My novel has this dedication: For my daughter Rebecca, whose bravery and determination inspired this book. 1991 -2018. I thought I might tell you more.
When I was breastfeeding my daughter, I got lots of reading done. For night feeds I couldn’t read in the dark, and a strange thing happened. The stories started to come to me. Characters and scenes, which grew in my mind until they became whole stories. This carried on for months and then years.
The problem was making the time to write the stories down. I prioritised other things: work, family, reading, volunteering. I would occasionally retreat to my bedroom and start scribbling, but I became a single parent and had a demanding job, so that just got harder. But I knew those moments of writing brought me joy. So why wasn’t I doing it?
In March 2018 my beloved elder daughter Becky became ill and went into Intensive Care. She had serious underlying conditions and this wasn’t our first time at the rodeo. Seven years previously she had nearly died with the same thing: kidney infection, sepsis, struggling to recover.
Becky was on every sort of life support machine you can imagine. On multiple occasions I would go home at night, preparing myself for the next day to be her last. She rallied time and again – her own determination and the incredible skill of everyone at the Royal Liverpool. I read Atul Gawande’s Being Mortal about preparing for death. I remember asking Becky if there was anything she was afraid of. Speaking was hard – the nurses would put a valve into the tube in her neck – but she whispered, “That people will give up on me.” It breaks my heart even now.
But there was no happy ending. After 5 months (a very long time to be in Intensive Care), multiple organ failure meant there was no alternative to turning off the machines. I’m not going to go into detail, other than to say it was nothing like how it’s portrayed in TV shows. Becky was 27.
Those five months were extraordinarily painful and extraordinarily blessed. In Kathryn Mannix’s With the End in Mind, she describes how frequently those who are dying transcend into something beyond the physical. Becky exuded love, compassion and peace. There was a profound beauty I cannot describe and it touched everyone. We had daily opportunities to say ‘I love you.’ Family and friends sat round her bed, reading stories, playing Connect 4, brushing her hair, telling jokes – so many jokes. Nurses, doctors and physios were drawn into and helped create this love-bubble. Some people experienced a spiritual transformation.
So that’s Becky’s death; what of her life?
My daughter was passionate about making the world a better place. She went to peace conferences and campaigned for causes. She was awarded the John Lennon Bursary at university and got a MSc. in Humanitarian Studies. Maybe it was because she had almost died when she was 19: perhaps she sensed she would not be here long, so she made the most of every day.
After she died, I knew I had to get on with doing the things that were meaningful to me. I felt rather sheepish that it meant writing – nothing that would improve the world as she had. Nevertheless, a month after Becky died, I sat down and wrote the synopsis. It didn’t take long because it was already there in my head. Then, for the next twelve months, I wrote the story, pencil on paper. It became the place I could retreat to, away from the shock of those five months. I think some of my daughter’s determination spread into my heroine, Ginny.
After completing the first draft there were many other hurdles to cross: draft after draft to improve it, deep research to make the time and setting authentic. My agent sent it to publishers but it wasn’t picked up. I was saddened that what I thought of as “Becky’s Book” might never see the light of day. Then I submitted it to Storm Publishing and was over the moon that my editor Vicky Blunden loved it and wanted to publish it. The last 6 months getting it to publication have been an absolute joy and I hope you will enjoy reading it.