This week I am delighted to have a slice of cake with author Pernille Hughes.
Pernille lives in Buckinghamshire, England and while the kids are at school she scoffs cake and writes stories in order to maintain a shred of sanity.
What kind of books do you write?
I write funny kissing books, with modern, capable women who have lost their way or not caught a break. I believe love and laughter go hand in hand, so that’s what I write.
Can you describe your writing why?
Since I was a small child I’ve always made up conversations in my head. And they need to come out! I had four children in a short space of time, and I took an online writing course while they slept in order to keep my brain from shrinking. Once I’d worked out that women’s fiction was where my writing voice lay, I finally had a place for all that mental dialogue to spill out. My stories are very much based on people conversing, sparring and reconciling.
Share with us your favourite passage from the book you enjoyed writing the most
My second book Probably the Best Kiss in the World, was a dream to write. It was inspired by a trip to Copenhagen with my husband where we spent a day visiting all the micro-breweries in the city and walking along the houseboat-lined canals. It struck me that I’d like to write a book about a heroine who wants to be a brewster and a love-interest who lives in a houseboat. And hey-presto!
Surveying the little GoBoat in front of them, Jen wasn’t convinced. It was like a blue plastic bath toy, except grown-up sized, with a solar-cell motor and a picnic table bang in the middle. She’d seen groups pootling along the canals in these, all having a cheery time with their food and drinks in the sunshine. Seeing other people in them was one thing, actually venturing out in one herself was another thing entirely.
Thankfully, Max was up for driving it. She’d once spent a school trip on a narrow-boat and could at least steer the thing. Meanwhile, Alice and Lydia gleefully unloaded the bags, and suddenly their table was adorned with snacks and beers. Trying a bottle of Mikkeller, Jen was touched they’d sought out local indie beers. They knew her so well, and all of a sudden she realised the joy of a hen-do. It was time away with the women most precious to you, who knew you best and who had your happiness at heart. She swallowed the lump in her throat and whacked her sunglasses over her eyes so the others would be none the wiser.
Their boat was launched from the jetty by a baby-faced attendant and they commenced their route into the canals. Begrudgingly, Jen conceded this was a fine way to see the city, puttering along between the old buildings with beers in hand, hooting and faking echoes as they passed under low bridges. Crossing the harbour got a bit choppy, but they’d necked a couple of bottles by then, so nobody panicked. Instead they cheerily waved at the tourists in the glass-topped tour boats, at the cyclists on the bike bridge and at the commuters on the yellow water buses. And there was singing. Any song they could remember with a water theme was mauled by their astonishing lack of musical talent.
Following the map, Max steered them into the calmer waters of the Christianshavn canal where tall colourfully-painted houses lined the streets on either side and boats of all kinds, from small yachts to hydrangea-laden houseboats, were moored.
“They modelled this part of the city on Amsterdam, you know,” Jen said, dreamily. The warmth of the day and the beer had sloughed the efficiency off Jen’s sightseeing needs. She was feeling quite idle now and more surprisingly, she was rather enjoying it.
“Who’s they?” asked Alice, who was leaning into Max, face to the sun.
“The King. Christian, I think, or Frederik.” She’d seen this on a BBC4 documentary. All Danish kings were alternately called one or the other since the 1500’s, which had struck her as rather tidy. “Duh,” she slapped herself on the forehead, “must have been a Christian, he named it after himself.” But annoyingly she couldn’t remember which one had established this gorgeous part of the city and in her tipsiness, it suddenly seemed imperative to know. She dug out her phone and started swiping to locate her Copenhagen app.
“Put the phone away, Jen,” Lydia murmured, “we can look it up when we get home. Just enjoy it.” She was laid back along the side of the boat, sun bathing. She seemed in a state of bliss.
“Won’t take a second,” Jen insisted.
“Seriously, Jen. It’ll keep.” Without opening her eyes, Lydia tried to swat the phone aside but misjudged both her aim and velocity. The phone flew from Jen’s hand into the canal. Heads from the surrounding homes and boats turned towards the ensuing squawking. Jen was instantly hanging over the side trying to reach the phone which currently floated on the surface but was beginning to take in water and start its descent into the murky depths. Jen saw her whole life descending before her.
“Nooooooooooo.”
Max thankfully cut the engine, but they were drifting nonetheless, necessitating Jen to stretch further than was comfortable as she willed her fingertips longer. This could not be happening.
Suddenly a small net appeared in her field of vision, deftly scooping the phone up. Thank god. Jen’s eyes followed the attached stick up to the deck of a long black barge moored to the quayside. On the deck, her eyes met with a pair of bare feet, travelled up the blond-haired legs to baggy navy cargo shorts, via the bare torso, to, wow, back to the torso because ripped, and then reluctantly further on to the face.
“Well, hello,” Jen heard Lydia say in a salacious tone entirely inappropriate to the urgency of the moment. “Hottie alert.”
Tell us about your latest project
My new book is called Ten Years. It’s an Enemies to Lovers story, spanning (you guessed it,) ten years, roaming from London to Snowdonia, Brighton to Cannes. It’s out on August 31st and available in ebook, audio and paperback.
The blurb looks like this;
They’re perfect for each other.
They just don’t know it yet.
Becca and Charlie have known each other for years – ever since they met at university.
And for every one of those years, they've bickered, argued, offended, mocked and generally rubbed each other up the wrong way.
Until now. Until Ally’s bucket list. The death of their loved one should mean Becca and Charlie can go their separate ways and not look back. But completing the list is something neither Charlie nor Becca can walk away from.
And sometimes, those who bring out the worst in you, also bring out the very best…
Over the course of ten years, Becca and Charlie’s paths collide as they deal with grief, love and life after Ally.
What is your favourite cake?
Ach noooooo, this is THE hardest question ever as I am such a fan of cake. Picking just one is nigh on impossible. My instant thought is to say anything with cinnamon (Denmark, where my parents are from, is very big on cinnamon cakes. If you’ve tried the Cinnamon Social from Ole & Steen’s bakeries, you’ll understand, but otherwise any cinnamon swirl will do). BUT I’m also a sucker for chocolate, so a Gateau Marcel, an Opera Cake, or a Sacher Torte would be a special treat. Oh and then there is buttercream, something with thick layers of buttercream, maybe a coffee walnut cake, mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…
You can connect with Pernille on her website www.pernillehughes.com and you can find her on Twitter @pernillehughes, on Instagram @Pernillehughes or on Facebook at her Pernille Hughes Author page. She is on Tiktok @pernillehughes but is too old to work it.
Join me next week when I will be having a slice of cake with Tony Logan.
If you would like to take part in A Slice of Cake With... please fill in the form found here. I'd be delighted to have you.
You can also support my writing endeavours and buy me tea & cake on Kofi - it's what makes the world go round!
Claire Buss is a multi-genre author and poet, completely addicted to cake. Find out more about her books on her website clairebuss.co.uk. Join the discussion in her Facebook group Buss's Book Stop. Never miss out on future posts by following me.
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