw their eyebrows together and wave their forefingers in the air in perfect impersonation of their father. They’d always managed to laugh at their father’s behaviour. Until the day their mother had walked out.
Molly shook her head at the memory. If there was one lesson she’d learnt from the past, it was that money was to be enjoyed. Yes, bills had to be paid, and provisions made for the future, but her father’s way of saving and depriving had done nothing but create barriers, and she was determined that that was never going to happen again.
Yes, she thought, if the Bailey men got wind of her win, they’d have plenty to say about it. They’d have it ISA’d and bonded, split over sure-fire shares and packaged off into a pension before you could say shopping spree. And that was just Molly’s share of it.
She wouldn’t get to keep it all herself, of course. Not that she wanted to anyway. She’d give her family a share: a small share each. They didn’t need any more money, she was quite sure of that. They were all as comfortable as old armchairs, and Molly knew that her winnings would only lie useless in a bank, accumulating even more wealth to be fought over and never actually enjoyed.
Anyway, what on earth could one person possibly want with so much money? It really was quite obscene. Sure, she’d had years of scraping by to make ends meet, and it would be lovely not to have to worry anymore, but four point two million pounds? She had more than she knew what to do with with the interest alone.
So she’d come to a decision. After sorting out her own finances at The Bloom Room, and putting a little aside for each family member as a token of good will, she was going to get rid of it.
Molly was going on a spending spree …
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