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One Moment, One Morning

One Moment, One Morning

3.5 26
by Sarah Rayner

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The Brighton to London line. The 7:44 am train. Cars packed with commuters. One woman occupies her time observing the people around her. Opposite, a girl puts on her make-up. Across the aisle, a husband strokes his wife's hand. Further along, another woman flicks through a glossy magazine. Then, abruptly, everything changes: a man collapses, the train is


The Brighton to London line. The 7:44 am train. Cars packed with commuters. One woman occupies her time observing the people around her. Opposite, a girl puts on her make-up. Across the aisle, a husband strokes his wife's hand. Further along, another woman flicks through a glossy magazine. Then, abruptly, everything changes: a man collapses, the train is stopped, and an ambulance is called.
For at least three passengers on the 7:44 on that particular morning, life will never be the same again. There's Lou, in an adjacent seat, who witnesses events first hand. Anna, who's sitting further up the train, impatient to get to work. And Karen, the man's wife.
Telling the story of the week following that fateful train journey, One Moment, One Morning is a stunning novel about love and loss, about family and – above all– friendship. A stark reminder that, sometimes, one moment is all it takes to shatter everything. Yet it also reminds us that somehow, despite it all, life can and does go on.

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
A man’s sudden death touches off seismic shifts in the lives of three women, wife-turned-widow Karen, neighbor Anna, and teacher—and closeted lesbian—Lou, in this affecting weeper about friendship and family. Rayner (Getting Even) takes a random tragedy on a morning commuter train from Brighton to London and parses it over the hours of six days plucked from half a year, dissecting the women’s emotional unraveling and eventual rebirth as stronger mothers, lovers, friends. The aching loss heaped swiftly upon Karen and her two young children, Molly and Luke, is reason enough to cry, but their search for solace turns from maudlin and mundane to insightful and fresh thanks in part to the pleasing retrospective flashbacks of this family’s life. “It’s his failings that made him who he was,” Karen confesses in her plaintive eulogy. And while Karen rebuilds her fractured family, best friend Anna contemplates the end of an abusive relationship with a charming drunk, and Lou finally trusts her heart enough to come out to a family she vastly underestimates. Rayner sets up a tricky emotional minefield for these vulnerable women, but deftly guides them to a place of power and truth. (Jan.)
From the Publisher

“Oh, what a novel ! It will make you laugh and cry, it will make you want to call your dear ones to tell them how much you love them, it will make you buy it for all your friends. When you get to the end, Anna, Lou and Karen will feel like they are your soul sisters. ” —Tatiana de Rosnay, author of A Secret Kept and Sarah's Key

“Shocking, gripping, and beautifully rendered. I found it impossible to put down!” —Beth Harbison, author of Always Something There To Remind Me

“A moving account of what happens to three women in one week when a man dies on a Brighton to London commuter train. Very impressive.” —Bookseller (UK)

“Carried along by the momentum of a suspense-filled yet touching story that drives to the core of human emotion, this book is a real page-turner, exploring the harrowing pain of loss and grief, family secrets and how a tragic event can force you to be honest about who you really are. You'll want to inhale it in one breath.” —Easy Living (UK)

“Rayner is a swift, efficient plotter, nudging her characters towards the light of congruence and self-reliance. Her Brighton is carefully and affectionately mapped, and her account of the gruelling rituals a death involves is deftly done.” —The London Times Literary Supplement

Library Journal
One Monday morning a man dies suddenly on a commuter train from Brighton to London, and the lives of three passengers are changed forever. Traveling with the man are his wife, Karen; Lou, a stranger who observes his death; and Karen's best friend, Anna, in another car. Anna and Lou are thrown together by chance as they share a taxi to try to make it to their jobs on time. The three women find their lives intertwining as they give one another the strength to make their way through grief and find the courage to deal honestly with personal issues they had been avoiding. VERDICT Rayner's (The Other Half; Getting Even) well-written third novel, which sold over 200,000 copies in Britain, will draw in readers with its dramatic opening and keep them engaged in its fully fleshed-out characters as the story progresses. Fans of women's fiction dealing with friendship and overcoming loss will appreciate discovering a new author.—Karen Core, Detroit P.L.
Kirkus Reviews
The lives of three women are altered when a man dies on a commuter train. Lou is paying little attention to the people around her; after all, she makes the trip from Brighton to London every morning. But then suddenly the man across from her is having a heart attack. His wife Karen is begging for help, but it's too late. Everyone is asked to exit the train, and Lou shares a cab the rest of the way to London with fellow traveler Anna. The two strangers commiserate over the tragic event when Anna's cell rings--it's her best friend Karen, in shock at the sudden death of her husband Simon on that very same train. Anna returns to Brighton to comfort Karen as Lou goes to work as a youth counselor. The novel spans the ensuing week, as Karen prepares for Simon's funeral and Anna and Lou, in their own ways, reevaluate their lives with this ever-so-sharp reminder of their mortality. Anna is a successful copywriter, but her home life is a mess--boyfriend Steve is a mean drunk, but she can't imagine life without him. Lou lives a happy lesbian life in gay-friendly Brighton, but she hasn't come out to her overbearing mum, and the secret is killing her. Meanwhile, Karen and her two young children are barely coping now that their family is broken. Anna supports Karen, and Lou with her counseling experience is there for them both. The novel's strength--facing head-on the minutia of coping with a death--is also one of its failings when it occasionally reads like a self-help book. Sitting with the body in hospital, explaining to children about saying goodbye, how to reach out to friends and banish guilt--a week's worth of it gets a bit too much. Nevertheless, Rayner never shies away from her character's misery and ineptitude in dealing with the worst, offering a welcome dose of reality in the literature of female bonding. Affectionately drawn characters lift a morose topic into a companionable light.

Product Details

St. Martin's Press
Publication date:
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Product dimensions:
5.40(w) x 8.10(h) x 1.30(d)

Read an Excerpt

One Moment, One Morning

By Sarah Rayner

St. Martin's Griffin

Copyright © 2011 Sarah Rayner
All right reserved.

ISBN: 9781250000194


Lou is pretending to be asleep, but out of the corner of her eye she is watching the woman opposite put on her makeup. She always finds it fascinating, watching other women do this, constructing themselves, on the train. Lou never wears make-up, really, other than for very special occasions, and although she can understand it saves time, she finds it odd – choosing to make the transformation from private to public persona whilst commuting. It takes away the mystery, covering the blemishes, thickening the lashes, widening the eyes, plumping the cheeks, surrounded by people. And on the seven forty-four to Victoria, Lou is surrounded by people: most of them silent; many of them asleep, or at least dozing; some of them reading, and a few, a minority, chatting.

The woman on the seat adjacent to her, separated by the aisle, is one such person. Lou has her iPod on, softly, so she can’t hear what she is saying, although from the tilt of the woman’s head, it’s clear she is talking to a man to her right. Lou shifts in her seat, adjusts her parka hood, damp

from a cycle ride through drizzle to the station, so as to view them better round the fur lining. They are married. Matching rings, circling fingers circling cardboard coffee cups, betray this. The woman, Lou decides, is around forty.

Lou can’t observe her full on, but she appears to have the sort of face Lou likes. Her profile is interesting, attractive, if with faint traces of a jowl; her hair a thick curtain of chestnut brown. From what Lou can see of him, her husband is not quite as good looking; he is heavyset, greying – Lou reckons he is ten years his wife’s senior, maybe more – but his face is kind. There is a gentleness in his expression and the lines around his mouth, deep crevices, suggest he likes

to laugh. The woman leans affectionately against his shoulder. Before him is a thick paperback, the latest best-seller, but he’s not reading it; instead he strokes her hand, slowly, softly. Lou has a small pang of jealousy. She envies their tenderness and the way they show it without a second


The train pulls into Burgess Hill. It is pouring now, and weary commuters shake and close their umbrellas as they board. There is the sharp blow of a whistle to hurry them, and as the doors slide shut, Lou returns her gaze to the young woman opposite. Now she has finished applying shadow to her eyes, they have more emphasis: it is as if her whole face has acquired definition, an edge. Except the lips, still pale, appear bereft. Lou thinks she looked just as good without make-up: sweeter somehow, more vulnerable. Either way, though, she is pretty. And her hair, a mass of Fusilli blonde curls, is so ebullient, so springy, so different in texture from her own spiked and mousy crop, that Lou wants to reach out and touch it.

Lou watches as the young woman turns attention to her lips. Suddenly, the young woman stops, Cupid’s bow comically half pinked in, like an unfinished china doll. Lou follows her gaze back to the couple; the man has unexpectedly, embarrassingly, vomited. All down his jacket, his shirt, his

tie, there’s a stream of frothy, phlegmy milk, and bits of halfdigested croissant, like baby’s sick.

Lou unhooks one earphone, surreptitiously.

‘Oh, Lord!’ the woman is saying, frantically wiping the mess with the too-small napkin that’s come with her coffee. To no avail: with an infant gurgle, the man pukes again. This time it goes all over his wife’s wrist, splashes her chiffon blouse; even, horror, lands in the curtain of her hair.

‘I don’t know—’ he says, gasping, and Lou sees he is sweating, profusely, repugnantly, not normally at all. Then he adds, ‘I’m sorry . . .’

Lou is just thinking she knows what it is – the man is clutching his chest now – and she sits bolt upright, any pretence of discretion gone, when, boof! A thud and he lands, face down, on the table. And then he is still. Utterly still. For a few seconds – or so it seems – no one does anything. Lou simply watches his spilt coffee, follows the beige trail, drip drip drip, along the window ledge, down the side of the cream Formica table and onto the floor. Outside, rain-drenched trees and fields still whoosh by.

Then, pandemonium.

‘Simon! Simon!’ His wife has jumped up, is shouting.

Simon does not respond.

As his spouse shakes him, Lou catches a glimpse of his face, mouth open, sick still damp on his cheek, before he falls back, head lolling. She is sure she recognizes him; she’s seen him on this train before.

‘Jesus!’ says a disgruntled man opposite, shaking out his copy of the Telegraph. ‘What the devil’s wrong with him? He drunk or something?’ He harrumphs, judgement plain.

It’s as though his disapproval galvanizes Lou. ‘He’s having a heart attack, for fuck’s sake!’ She leaps to her feet, ancient Health & Safety training, Girl Guide badges, episodes of ER, all coming back in a rush. ‘Call the guard, somebody!’

Another man, young, scruffy, goatee-bearded, next to the woman who has been putting on her make-up, flings down his plastic bag, gets to his feet. ‘Which way?’ he asks Lou, as if she knows everything.

‘Middle carriage!’ cries the wife.

The young man looks unsure.

‘That way,’ says Lou, pointing to the front end of the train, and off he runs.

* * *

Three carriages along, Anna is treating herself to her favorite glossy magazine. In two stops she has devoured the lead article about a pop princess in rehab, and now she’s onto the ‘Most Wanted’ section, where she spies a jacket she hopes might suit her, from a chain store, new in for spring, very reasonably priced. She is just folding over the page as a reminder to check it out in her lunch hour when a young man with a goatee knocks her elbow as he rushes past.

‘Thanks,’ she mutters sarcastically. Annoying Brighton hippies, she thinks.

A few seconds later he returns at speed, the guard following closely. She reassesses the situation – both look anxious.

Perhaps something is up.

Then the driver’s voice can be heard over the speakers: ‘Are there any doctors or nurses aboard? If so, please contact the guard in carriage E.’

How will people know where carriage E is? Anna thinks.

But apparently they do know – barely ten seconds later two women charge past her, handbags flying behind. Anna raises her eyebrows at the passengers opposite. Such consternation is a rarity on the seven forty-four, where there is an unspoken rule of quietness and consideration. It is a bit alarming.

Shortly, the train pulls into Wivelsfield. Why are we stopping here? Anna worries. We normally speed straight through. She hopes it is just a signal, but fears it is something more sinister. Five minutes later, her disquiet has grown, and she is not alone: all about her people are getting impatient and shifting restlessly in their seats. Anna needs the train to be on time if she is not to be late for the office. She works freelance, and although she is on a long-term contract, her

employers are pedantic about timekeeping. They run a tight ship, and the boss has been known to wait scowling in reception, checking for tardy arrivals.

There is a ‘fuff fuff ’ of exhaling air into a microphone and another announcement: ‘I’m sorry but a passenger has been taken seriously ill on board. We’re going to be here for a few minutes while we wait for an ambulance.’

Her heart sinks and she thinks, why can’t they take whoever it is off the train and wait for an ambulance there? Then she berates herself for being uncharitable: one glance at the rain-soaked platform answers her question. It is February, chilly.

She is too distracted to read, so looks out of the window, watching the rain hit grey paving and gathering in pools where the surface is uneven. Wivelsfield, she thinks, where the hell is that? It is not somewhere she has ever visited; she has only been through it on the train.

Ten minutes turn to fifteen, twenty, with no further announcement. By this time, people are texting on their mobiles, or calling strings of unidentifiable numbers, most with voices low. Some, less neighborly, loudly state their lack of sympathy – ‘Not sure what’s wrong, someone taken "ill", apparently, probably a bloody drug addict . . .’ – whilst others seem to enjoy the opportunity to convey a sense of their own importance – ‘Sorry, Jane, Ian here, going to be late for the Board. Get them to hold off, will you, till I get there?’ and so on.

Then, at last, Anna sees three figures in Day-Glo anoraks rushing past the window, guiding a stretcher. Thank heavens: shouldn’t be long now.

She keeps her eyes fixed on the platform, expecting to see the stretcher returning with a body strapped to it, pushed at speed. But instead the tired concrete wall just stares back at her, the rain keeps falling, filling the hollows of the yellow ‘Mind the Gap’ warnings with more water.

Finally, a tap, a splutter, then: ‘I apologize again, ladies and gentlemen, it looks as if we’re going to be here for an unforeseeable duration. We’re unable to move the passenger. If I could just ask you to be patient, we’ll let you know as soon as we have news.’

There is a collective sigh, more shuffling.

How annoying, thinks Anna before she can stop herself, then, more benignly: how very odd. She certainly doesn’t buy the drug addict theory – Brighton’s smack-heads are hardly known for catching the morning commuter train, for goodness’ sake. So obviously someone is genuinely ill. Yet she is worried about her boss, her colleagues; she has heaps on that day. Her thoughts – a tangle of self-interest and altruism – seem in sync with the passengers opposite: frowns mixing exasperation and concern.

‘Why can’t they be moved?’ says the man opposite eventually, breaking taboo by speaking to strangers on the train. He is tall, bespectacled, with closely shaven hair and an immaculately starched collar, a Norman Rockwell painting made manifest.

‘Perhaps whoever it is has got a spinal injury,’ says the passenger next to him, an apple-shaped elderly woman. The way she adjusts her posture to create space between the two of them as she speaks suggests she’s not traveling with him. ‘They wouldn’t be able to move the neck.’

He nods. ‘Possibly.’

Anna is not so sure. ‘Bit strange, though: how would you get a spinal injury on a train?’

‘Perhaps someone’s died.’ Anna turns, sees a young girl next to her. Lank black hair, facial piercings. Gothic.

‘Ooh, goodness, no,’ gasps the elderly woman, worried. ‘Surely not?’

‘Could be,’ agrees Norman Rockwell. ‘Would explain why we have to stay here. They’ll have to get the police.’

‘Certify death,’ says the Goth.

Suddenly Anna’s magazine doesn’t seem quite the same. It usually provides her weekly fix of fun, fashion, style and gossip; she knows it’s shallow but reckons she deserves it, and anyway, it covers wider issues too. Then, as if to mirror her thoughts, she turns the page and sees just such an article: a picture of a young Afghan woman, whose body has been horrifically scarred by burns.

Anna shudders.

* * *

For Lou the sight of passengers ducking their heads as two men hoist a stretcher up and over the seats is almost farcical. The stretcher is an awkward shape, even with the crossbar and wheels removed – bigger than any suitcase – and the whole experience seems unreal, filmic, or, more precisely, like an episode of a television drama. Only TV you can turn off, whereas here she’s forced to watch – how can she not, with it all happening inches away?

For the last ten minutes, two young women – nurses, apparently on their way to work at a hospital in Haywards Heath – have been trying to resuscitate the man, with increasing desperation. They have checked if he is breathing, felt for a pulse in his neck and then, with the help of the guard, pulled him onto the floor so as to get him horizontal. All this right by Lou’s feet, before she had time to move, so she has been pinned in, witnessing the horror unfurl. They’ve taken it in turns, one nurse pumping pumping pumping with her palms flat on his chest, the movements so deliberate and assertive as to seem vicious, while the other has been breathing into his mouth, perhaps every thirty pumps or so. When the nurse pumping has tired, they’ve swapped over.

Through it all, the man’s wife stands in the aisle, helpless. She is utterly silent, her attention flipping from one nurse to the other and back to her husband, her face contorted with worry.

It all happens so fast in the end. The paramedics arrive, the nurse at his mouth stops, looks up and shakes her head– a tiny gesture but significant. No joy.

The paramedics manage to tilt the stretcher sideways, slide him onto it and swiftly propel him to the much wider space by the train doors. The few passengers standing there shift hurriedly to create room. Lou sees oxygen, a defibrillator, drugs – an injection – there’s a cry of ‘Stand clear!’ and they

shock him.


And again.



Still nothing.

Everyone in the train carriage is transfixed. It is not just morbid fascination – it is an inability to comprehend what is happening, shock. What are they going to do? But the guard misinterprets the slack jaws, the wide eyes – whether out of sympathy for the man and his wife or a desire to take control, it doesn’t really matter – the upshot is the same. He barks an order, loud enough for everybody to hear: ‘Can you all please leave the carriage at once.’

So Lou gathers up her things – her mobile, her iPod, her rucksack – in many ways thankful to be given permission to move. On the adjacent table the man’s book remains; not that he will need it, now. Lou zips her coat, pulls up the hood and heads out of the doors into the rain.

Another announcement follows, this time a request over the speaker system that all passengers disembark from the train, and soon Lou is surrounded by people, mystified, looking in confusion for the exit at a station they do not know.

* * *

Anna has to fight to create the space to raise her umbrella. The platform is heaving, but she is damned if she’s going to get her hair wet as well as everything else – she hates it when it goes even slightly wavy, which it will if she is not careful. Today it would be especially galling as she got up

early, whilst it was still pitch black outside, to wash and blow-dry it for a meeting. Thankfully, Anna is tall and her umbrella has one of those automatic buttons that makes it open with an efficient ‘poof!’ She raises it safely above the throng and bingo, she is sheltered from the worst.

Next to her is the rotund elderly woman and inching along just in front is Norman Rockwell.

‘What the devil are we supposed to do now?’ he asks.

‘They’ll lay on buses,’ says the elderly woman.

Anna doesn’t know how the woman knows – it is not as if this sort of thing happens every day – but takes her word for it. ‘Where on earth will they get enough buses for everyone?’ Her mind is only just catching up with events.

‘I guess they’ll have to bring them from Brighton,’ says Norman.

‘Fuck that,’ says a fourth voice – it is the Goth girl, wedged behind Anna. ‘They’ll be hours. I give up. I’m going home.’

I can’t, thinks Anna. If only she could. But she has clients coming in for a presentation, plus if she doesn’t make it into the office, she simply doesn’t get paid, and she is the main breadwinner.

Regardless of whether they are heading for the buses or back to Brighton, they all have to shuffle the same way. The exit and the opposite platform are beyond the covered area of the platform with its worn walls and peeling advertisements, down some steps at the far end of the station. Shoulders jostle and elbows nudge – some people insist on talking and texting on their mobiles, which only slows matters further, so it seems to take an age before they are down the stairs, past the ticket office, and outside.

Here Anna pauses for a moment to take stock. It is an incongruous sight – several hundred people in so small a space. The place is tiny – there is not even a proper station building, just a little ticket office halfway down the stairs. Although there are probably a thousand stations like it up and down the country, it is hardly designed for the mass exodus of all bar two of the passengers from a packed ten-carriage commuter train. There is not even a proper car park.

And no bus stop that Anna can see, let alone any buses.


But at that very moment, with a swoosh through the puddles, a white Ford Mondeo pulls up and stops beside her. A taxi. For a brief moment, Anna thinks, impressed: blimey, someone’s ordered that, how organized, before she realizes that maybe no one has, that this is a station, albeit

a small one, so there might well be taxis anyway. The light on its roof is on; it is for hire. The crowd lurches forward – competition is fierce. But the back passenger door is right at her side – it is now or never. She opens it, leans in, and asks the driver: ‘Are you free?’

The opposite door opens simultaneously. She sees a furtrimmed hood, an anxious face. ‘Haywards Heath?’ asks the other woman.

‘I’m happy to share,’ suggests Anna.

‘Whatever,’ the taxi driver grunts in approbation. It’s all in a morning’s work for him. A fare is a fare.

Before he has time to renege on the offer, the two women get in.


Excerpted from One Moment, One Morning by Sarah Rayner Copyright © 2011 by Sarah Rayner. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

Sarah Rayner was born in London and now lives in Brighton with her partner. She worked for many years as an advertising copywriter, and now writes fiction full time.

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One Moment, One Morning 3.5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 26 reviews.
FeatheredQuillBookReviews More than 1 year ago
One Moment, One Morning tells the stories of how three women experience the aftermath of a sudden death: the wife of the deceased, her best friend, and a stranger who happens to witness the death. Through these stories Rayner examines the interconnectedness of people, how they influence each other’s lives, and how coincidence works to forge bonds between strangers. She demonstrates how love and friendship can help people to rise above circumstance, and how tragedy can bring out strength and character that people never knew they possessed. The novel begins as Lou witnesses a man having a heart attack on the 7:44 train from Brighton to London. She sees the tenderness in him during his last moments with his wife and then watches helplessly as others try and fail to revive him. Forced to exit the train before reaching London, she finds herself sharing a cab with Anna, another passenger. En route to London, Anna receives a phone call from her best friend Karen, and discovers that Karen’s husband Simon was the heart attack victim from the train. Anna hurries to join her friend at the hospital and takes Lou’s business card to settle the cab fare later. When Lou meets up with Anna again she finds herself drawn into Anna’s and Karen’s lives, helping them cope with the sudden tragedy. Simon’s death affects each woman’s life in different ways, and the narrative alternates between them to describe the events that follow: telling Karen’s children of their father’s death, the difficulties of organizing the burial arrangements, cooking for the wake, and attending the funeral. Karen’s memories of her life with Simon well up and illustrate how loving a relationship they had and the magnitude of the loss that she suffers. She struggles with guilt over Simon’s death, torturing herself with thoughts that she could have done more to prevent it. Anna does her best to help Karen, but has her own problems to face as she deals with her boyfriend’s drinking problem and the wild mood swings that accompany it. The difficulty of the situation illuminates what an unreliable and insufficient partner he is, and Anna is forced to make some hard decisions about their relationship. Meanwhile, Lou struggles with the complications of keeping her homosexuality a secret in her personal and professional lives. As she copes with witnessing Simon’s death on her own, she realizes the extent of her loneliness without a partner. The suddenness of his early death makes her realize that she must live her life genuinely so it will not be wasted. Ultimately the challenges they face unite the three women in deep friendship, and they have each other’s support as each of them, in their own way, must start a new life. One Moment, One Morning is a deeply emotional and thoughtful novel. It contains as much introspection as it does action, yet remains absorbing and moving from start to finish. Rayner has a unique voice and reveals the inner lives of her characters in a simple and genuine tone, winning the reader’s sympathy without overwrought sentimentality. Her depiction of ordinary people overcoming a crisis with strength, goodness, and integrity, despite their various shortcomings, offers a refreshing and inspiring vision of human nature that is good for the soul. Quill Says: One Moment, One Morning will give you a deeper appreciation for the loyal friends in your life and open you to the possibilities of the wonderful new people who could cross your path at any moment.
Sissy53 More than 1 year ago
I have read several of Sarah Rayner's and have enjoyed them all. I especially like the style of her writing.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I knew the subject matter was difficult but I was in tears by the 3rd chapter. I just couldn't go through with reading the rest. I have friends who did, however, and they liked the book.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This is a sweet book. It was perfect timing for me to read such a book about women examining their lives after a tragedy.
LinNC More than 1 year ago
Rayner captures the essence of friendship and the searing pain of loss. Although we often casually comment on how quickly life can change, it is rare to read a book that presents that shift so starkly and beautifully.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Loved her style of writing and how you followed the main characters for only a short ammount of time and got to know them so well. Sad though, teared up at moments.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I enjoyed meeting the characters in this novel and getting a glimpse of their lives. Sudden death is a tough subject, but the author dealt with the emotions involved delicately and created a family of characters I cared about and grieved with. Overall a very quick, engaging read.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
To me, this was a book about opportunities. Lost opportunities and ones you need to stop and pay attention to. It also shows how your life really does touch other lives that you just may not realize. The characters are flawed, which makes them real. I enjoyed this book tremendously, as it will be one I will read again...just to see what I missed.
quaintinns More than 1 year ago
Having read UK author, Sarah Rayner for the first time with her latest book, “The Other Half”, (I loved); wanted to read some of her earlier books – as the initial attraction to “One Moment, One Morning.” The title is true to its word, happened in one moment, one morning, a horrible tragedy, involving three women on a train to London when woman’s partner has a fatal heart attack and dies. Karen, the widow is left to deal with her loss and care for her young children. Anna (Karen’s best friend), is there to support her, and Lou (a witness) is not facing some facts about her own personal life. As with “The Other Half”, “One Moment, One Morning” does not disappoint, as the talented author has a way of reaching down to the heart to bring life and loss to her characters with emotion and sensitivity. She has a way of captivating her readers from the first page to the end. I highly recommend to any woman interested in loss, love, and friendship and being true to oneself. A strong theme to holding on to life, and no matter our loss, we can find the courage to move on through the support of friends and people who come into our lives through fate, at just the right time.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This was a good book, but there was too much jumping from one character to another, and place to place. Decided after about six chapters, I had enough! Putting the book to bed. Won't be reading anymore by this author.
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B-ME More than 1 year ago
In my opinion this is not a book I would recommend, just did not hold my attention. I was easily distracted, I could not connect with the characters and honestly I was not engaged in the storyline.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Nothing was outstanding bur ratger a hodpodge. However, i would read this author again