The Inconvenient Unborn

England in the near future.

Though you may not like what you see.

 

The Cazenoves and the Wilsons don't get along, leastways the parents don't - the teenage kids adore each other, but when the oldest Wilson girl falls pregnant, sparks fly.

 

Donald Cazenove just happens to be Fred Wilson's boss, but Fred isn't without influence himself, being the senior shop steward, and the business is struggling anyway, and a strike could play havoc with Donald's figures.

 

The Inconvenient Unborn is set in England in the near future where after years of austerity, a left wing Labour Party has been returned to power with a huge majority, and they now intend to change Britain forever. They have a mandate. They have conviction. They have momentum.

 

And then there's a state visit to Britain by the most powerful man on the planet, Yuri Premakov, the Russian President, and his precocious and very beautiful film star wife, Tamara, bringing gifts of gas and oil and energy, at a price, and he's scheduled to visit Lymington on the south coast, where most of this book is set.

 

So who wins out? The Cazenoves or the Wilsons, and what exactly are Yuri Premakov and his vast entourage up to in Britain?

 

"The Inconvenient Unborn" will take you on a journey you can barely imagine.

Here's what some early readers have said about the book:

"Twists and turns, power, jealousy, betrayal, politics, adolescent yearnings, family loyalty, selfish egos,  it has it all."

"I was hooked from the very first page as I think others will be too. I confess I shed a tear."

"I loved the inter-weaving of the relationships and of course the ending, one of hope out of despair."

"I will definitely recommend it, although I have a sneaky suspicion it will be a success anyway." 

*****

"The Inconvenient Unborn" is OUT NOW in paperback and as an ebook. 

ISBN: 978-1517-585037

352 Pages

The Inconvenient Unborn by David Carter - Book Review

A cross generational novel with David Carter capturing the painful emotions of growing up and the impact this has on the lives of parents, two sets, two families from different ends of the social strata.

Their young see no barriers and we are given an insight into the longings and desires of growing adolescents anxious to live the excitement of first love to the full, but where will the opportunities lie?

School life isn't exactly conducive to the fulfillment of desire and David Carter sets an entertaining and amusing trail as the search for suitable accommodation for Tracey Wilson and Oliver Cazenove takes more than a little improvisation.

The Cazenove lads have great aspirations, their upbringing playing no small part, whilst the Wilson girls aspire, just now it's only to these well-heeled lads. Their household, though no financial match, is not without the courtesy of good manners. The girls are not lacking a sound upbringing and being sharp as knives the three of them, they prove more than a match for the Cazenove boys whose father Donald Cazenove CEO is boss at Bestdas Stores, Lymington which happens to be where their father works.

He may be subject to the whims and fancies of Donald Cazenove but Fred Wilson's power lies elsewhere. There's no power like that of a senior shop steward and Fred Wilson knows exactly how to wield it, not with Sally Youngs though. Desperate for promotion he keeps a close eye, given she's driving hard to get there first.

Carter injects delightful humour into this clever scenario all bound in with the politics of the day. Bobby Walker the Prime Minister, with far left leanings, is the Wilson's hero, on course to turn the country into a republic to the disgust of the Cazenoves.

Furthermore to the Wilson's delight he's engaging with the Russian president, brokering deals to keep the nation's gas on tap, and much else.

Of course there's a price to pay, but at what cost? Can Bobby Wilson pay the price? Yuri Prmakov is certainly no fool.

The story unfolds with intrigue as the political action develops and tightens into a very tense page-turning scenario, the denouement taking me completely by surprise.

Carter is a highly astute observer bringing credibility to his work. The reading of this book proved sheer entertainment. He delivers an easy style which is very clever and the comfortable occasional narration truly brings the characters to life.

It's not difficult to enjoy David Carter's books whatever the genre as long as you can deal with the shocking, for he will never leave the reader lacking in anticipation or excitement.

An excellent book which deserves to be read, I can but highly recommend it.

Margaret Henderson Smith - Author of Amber and Ne Obliviscaris"

******

And here's another review from Christine of Hawarden:

"Wow !! What can I say about this book? 

I must admit to starting it ages ago and whilst I found it quite prophetic and interesting at the start, I became a little tried of it and was tempted away by other books I had bought or borrowed that drew me to abandon it for a spell..... however, I returned to this book as I never like to leave a book unfinished and decided to persevere with it. 

I quickly realised that it was just a little hiatus in an otherwise compelling story and I became engrossed wondering how it was all going to pan out I won’t spoilt it by saying too much but that there was a completely unexpected turn that made me even more riveted !!! 

In my opinion David Carter has a really insightful imagination and I find myself wondering what other novels he has yet to pen set in “the near future” and hope he doesn’t keep his readers waiting too long to find out !!!"

"The Inconvenient Unborn" is now available on most well known ebook platforms.

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Here's the Book Trailer - Hope You like it....

Here's a large extract from the book:

One

Thursday Evening

Oliver glanced down the street, no one about, leastways no one he knew. He pulled his girlfriend into the shop doorway and bent down to kiss her.
   No, she said, not now.
   What's up, kid?
   You know what's up!
   Look, just cause you're well, you know, it doesn't mean to say...
   Tracey interrupted: You can be such a shit sometimes!
   You just need to get it fixed, that's all. Come on, Trace, we can still have some fun, can't we?
   No, we frigging can't!
   Oliver swallowed hard and stared over her shoulder at the passing cars. He breathed out heavy and said, So, are you going to get rid of it, or what?
   No, I frigging am not!
   Why not? I thought it would have been the obvious thing to do.
   Tracey shook her head and scrunched up her lips.  In case you've forgotten, I am seventeen, and still at school, and I think if I went off to London to get it fixed, as you so charmingly describe it, my parents might notice my absence, don't you think? Not to mention the bloody teachers!
   I'm only eighteen myself.
   That's not the point!
   So what are we going to do about it?
   I'm going to have the kid, that's what.
   Oliver winced over her shoulder, certain that she hadn't noticed, for it seemed a crazy course of action to him. 
   You know the parents will go mad.
   Of course they'll go frigging mad!
   I wish you wouldn't keep using that word.
   What word?
   You know what word I mean!
   If you hadn't been so busy throwing one up me, we wouldn't be in this FRIGGING mess!
   I thought you were on the pill!
   No you didn't! You thought I'd get the morning after pill.
   So why didn't you?
   Forgot, that's all.
   There was a short silence and Tracey said, It wouldn't be so bad, but my family absolutely hates your family.
   Do they? News to me. Why's that?
   You're just so... so....
   So what?
   Stuck up! Up your own backsides. Sorry Olly, but you really are. Snobs! The lot of you!
   We are not stuck up! Or snobby, don't be so stupid.
   You frigging are! You told me the other day you had a blue soufflé for pudding - I wouldn't know what a soufflé was if it came down me arse! And especially not a blue one.
   Oliver let out a short guttural laugh and said, I don't know why you feel that way. We don't hate your family at all.
   Don't you? Really?
   He shook his head and said, Nope.
   Ah, that's sweet, Olly.
   I don't know what we've ever done to deserve all this hatred.
   Oh, don't go on about it, Oliver, it's just that you are so bloody different, that's all... quite different.
   Don't see it at all, he said, I think you are making a big fuss over nothing.
   Bollocks!
   Behave yourself, Tracey Wilson.
   She smiled and glanced up into his amazing blue eyes, and right there she could see exactly why she had let him do what he had done. She had dozens of admirers at school, and just in case she ever wanted for more attention she was well known for wearing the shortest skirt in the whole town, and that showed off her amazing tanned legs. Men liked it. Boys liked it. Youths liked it too, they all did, couldn't stop themselves, gawping at her and salivating, and she'd be lying if she said she didn't like that as well, all that brazen lusting and attention, but it was only Oliver Cazenove that she wanted to really really like it.
   He thought he'd try his luck one more time. 
   You know that Knocker Harris?
   Yeah. What about him?
   He's got his own flat.
   Has he? So what?
   He said we could go round there any time we like and use it... if we wanted.
   Tracey shook herself free from his embrace. 
   Are you seriously suggesting we go round to Knocker Harris's flat and get it on, while he's in the other room watching the telly, and playing with himself?
   Seems a good idea to me.
   I don't think so! I'm going home, she said, turning about and clutching her small bag to her similarly small breasts. Got loads of homework to do. It's annoying the hell out of me. Got really stuck with the bastard thing.
   Oliver pulled a face and ran after her. 
   What are you stuck on?
   Frigging Russian, I hate it!
   I hate that too, he said, falling in beside her, and offering his arm. It's as bad as bloody Welsh.
   Did you really learn Welsh when you lived in Wales?
   Didn't learn any, they tried to teach me, but I just flunked it, it'll be just the same with the Russian.
   Why did you live in Wales, anyhow?
   Dad's a supermarket manager at Bestdas, you know that, got posted to the Rhyl branch, we were there for two years.
   What was it like?
   Good, as it happens, 'cept for the crazy language.
   Five minutes later and they were outside her house, a three-bed semi-detached, former council property by the look of it, but sturdy enough, and well built too, before compulsory economies got in the way, and the Wilsons had always been very happy there. It was the only house that Tracey had ever known.
   So, he said, pulling her towards him for a goodnight kiss. We'll talk again tomorrow night, yeah? But in the meantime, don't you go doing anything stupid, don't tell them a thing, not until we have sorted something out. Okay?
   Tracey tried a short unconvincing nod.
   Oliver kissed her gently. And again. She responded. She always did. Couldn't help herself. He was such a bastardly good kisser. Got her every time. She felt herself slipping away and broke free.
   Tomorrow! she said, And we'll decide what we're going to do.
   Yeah, sure babes. Don't you worry about a thing. It'll be all right.
   I mean it, Olly. Tomorrow we take and make some big decisions, or I'll make them for you.
   Fair enough.     
   She stared at him hard, and bobbed her head just the once, turned and hurried up the short garden path, let herself in, and disappeared from view. 
   Oliver sniffed and turned about, and hurried away on the fifteen minute walk home, to the other side of town, for he too had homework to do, and though he hated it, and would do anything to avoid it, he understood the importance of getting at least some decent grades. He was desperate to get into uni, and both his parents wanted him to do so too. He was aiming to land a good job that paid loads, and a university degree was the first step on the road to that, so far as he and his parents were concerned.
   A good profession, that's what you need, son.
   He thought of Tracey again, and wondered what she was going to do about her little predicament. They had never once talked about marriage, or living together, or God forbid, living with one of the families, that was totally out of the question, as was marriage. No, fact was, Oliver wanted a beautiful wife some day, of course he did, what heterosexual male didn't? But he wanted everything else that went along with it, and a beautiful wife who came from a wealthy and well-connected family, was the jackpot prize. He hadn't met her yet of course, and maybe university was the place where he could do precisely that.
   Maybe he could even meet someone from a titled family, and for a second he let his imagination run its course. He could see it now, her carefully posed photograph featuring on the front page of Country Life, and that oh so carefully written announcement: It is with great pleasure that the forthcoming marriage has been announced between Mister Oliver Walker Fielding Cazenove and Miss Rebecca Charlotte Victoria Somebody-or-other, second daughter of the Duke of Somewhere-or-other.
   He was still daydreaming when he arrived outside the family detached home.
   Why not? he said aloud. Someone has to marry these bitches, and he'd never found it hard to pull a girl, and if the new wife wasn't so hot in bed, and that was quite likely too, as everyone knew that huge swathes of the upper classes were frigid beyond belief through centuries of inter-breeding, then he could always go back to Tracey, and make her his hot little mistress.
   She was putty in his hands. Always had been. The dopey bint. It seemed a decent enough compromise, and she wouldn't lose out altogether, but she'd have to get rid of that brat first. He pulled out his key and let himself in, and closed the door gently behind him, and fixed on his I'm-home-sensible-face.      
     
   

Two

They were all at home, mum and dad and his younger sister and brother. They were sprawled out on the new cream super sofas that dad had spent his last Christmas bonus on, munching cashew nuts, and swigging fiery ginger beer.
   Here he is! said Marcus, grinning, Lymington's lover, extraordinaire.
   Had a nice evening, love? asked his smiling mother. What a handsome young man her beautiful Oliver had grown into, and every time she set eyes on him it brought a smile to her fair face.
   S'alright, said Oliver, acting cool, still peeking around the door.
   He's been out with that Wilson slut, said Marcus, ever eager to muddy the waters for his older brother who always seemed in Marcus's mind, to get away with murder.
   Less of that kind of language! said dad.
   Becky joined in the baiting. She is a tart though, isn't she? Wears her skirt higher than is decent. Do you know what she said to Miss Rivers last week when Miss Rivers told her to pull her skirt down?
   There was a slight pause as the four of them waited open mouthed for the punchline.
   Well... do tell? said Marcus, growing impatient.
   She said, What? All the way down to my ankles, Miss? And everyone fell about laughing.
   Typical of her, said Marcus, slinging another handful of nuts into his wide-open mouth.
   Do you know what she told me afterwards? continued Becky.
   Go on, said Marcus.
   She said, Miss Rivers was only jealous because no one would ever want to take her skirt down round her ankles.
   I think that is quite enough of that kind of talk, said dad.
   Mum edged down the sofa and patted the space, and smiled across at Olly and said, Are you coming to join us?
   Nah, better not, I've homework to finish.
   You'll miss the big announcement, said dad.
   What big announcement?
   No one seems to have a clue, said mum. Just said there will be a big announcement by the Prime Minister on the ten o'clock news.
   Bobby Walker has something worth saying for once, said Marcus, disdainfully.
   He doesn't like being called Bobby, said dad. It's Bob or Robert, he doesn't think Bobby is Prime Ministerial enough.
   How do you know all this? asked Becky, getting interested, because at fifteen she would have the vote for the first time in next year's general election.
   It's been widely reported in the press, said mother.
   Dad had lost interest and had switched his mind off and pulled back a pace, for he was still thinking of the girl in the ultra short skirt. 
   That Wilson girl you are talking about. Is she the tall blonde with the very long legs?
   Marcus coughed a rough laugh and glanced at Olly in the doorway to see his reaction, but Olly had a real talent for letting cutting or controversial comments roll over his head without so much as a mini wince.
   Not PC, dad, not PC, said Marcus, grinning stupidly.
   I'm thirty-nine not fifty-nine, said dad, as if that made everything all right.
   You still shouldn't be looking at schoolgirls' legs, said mum, half teasing, but clearly slightly miffed at the thought of it too.
   Gross, dad! said Becky. Gross!
   Anyway, I hope you are not getting too familiar with that Wilson girl? said mum, bobbing her head at Olly. She's nowhere near good enough for you, son.
   Not a chance, said Olly.
   Not what I've heard, said Marcus.
   Do you want a slap? said Olly, fixing his younger brother with a disciplinary stare.
   Marcus puckered his lips and turned away and grabbed the Lymington Times and pretended to read the sailing reports.
   I am going to make a coffee, said Olly, eager to be out of there. Anyone want one? and he was glad to see that none of them did. Had their fill of ginger beer, by the look of things. But I might come back in a tick and see what this big announcement is all about.
   Probably giving votes to fourteen-year-olds, said Marcus, unable to keep out of any conversation for too long. Bobby Walker would do anything to grab a few more votes. Give to kids... to give to me!
   I think you'll find he won a landslide at the last election, and the polls say he will repeat the performance next year too, said dad.
   That's only because the Conservatives were so utterly inept! said Becky, revealing more of her newfound interest in politics.
   They were that, said mum, softly. Inept's the word for it, before adding under her breath, more' the pity.
   No one believes polls anymore, said Marcus, and there was a fair bit of nodding to that, as Olly came back into the large lounge, carrying a steaming mug of strong coffee. He crossed the room and sat down in the space his mother had created especially for him, and set the mug on the light oak coffee table, before slipping his arm up and around her shoulder. How she adored that, and edged closer to her favourite child.
   Dad looked on contentedly.
   How on earth had he and Suzanne created three such beautiful and intelligent creatures? Eighteen, sixteen and fifteen, but they were all so damned clever and worldly wise, and yet they were all still kids really, full of enthusiasm and hope for the future. They would learn things and see things and do things that he could barely imagine, especially with the way technology was always developing at an ever-faster rate.
   Occasionally he yearned for a slightly more simple time, but once the genie was out of the bottle it could never be forced back in. Discoveries can never be undiscovered, and sometimes it was best if they could.
   The signature tune for the news blared from the massive high definition wall-mounted television, filling the room with musical vibrations. Dad slightly adjusted the volume downwards for he felt a migraine coming on. All five of them stared at the wafer thin screen and pondered on what surprises dodgy Bobby Walker had in store for them. One thing was for sure, in all their minds, surprises like this were rarely good ones. There was some shit coming down; pound to a busted euro, there was shit coming their way, everyone's way. Five glum faces stared at the coloured images on the wall, and waited to hear their fate.

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