Baby spent most of last week in a cattery, a lovely place in the country where he went for a “wee holiday”. He wasn’t all that keen (well, that’s quite possibly the biggest understatement of the decade) but I felt reassured that he was in safe hands. He had his own luxury apartment with split levels and a view out over the pond. The lovely owners even left the radio on for him at night so he wouldn’t feel lonely. The worst part of the experience was the car journey there – 20 minutes of howling, growling, wailing and puking. And that was just me. The Ellie Goulding CD did nothing to calm his nerves, nor did my shaky rendition of Soft Kitty. In a final desperate attempt to calm Baby down, I slid my fingers through the grille at the front of the cat carrier so I could tickle his chin. This seemed to work well – until it was time to change gear. To my horror, I realised my hand was stuck and I was fast approaching a complicated roundabout. Luckily for me (and the rest of the road users) it was early Sunday morning so it didn’t much matter that I sped round on two wheels and in fifth gear while frantically trying to free my hand.

They did everything possible to make Baby feel welcome on his arrival but it was a strange and frightening environment for him, not least because there were plenty of other cats. The noises and smells must have been totally unnerving for him and worst of all they must have reminded him of the cat shelter I rescued him from. My worry was that in leaving Baby, he was going to think I wasn’t coming back. How do you explain to an animal that you’ll be back soon and that this is only for a short time? For a cat who has had several (unhappy) homes and who has experienced neglect and abuse the only conclusion to draw from cages and vanishing owners is abandonment. 

I remember the first time I saw Baby, Christmas 2010. It was love at first sight for me but for Baby it would take longer for the barriers to come down. I understood that only too well and so I tried not to rush things. I was content to let him take time to settle in. I knew it would take a lot of effort on my part for him to trust humans again. Let’s face it, the ones he lived with before didn’t exactly fly the flag for human kindness. I was warned he had ‘baggage’ but I reckoned we would get on well, due to the fair few suitcases of emotional baggage I had stored away. And I like a challenge. 

It took a few weeks before Baby stopped flinching every time I moved. It took months before the postman could pass the window without him running for cover. It took over a year to get a single head bump from him. He has never been demonstrative but he does offer some love when the Munchies cupboard gets opened. I’m always pathetically grateful for the small amount of affection he shows me and even more grateful that he appears to be madly in love with Junior. Sometimes it’s like a mutual appreciation society and I have to fight back my feelings inadequacy. I must confess to resorting to holding fishy cat biscuits up to my face in an attempt to get a kiss from Baby. It’s a tactic that works well.  I like to pretend he loves me and isn’t just very greedy. I do hope I never have to do this with a man.

But here’s where the story gets interesting. 

There has been a distinctive shift in Baby’s behaviour since his return home from the cattery. He has been home for three days and I’ve never seen him so affectionate and relaxed. Perhaps he’s just glad to be home. Perhaps the food is better here. Perhaps it’s the guilt he feels at making the nice man bleed when he was putting him back in the cat carrier. 

I think it’s more likely that he simply can’t believe his luck.

My sister peeked through the window before she entered the cattery to collect him. She said Baby looked perfectly settled, cleaning himself on the balcony. It’s nice to know he wasn’t distressed but I feel a little sad because there was probably a hefty amount of resignation on his part, an acceptance that he had been right all along – that this good life with the small, kind boy and slightly crazy woman was going to come to an end at some point.

So, I think this is where the shift has come in. It’s as though Baby feels more secure now. In his mind, the worst thing happened. We left him. But we came back. The lesson is that we are never going to give up on him. I think it took the stint in the cattery for him to wholly accept that. 

For two and a half years he held back, didn’t allow himself to fully accept our love in case it was snatched away. He must have been waiting for the day when we would admit defeat and cart him back to the shelter again. But how could I ever give up on him? He’s grumpy and demanding. His breath smells of fishy rubber and he sometimes misses the litter tray. He steals food off our plates and he scratches the bed until it’s bald. He does high speed circuits of the house at 3am and if that doesn’t wake me up he jumps on my bladder from a great height. 

But doesn’t he deserve the same chance of happiness that we all do?

I would like to be the one to teach him that sometimes it’s okay to let go, that sometimes it’s fine to drop the barriers and embrace the love that is being offered. I want to show him that it’s possible to live in the moment and not worry so much about what lies ahead, to feel safe in the knowledge that there are people who are capable of sticking with you even when the going gets tough. Yes, happiness can be fleeting and good things can be snatched away from us but it is possible to trust again. Ultimately, there can be no healing until we have restored our trust in life. Who knows? Perhaps with a little bit more time and a lot more perseverance, maybe Baby and I can accept these things together.

Fishy Family Secrets

Whilst sipping on a cup of Earl Grey in a café, my sister pointed up to the rafters and said, “Look, that lampshade looks like Mum’s old crystal trifle bowl, the one that Grace lived in.”

Grace was our first pet, a goldfish we won at a funfair in 1976, a time when it was still acceptable to carry a living creature home in a small sandwich bag. In a rush of giddy excitement I dropped the bag in the back of the car. It landed with a plop and a skoosh, which was followed with a mad scramble to rescue the flapping fish from underneath the driver’s seat. I still recall the water pouring out of a hole in the bag and thinking I had killed her. We could have refilled the bag with my guilty tears. 

Despite her early ordeal, Grace lived to a ripe old age, albeit with a weird, squishy lump on the top of her head. She lived in luxury, swimming around in my Mum’s best Edinburgh Crystal trifle bowl, a wedding present and family heirloom. Grace swam around happily in there for 51 weeks of the year but every December 23^rd she would be temporarily re-homed in a less elegant Tupperware sandwich box so that Mum could make her festive trifle. I know it sounds revolting but she always gave it an extra good clean and the carefully positioned layer of tinned fruit covered the marks at the bottom where the gravel had scratched the glass. None of the dinner guests were ever any the wiser. On the contrary, they always ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhd’ and commented on the ‘extra special something’ that they’d never tasted before. Of course, my sister and I were threatened with death (or at least a week without Swap Shop) should we ever let the secret out. Cue much giggling and footsie under the table when it came time to spoon the first serving from the bowl. Mum’s death glare usually put a swift end to the hilarity.

My Mum still uses that crystal bowl and I always smile whenever I see it. If I run my finger over the fine web of scratches along the bottom I can still imagine Grace bobbing around at the surface with that strange, eyeball-shaped lump I gave her on her first day as our family pet. There’s something marvellous about family traditions and secrets. Happy secrets, of course, not the kind that destroy. Silly memories are what link us with our past and our families in unique ways. They provide us with common bonds and shared experiences. They still make us laugh 35 years later when we spot a familiar looking lampshade in a café and are suddenly transported back to our 1970’s living room. 

To the outside world we all grow old. But not to our siblings. Somehow, we always see each other as we always were. We share private jokes, we remember family feuds, griefs and joys. A sibling is like having a little bit of childhood that can never be lost. Different flowers from the same garden.

The Next Big Thing!

"Bree McCready and the Realm of the Lost" is OUT NOW!

My friend and fellow writer, John Ward, very kindly tagged me in his blog as part of the exciting "Next Big Thing" scheme, where writers answer questions about their work. Here are my answers….and then I’ll hand you over to some other writers. It's like a great big game of tig, only you don't have to leave your comfy seat : )

What is the working title of your next book?

Bree McCready and the Realm of the Lost is the third book in a trilogy for 9-12 year olds and it's quite literally hot off the press! It’s beautiful and has a stunning cover by Lawrence Mann, (see above) the genius and all round nice guy who designed the covers for all three books.

Where did the idea come from for the book?

The original idea came from a short story I wrote about bullying called 'In Her Shoes'.  Everything spiralled from there and one day it came to me in a flash that I would write three books, each one focusing on one of the three main characters. I didn’t really know I was capable of writing an action adventure/horror/comedy/issue based novel so it all came as a bit of a surprise! I had absolutely no idea what a challenge it would be.

What genre does your book fall under?

Oops, I already answered that one above! It’s a fast-paced action adventure with soul. That’s because in between the cliffhangers and frights there are some tender moments that deal with issues such as bullying and grief. If I had to choose a genre I would say fantasy adventure.

What actors would you choose to play the part of your characters in a movie rendition?

Nobody famous. I would want to hand select the actors very carefully.

What is the one sentence synopsis of your book?

With the help of a magic book, a shy swat, a psycho rebel and a lanky nerd try to save the world for a third time.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

All three books are published by Strident Publishing.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript?

It’s difficult to say since I made a lot of notes for books two and three as I was writing book one. They kind of all intertwined. If I had to guess, I would say at least two years. It's pretty epic!

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

The Bree books have been described as "Indiana Jones meets Jacqueline Wilson". To be honest I try to avoid reading other children’s books mainly because I don’t want to be influenced by them. I did read a couple of Cathy Cassidy and Jacqueline Wilson books to inspire me when I was tackling Bree’s first romance (she meets a boy in book two and by book three they are boyfriend and girlfriend). I couldn’t really remember my first love (way too long ago!) so I needed a bit of refreshing.

I read Roald Dahl to my son (9) and I love the dark elements in his novels so I guess that might have inspired me to push the boundaries a little more with book 3. I realise that children love scary/dark moments and that writers should not be frightened to use them more.

Who or what inspired you to write this book?

Six years ago, a personal crisis cracked open something in me that had been buried deep inside. Suddenly the idea of writing felt like the right thing to do. I also wanted a ‘kick ass’ heroine because of the way I was feeling about myself at the time. There’s nothing quite like inventing a strong female protagonist to boost your self-esteem!

Without wishing to sound mushy, my son inspired me. It would be nice to think that at some point all my hard work and tears will make a positive difference to our lives. Also, writing a novel was on my list of things to do before I die. I’m pleased and proud that I managed to write three.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

There are two worlds in the stories, separated by a thin veil (which weakens in book 3). So in all three books the children start out in their own, recognisable world with school, shops, houses but then when the adventure starts they find themselves thrown into a world of castles, creatures, and terrifying villains. I always liked the idea that it was possible to flit between two very different worlds.

I’ve had some great feedback from adults who seems to love the stories and appreciate the allegory and hidden messages.

Okay, that’s it from me. Now for that game of tig :)

John Ward

I once spent an entire Saturday with John travelling around Scotland on a book signing tour. He is an absolute gentleman and genuinely one of the nicest people I have ever met. John has an incredibly powerful way with words, some will make you laugh and some will make you cry. John is one of life’s good guys and I'm so glad to know him.

Pippa Goldschmidt

Pippa's short stories, non-fiction and poetry have been published in a variety of magazines and anthologies. Her novel ‘Wider than the Sky’ was one of three finalists in the Dundee International Book Prize and will be published by Freight next year.

Emma Barnes

The fantastically talented Emma wrote 'Wolfie', the first novel that my son begged me to keep reading. It’s magical and wonderful. Emma is pretty groovy too. Follow her on Twitter: @EmmaBarnesWrite

Gillian Philip 

Gillian is a lovely lady and fellow Strident author who has written the amazing 'Rebel Angels' series and a gazillion other books. She’s pretty amazing so check her out. You won't be sorry you did.

Linda Strachan 

Another amazing lady, Linda writes for all kinds of genres, including picture books for little ones, non-fiction and handbooks for writing. She makes a mean cupcake too. I once wrote a review for Linda’s teenage novel Dead Boy Talking. I don’t often do reviews so that says a lot about how much I loved it. Her new teenage novel Don’t Judge Me is out NOW!

Fiona Gibson

Fiona is an author and journalist. I find reading her books (Mummy said the F Word, The Great Escape, Mum on the Run) like sinking into a deep bubble bath with a box of chocolates in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. Sheer bliss.

Greg 4 Hazel, 2gether 4ever.

I’ve got it bad. Really bad. Quite possibly worse than my life threatening crush on George Michael in 1984 when I watched the "Club Tropicana" video a zillion times and cried myself to sleep every night because I couldn’t touch those delicious bouffant streaks. 

It’s inexcusable really, what with me being a middle aged mother but I can’t help it. I am madly in love with Greg Davies. 

There. I said it. 

Suddenly I feel twelve again - perched on the bench at the school disco, waiting for Adrian Fowler to ask me to dance to Hot Chocolate’s “It Started With a Kiss”. I can almost feel the itch of my woollen legwarmers and smell the heady scent of Tweed perfume mingled with pre-teen desperation. But my twelve year old crush on Adrian was a perfectly natural part of growing up whereas my forty year old crush on Greg Davies is bordering on the ridiculous. I've watched all the YouTube clips, re-runs of Mock the Week and Never Mind the Buzzcocks. I've even ordered Firing Cheeseballs at a Dog from Amazon. Next I’ll be working out love percentages and practising writing 'Hazel Davies' in my secret diary.

When you’re a six foot tall woman, finding a man taller than you can be challenging. I rather like to feel feminine, despite not being a girly girl. Memories of walking off the kerb so my head was in line with my first boyfriend are excruciating as is the memory of only knowing how to dance the lead at my best friends wedding because I had so often been cast as a man in school dance lessons.   

I like the thought of being able to rest my head on a man’s chest without having to crouch down. At 6 foot 8 inches tall and with a lovely broad chest Greg seems like just the man to fit the bill. 

*sigh*

But it’s not his glorious stature that I’ve fallen for. He could be 4 foot 11 with a hunchback and a limp and I would still find him insanely attractive. It’s not even his lovely smile or apparently gentle nature (although this helps). It’s quite simply the fact that everything he says makes me laugh like a drain. 

You can keep your Gerard Butlers and Brad Pitts. I don't see what all the fuss is about Christian Bale and Matthew McConaughey. Who needs six packs and bulging biceps when you can have warmth and wit? Give me a man who can make me laugh till I’m sore and I’ll be the happiest person alive. It would just be a bonus if his thighs were larger than mine.

So Greg this is for you. Not that you’ll ever read this blog post or know anything about me. But isn’t that what harmless crushes are all about, experiencing the pleasure of something without any of the risks that come with the real thing? Oh and by the way, our love percentage is 98% so if you do see this, call me.

Crush.