I loved reading this book and honestly couldn’t put it down. I started by reading the manuscript and had to buy the actual book. It is brilliantly written and has left me desperately wanting more. I am so eager to get my hot little hands on book 2; I’m constantly anticipating what will happen next. Please Sarah, put me out of my misery and publish Book 2. Thank you.

Andrea Nicole

Paperback Reviewer

I thoroughly enjoyed this book – it kept me guessing with the various twists in the story line. I cannot wait for the second book

KC

Amazon Kindle Reviewer

I thoroughly enjoyed myself with The Last Angel and if anybody Is looking for an affordable Ebook, then I would recommend you go and grab yourself a copy before the second part of trilogy is released and you have to pay catch up!

Robert Hall

Book Reviewer

Extract from The Last Angel: Book 1 in The Account Trilogy – a Novel by Sarah PJ White

Chapter 1

Crystal pulled her coat collar closer. The evening had turned cold and breezy. She was glad to be heading for the pub – and just as grateful for the warmth her red wool coat provided. Her mother had wanted to have a chat but, after the day Crystal had had, she needed a drink, a laugh, and time to let her hair down, before yet another dream-fuelled, unsettling night ensued. A few stray strands of black and red hair freed themselves from her beige scarf, whipping her across the face. She tucked them, rather pointlessly, behind her ear as she turned the corner into Turpin Street and again, as she crossed the road. She nodded at Father Javier as he passed her, before heading towards the end of the street.

She’d lived in Thatcham all her life and Father Javier had been a regular feature for the past two years, since he’d taken on the role of parish priest of St Barnabas Roman Catholic church and the pastoral care of the community. Thatcham was a pretty little town – quiet, with nothing much of interest ever happening. Its main claim to fame however, was its mention in the Guinness Book of Records as the oldest continually inhabited place in Britain. Its other saving grace was the Duke of Earl pub, where Crystal and her friends met on a regular basis.

As she neared the Duke of Earl, she spotted the small group of her friends to the side of the pub, huddled around the patio heater that had been thoughtfully provided for the smoking patrons.

‘Bloody weather,’ she could hear Amy grumbling. ‘Bloody smoking ban.’ Amy dragged on the remnants of her roll up, before angrily stamping on it with her purple, four-inch stiletto. ‘God, Crystal. I’m glad you’re finally here, I’m freezing my bloody tits off.’ Amy briefly hugged her friend, before turning on her heels and hurrying inside. Chris, Mark and Emily followed her  through the pine double doors. Amy, all wiggle and bouncy raven black hair, walked straight over to the bar and banged on the counter.

‘Oi, Russell. When you get a second?’

Russell, the barman, put down the cloth he was drying the glasses with and walked, grinning towards Amy.

‘All right Amy? Want the usual?’

Amy grinned back at him before nodding her head and leaning forward to give him a kiss and affectionately tousle his brown mop of hair.

‘You know you’re my favourite barman.’ She flashed him another show-stopping smile. ‘I love the fact you know exactly what I need to make me happy.’ Her eyes wandered to the guy walking past the bar.

‘Hi Justin.’ She flicked her hair behind her shoulders and jutted her chest out. The guy looked away and hurriedly walked past.

‘Someone you know?’ Russell asked as she turned back to face him.

‘Not anymore.’ Amy quickly replaced the hurt look on her face with a dazzling smile. ‘Do you know what will make me happy then?’

‘Yeah, vodka and cola… Unless you’ve changed your mind and wanna hook up with me?’ Russell flashed a hopeful look in Amy’s direction, before looking past her, assessing the rest of the group and continuing, ‘Let me make that two vodka and colas, one white wine and two pints of cider.’

Whilst Amy flirted with Russell and got the round in, the others wandered across the old, wooden floor to the corner booth. Crystal took off her coat and scarf, hanging them on the wall hooks behind the booth, hugged Chris and Mark and sat down next to blonde, angel-faced Emily. After they had all exchanged pleasantries, they agreed it had been a shit Tuesday and, with Amy being the rowdiest one of the group and still at the bar, they all lapsed into their own little worlds.

Crystal loved this pub. It was always well lit, warm and clean. She looked around at the other red leather seated booths. Obviously it was a quiet evening, as most of the booths were empty. A group of women were having a whispered conversation in the next booth, whilst a couple of men played pool in the corner to Crystal’s left.  The click of the cue against the pool balls was intermingled with Snow Patrol’s’ ‘Chasing Cars’ playing softly over the speaker system. Apart from this, the bar was quiet. She looked over the far side of the room, glancing past Amy at the bar and towards a scruffy middle-aged man in the opposite corner of the room. Their eyes met, ever so briefly, before Amy, returning with the drinks got in the way.  Crystal leant back so Amy could put the tray of drinks down on the table, before gratefully accepting her own vodka and cola.

After two more rounds of drinks, Amy had roused the group from their thoughts and woke everyone up. They had placed their money on the pool table, ready for when the men had finished their last game and began making unsubtle comments about Crystal getting the next round in. Five minutes later Crystal finished her drink and, deciding the others had waited long enough, got up and headed towards Russell.

The middle-aged man in the opposite corner of the bar was watching Crystal walk closer. He stood up, rather unsteadily and worked his way from his corner of the room, around the counter towards her, before collapsing exhausted on the nearest stool. Crystal cast a glance at him, whilst she waited to order the round of drinks.

He was early 40s, she guessed, with really dark blue, almost black eyes. She couldn’t help but notice them, as he was staring straight at her. He was also pissed as a fart – judging by how his body was swaying from left to right on the stool he was sat on, even with both of his army-boot clad feet on the ground. His tatty, long brown, oilskin jacket smelt like damp tent and was obviously much loved, as it had been repaired in places with bits of finger strip plasters. She wrinkled her nose in disdain. She wasn’t sure if it was his breath or his grubby black t-shirt and jeans that stank of Jack Daniels. Crystal broke eye contact and willed Russell to hurry up with the customer he was serving.

‘All right?’ the man slurred.

Oh crap, he’s talking to me, Crystal thought. She rubbed her arms as a slight breeze made her shiver, then gave him a half smile in acknowledgement, but stayed quiet.

‘Hey – are you alright?’ he asked again. He was persistent, she’d give him that.

‘Oi, I’m talking to you!’ Even his scruffy dirty-blond hair bounced back and forth with annoyance. He leant towards her, at an alarming angle, in danger of sliding off the stool and onto the floor.

Crystal gave in and replied.  ‘I’m fine thanks, you?’ She really didn’t want to talk to him, especially as he was obviously off his face and smelt as if he had bathed in his drink, but Russell was still caught up with the other person’s drinks order – and the drunk man was only going to get louder if she didn’t respond.

‘I’m good, nothing another J.D wouldn’t solve,’ he hinted, smiling unsubtly.

Oh God, Crystal thought, indignantly, I’m getting chatted up by a geriatric, pissed, stinky alcoholic.

‘I’ll get you another drink if you like, once the barman gets here – and if you’ll then leave me alone.’ She thought it was worth a shot, just to get rid of him. He didn’t respond.

Crystal watched as another group of people walked into the pub, straight up to the bar where Russell was stood. She felt the gentle breeze created by the closing bar door. Her shoulders drooped in despair as Russell began to take their drinks order. Bugger, if I’d been Amy he’d have noticed me stood here straight away, she thought despondently. She looked back at the booth. Her friends were all deep in conversation. Well, at least they’re not noticing how long it’s taking for me to get served, she thought, before looking back round again. Her eyes met with the eyes of the drunken man. He must have been quite handsome, once. He leant forward, beckoning her to come closer.

‘I want to tell you a secret.’

Oh God, she thought, I don’t think I wanna know. Crystal leant forward, if only to prevent him from sliding off his stool and onto the floor.

‘I want to tell you a secret,’ he repeated.

‘Ok, what’s this big secret?’

He was close now; exhaling alcohol-fuelled breath in her face. He leant close enough to whisper in her ear.

‘God didn’t create the world,’ he whispered. ‘People like us did.’

 

The Last Angel by Sarah PJ White

344 page fantasy & metaphysical visionary fiction novel, available in both paperback and electronic formats, from the following outlets:

Other Books by Sarah PJ White

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