Dream or reality. It's getting harder to tell @CeliaAnderson1 #Giveaway

When dreams and reality crash and mingle, escape can be the hardest challenge of all.
 Longing to get away from her troubled marriage, the opportunity to cross America by train seems like a dream come true for Vita Craythorne. But charismatic travel agent Moriarty Miles has other ideas; by replacing her friend Jack on the trip, Vita has unwittingly set herself up as a guinea pig for Moriarty's mind-blowing and potentially dangerous new virtual-holiday project. His idea is to give clients the holiday of a lifetime without ever having to leave the comfort of their favourite chair. It's exciting. It's innovative. It could be just what Vita needs. That is, if she can avoid becoming trapped inside her own, miraculous dream world.



My shoulders drooped. Ronan was getting to the point where he could pick on anything I said and turn it into a huge issue. I’d need to be careful starting him off so early in the morning. He usually saved this sort of bickering for later. His face was thunderous now but I couldn’t resist biting back.
       ‘The easy option – home to the only woman who thinks you can do no wrong? But you’re right, London always suited you better than anywhere. Or so you said.’
      ‘Well it’s fine talking the talk, but you’d never come with me if I moved, would you? Just look at you, Vita. Pathetic. Listening to people whining about their stupid sex problems all day. You’ll be thirty-three soon and what have you ever done with your life? At least I’m thinking ahead.’
       I gasped as he spat out the vicious words. I hadn’t realised he was so disillusioned with our life here. My husband, the writer. Hadn’t he seemed to be Clayton’s answer to Dylan Thomas, without the Welsh accent? And did he really despise me so much? In my heart of hearts, I’d known for a while that Ronan didn’t love me the way he used to, but I’d thought we still had some sort of partnership going. My stomach began to churn – he was going to make me later than ever but nobody should be allowed to get away with that sort of comment.
      ‘How can you say that, Ronan? I’m NOT pathetic. My job’s important – I HELP people. And you haven’t got anything much to leave, have you? What’s the point of a will?’
      He turned sideways and admired himself in the wardrobe mirror, pulling in his ribcage with a huge effort and finally persuading his trouser button to do up. ‘I have got a legacy, actually, and you’re looking at it right now,’ he said, squaring his shoulders and baring his teeth at his reflection. He opened the wardrobe door slightly, angling it so that he could see his back view in the dressing table mirror.
      ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Ronan didn’t answer. Did he have no idea how much he’d just hurt me? Obviously not – he was admiring his bottom, clenching his buttocks as he adjusted what he liked to call his tackle.
      Ronan? What legacy?’
      He bared his teeth and spoke to his reflection in the mirror. ‘“What legacy?” she asks. This body? This hunk of prime man flesh?’ he said. ‘I’m leaving it to be experimented on. There was a programme about it on TV the other night. They’re crying out for men like me, apparently.’

Celia J Anderson is passionate about writing, cake, wine and long walks in the Quantock hills or on random beaches. She is very proud to be the assistant head at a Catholic primary school in the Midlands and divides her time between walking off the cake, inventing imaginary worlds and teaching English and drama. 


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