Jenny Twist was born in York and brought up in the West Yorkshire mill town of Heckmondwike, the eldest grandchild of a huge extended family.
She left school at fifteen and went to work in an asbestos factory. After working in various jobs, including bacon-packer and escapologist’s assistant (she was The Lovely Tanya), she returned to full-time education and did a BA in history, at Manchester and post-graduate studies at Oxford.
She stayed in Oxford working as a recruitment consultant for many years and it was there that she met and married her husband, Vic.
In 2001 they retired and moved to Southern Spain where they live with their rather eccentric dogs and cat. Besides writing, she enjoys reading, knitting and attempting to do fiendishly difficult logic puzzles.
In July 2018 she won the Author Show TOP FEMALE AUTHOR Fantasy/Horror/Paranormal/Science Fiction award.

When Angela turns up in a remote Spanish mountain village, she is so tall and so thin and so pale that everyone thinks she is a ghost or a fairy or the dreadful mantequero that comes in the night and sucks the fat from your bones. 
But Domingo knows better. “Soy Angela,” she said to him when they met – “I am an angel.” Only later did he realise that she was telling him her name and by then it was too late and everyone knew her as Domingo’s Angel. 
This is the story of their love affair. But it is also the story of the people of the tiny mountain village – the indomitable Rosalba - shopkeeper, doctor, midwife and wise woman, who makes it her business to know everything that goes on in the village; Guillermo, the mayor, whose delusions of grandeur are rooted in his impoverished childhood; and Salva the Baker, who risked his life and liberty to give bread to the starving children.
The events in this story are based on the real experiences of the people of the White Villages in Southern Spain and their struggle to keep their communities alive through the years of war and the oppression of Franco’s rule. 


Domingo's Angel

Angela woke with a different smell in her nostrils. Not unpleasant. In fact, she thought she ought to recognise it. Oddly, it reminded her of Christmas. She lay in that pleasant hinterland between sleeping and waking for a while, trying to identify the aroma.


Marzipan. It reminded her of marzipan. How curious. Maybe it was some kind of illusion associated with pregnancy. She opened her eyes and saw through the window that the whole hillside was pink. She sat up in alarm. She must be hallucinating!


Beside her, Domingo also sat up. "What is it?"


"The hills," she said, "I'm seeing them as pink."


"It's only the almonds," said Domingo and slumped down again.


Angela gazed at the hills in astonishment. "But that's amazing," she said. "It's like the whole world is covered in pink cotton wool. It's beautiful."


Chapter 34