Life Swap by Carol Wyer

She wanted a new life and true love. Be careful what you wish for ...  Handsome prince, beautiful house, fabulous job? Polly has none of these. All she has to her name is a string of failed relationships and she’s up to her ears in debt. She sees herself as a hopeless case and would do anything to change her luck. 
Simon is approaching the big 50. He’s off his game at work, his kids don’t seem to notice he exists and his wife seems to think he’s made of money. As for sex …what’s that? 
So when the opportunity comes for both of them to swap their lives for a life of luxury, they jump at the chance. For Simon a life of helicopters, fast cars and hot babes beckons. For Polly, it’s all diamonds, spa days and celebrity parties. Now all that's missing from her life is a bit of romance. Can handsome stranger Matt step up? 
Trouble is, the grass isn’t always greener on the other side. Can the life you've always dreamed of get in the way of true love? 
A witty, heart warming read, perfect for fans of Debbie Johnson and Carole Matthews. 

Simon Green was drowning in a large vat of fluffy white marshmallows. He flailed beneath the killer’s powerful hands, which were forcing him deeper into the gooey, vanilla depths, each marshmallow stifling his ragged breaths and blocking his respiratory passages. Some primeval instinct warned him this was no dream. He came to in an instant, heart thudding, aware he could neither open his eyes nor breathe. Simon attempted to thrash his head from side to side to no avail. He was pinned down by a leaden weight. One word sprang to mind: Ivan. Now fully conscious, Simon scrabbled to grip his attacker by the neck then tugged with all his strength. He felt a cool draught on his cheeks and gulped in a lungful of air, still clinging on to his assailant. The enormous tabby cat stared back defiantly, irritation visible in its chartreuse eyes. It was the second time in a week the damn cat had cut off his air supply while he was asleep. Was it trying to bump him off? Simon considered launching the animal through the bedroom window. Ivan hissed and instinctively unsheathed his claws.
‘Is that my little precious bundle?’ mumbled a voice from beside Simon. On cue, the cat withdrew its claws and let out a pitiful meow.
‘Simon,’ said his wife, Veronica, in a sharp tone. ‘What are you doing? Put Ivan down at once!’ Then in a grating little girl voice she continued, ‘Come to Mummy, Ivan. Daddy was going to try and push my furry baby off the bed, wasn’t he? Naughty Daddy. Ignore him. He’s just a big bad-tempered bully because he drank too much last night.’
Simon released the hefty animal. Ivan fell onto the bed with a whoomp. Veronica’s plump arm emerged from under the duvet. She extended her hand towards Ivan and waggled her pasty fingers. Simon removed the cat fur from between his teeth and checked the clock display – it was only six o’clock. Wretched animal. He huffed in irritation then attempted to snuggle down under the duvet. The cat, now on its back basking in its mistress’s attention, surveyed him with disdain; a sneer almost visible on its face. Veronica cooed at Ivan. The Machiavellian moggy had taken a recent dislike to Simon – a feeling that was reciprocated. It had either taken offence because a few days earlier Simon had booted it from his favourite chair, or it felt some weird rivalry over Veronica. As far as Simon was concerned, Ivan was welcome to her. She was nothing but a right old nag.
‘Poor baby,’ continued Veronica in her irritating voice. ‘You’re pining for Georgie, aren’t you?’
Simon glowered at the pampered cat. It did not look too dismayed by the absence of its sulky mistress, their teenage daughter. Simon was not missing her or the sullen strops and general bad temper that Georgina now displayed. Whatever had happened to his little princess? Only last year, when she was a content twelve-year-old, they had been the best of friends. He had always been close to Georgie. They shared the same silly sense of humour and would often sit together on the sofa watching Lee Evans or Harry Hill, snorting with laughter while Veronica surveyed them with a po-faced expression. These days his daughter either ignored him or snapped at him almost as much as Veronica. Maybe she would be in a better mood when she returned from her trip. On reflection, that was as likely as him winning the EuroMillions lottery. He sighed, heaved himself from the bed and pulled on his tortoiseshell-framed glasses. The room swam into clearer vision.
‘Tea, dear?’ he asked as he did every morning. Veronica made some non-committal noise. Simon shrugged on his dressing gown. The cat stretched languorously, filling the space he had vacated.
‘Don’t forget to fix Georgie’s wardrobe door before she gets back,’ said Veronica, turning over onto her side.
‘I still don’t see why the school decided to take them to China,’ he complained, pushing his feet into his slippers and noting that the sole on one was coming adrift. He examined them. The tops appeared to have been chewed. Bloody cat! He scowled at Ivan. ‘When I was her age we considered ourselves fortunate if we went on the annual day trip to Boulogne.’
‘Not again, Simon,’ mumbled Veronica. ‘It’s cultural for heaven’s sake. Think of all the marvels she’s visiting and experiences she’s having. It’ll open her eyes to the world.’
‘Opened my wallet, more like – eight hundred pounds. Jesus! We can’t even afford a week in Bognor.’ He stopped ranting. Veronica had opened one eye and was giving him that look.
‘Shut up, Simon. You’re a miserable old skinflint. You couldn’t refuse to send her. She’d have been the only one in the school year not to go. It’ll do her good and after all, we should make sacrifices for our kids. That’s what parents do. You’re in a bad mood – probably thanks to that second bottle of wine. I told you not to open it. Go and get a coffee and cheer up, for goodness sake. Georgie will be back at the weekend. Try and have the wardrobe mended by then.’
‘Yes, dear.’ Simon had learned a long time ago that the best way to handle Veronica was to do as she said. If crossed, Veronica could make life very difficult. He recalled one particular occasion he had annoyed her – March 3rd 2005 – when she lost it big time and threw his prized collection of classic car magazines into the recycling bin, screamed obscenities at him while he was getting changed from work, then pushed him outside the back door and locked him out of the house. Wearing only underpants and socks, he had spent the night in his shed sitting on an old uncomfortable deck chair under a smelly blanket. The fumes from his lawnmower had given him the headache of all headaches that was compounded when he was finally allowed back into the house and was treated to more yelling. In the following ten years, he had never forgotten another wedding anniversary.
In his defence, he had been under a lot of pressure at the time. He had been trying to get the title of ‘salesman of the month’ to win the extra thousand pounds he desperately needed to help pay the mortgage and all the bills that had racked up thanks to moving to a larger house – a house that Veronica had insisted on buying. ‘It’s in a gorgeous village, Simon. It’s so picturesque there, Simon. It has a wonderful village school nearby – perfect for the children. There’s even a pub up the road, Simon. I know it’s a bit out of our price range but I love it. Let’s buy it, Simon. Please!’ Funny: the pressure had never let up since.

Carol E. Wyer is a writer, blogger and stand up comedian best known for her work in humour. Grumpy Old Menopause won the People’s Book Prize Award for non-fiction in 2015. Her best-selling books deal with themes of ageing and encourage people to carpe diem.

Born in Munster, Germany, to a military family, she was raised in various locations in the UK, Carol earned a degree in English and French and a Certificate of Education from the University of Keele. After completing her studies she moved to Casablanca to teach English and French and translate for companies. In 1986 she returned to the UK to teach at a private boarding school in Staffordshire before setting up her own language company Language 2000 in 1988. At the same time she wrote a collection of educational books used in schools to teach French to young children. She married the man she refers only to as “Mr Grumpy” in 1988. In 1997 thanks to recurring problems with her spine, she retrained to become a personal trainer and fitness instructor.

In 2010 she turned to writing for the adult market. Her first novel Mini Skirts and Laughter Lines was self-published but became a best-seller earning her a feature in Woman’s Own magazine and further media coverage. The rights to Mini Skirts and Laughter Lines along with her second novel Surfing in Stilettos were then taken up by ThornBerry Publishing. Carol was offered a three-book deal with Safkhet Publishing late in 2011 who went on to represent all her works. In 2015 it was announced Carol had signed a two-book deal with publishing house Bookouture for two humorous novels to be released in 2016.

Amazon UK Author Page :
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Member of Romantic Novelists Association:
BBC Interview
New Talent Comedy Award
People’s Book Prize Award

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