When I started reading “Her Daughter’s Cry” by M.M. Chouinard I was not aware it was the third book in the Detective Jo Fournier series. It carried itself well as a stand-alone book and I did not feel lost at any stage. Although the book is a police procedural, it reads like a thriller.
A woman appears in a shop, injured and covered in blood… but the blood does not belong to her. She suffers from amnesia and detective Jo Fournier must figure out how she got injured and who the blood belongs to. The police establish it belongs to a blood relative; a daughter and so the hunt to find the daughter begins. Since the woman has amnesia, I personally thought they were in search of a baby or a young child, but I guessed that one wrong.
Who is this woman and is she innocent or does she have something to do with her daughter getting injured?
Zoe (a name given to her in hospital) is trying to piece her life back together and remember what happened, and the Police are assembling evidence. Who will get to the tipping point first?
Fast-paced, interesting plot, great character development and well worth reading.
The only bit that remains a mystery to me is the title of the book.
My father was not the most reliable man. Much like our Liam James who may go out to buy milk and see you in a week because the opportunity to go to the coast (ten hours away) came up between home and the buying of said milk. It sounded like a plan and off he went only to return in a few days, fresh as a daisy. I would have had Liam chipped if that was legal. My Mammie says my father was a Liam. No ocean too deep, no mountain too high.
A car accident took the life of a 30-year-old, white male at 19h00 on 14 December 1984 – my father.
My eleven-year-old self did not believe my father actually died. An assortment of visitors began arriving. Non-stop people. He was clearly loved. So many tears. In my mind, my father may disappear for a while, but he always comes back! It never felt him not being there was something to forgive. My dear Mammie never hinted at anything negative about his behaviour or him as a man and neither did my Oupa Mike and Ouma Chrissie who raised me. If the love of Christ was people, they were my Grandparents. Nothing was too much to forgive.
Leading up to the funeral on 19 December 1984, a lot happened. It was very confusing. My Mammie was broken in a million little pieces. I had rarely seen her without model makeup so when I was faced with her white, ghost-like, gaunt appearance, it made a huge impression on me.
At some point, we had to go and buy clothes for my sister and me for the funeral. It was not a time to push your likes and dislikes. I guess my Mammie chose my dress. It was white with small purple flowers around the front. I had not developed my love for purple as yet but it seems fitting. Apparently purple was a suitable funeral colour. I know it had a bow around the waist. It was a fine dress, however, it was my reasoning that it was a funeral dress. The dress I would wear to my fathers funeral. Never to be worn again.
There is great detail in my mind regarding the day they buried my father. I don’t want to go into that today, except to say that I was stung by a bee…. and I hated all the fake flower arrangements in those domes. I’m sure the people gave them in love, I remember thinking my father can already not breathe and now you cover him with flowers that can’t breathe either. It was like toilet covers in the Afrikaans community I grew up in. Uncomfortable and bloody unnecessary.
Fresh from the platteland, a few months later I was now living in the City with my Mammie and my sister. There was an occasion for which I needed a dress. I remember my dear Mammie telling me to just wear the white one. For most of my life, I had only seen my Mammie on weekends so I was quite weary. That lady takes no prisoners. Except, there was no way I would wear that funeral dress again. I don’t remember what happened but I never saw the white dress with the purple detail around the front again.
Today, I adore my Mammie. Having been a single Mom, I too, take no prisoners. You did good Mammie. So good. I love you so very much. My gratitude and respect are unending.
I’m 46 years old now. I am still waiting for my father to come back. He remains dead.
After setting up a bit of a “help me out” poll on my personal Facebook as to my next Liza Clifford Bra Fitting Expert purchase, I had to share some of my #PerfectFit journey with you. Thank you to everyone who got so involved and given me your opinions!
Liza Clifford started her business in 2011. She is passionate about fitting clients with the best possible bra size in a product of the highest quality available. The company now has fitting rooms in Pretoria, Johannesburg and Durban with travelling mobile studios extending their services all over our beautiful country. Ladies of all ages are fitted by appointment without interruptions. My fitting was done by Cwayita at their Illovo Studio in Johannesburg. What a blessing she was.
I want to confess something.
The night before I was due to go for my fitting my bipolar self whispered to me. “These kind of nice things are not for people like us”. Honest truth. I did not feel worthy. I did not feel enough. I almost cancelled my appointment. My husband, @SirNoid encouraged me to breathe … and step into the light.
Fitting for a perfect bra is so much more than a tape measure. Cwayita listened to my every concern. Every size breast comes with its own concerns, questions. Your consultant listens to your every question. I found Cwayita very well informed and taught me so much about support, what makes a bra right for me and how the perfect fit would make all the difference. Lift and fit!
Cwayita had me try on a sports bra. I’m a plus-size woman who put on a sports bra that fitted me in such a way that I could literally jump and my breasts did not knock me out. Okay, that is a bit of a joke and usually my line as to why I do not Bungy jump. 🙂 I have never felt that level of breast support and I was sold.
I adore pretty matching underwear but find it hard to find something that makes me feel super sexy. Plus size woman have not had a great deal of options in pretty clothing or fabulous underwear. It just so happened that Hayley Joy Shop and Lizza Clifford blessed my life in a matter of weeks. A million bucks of blessings are being rained upon me!! An attitude of gratitude.
A fitting is R350. Worth every cent. This amount is deducted from your first purchase. Once you have decided upon your items, you pay a 25% deposit which books your order as your purchase is being imported. You get a month or two to save up before your order arrives.
Personally, I think you need three bras. One you are wearing, one in the wash and one in the cupboard. If you are working out, I would ideally like to have two sports bras because I sweat. Which is kinda the idea with working out! Not a lipstick activity.
If you are really blessed, there is a fabulous voucher option which hopefully everyone who loves you will use at once!
1. I love watching Queer Eye🥂. I cry at the end of almost every episode. I’ve learned about the French tuck, the crisscross of walking in heels (with a touch of bend and snap 😊), and if you open your heart and mind… there are circles of love everywhere.
. Continue reading “5 (more) things about me”→