I was born in Nottinghamshire, England, but I didnt live there for very long. The family moved to West Yorkshire when I was just eighteen months old and so I have always regarded Yorkshire as my home. I grew up there as the middle child in a family of five—all girls—in a home where books were vitally important and I read anything I could get my hands on.

Even before I could write I was making up stories. My mother tells the story of me recounting the tale of the Three Little Raindrops — Drippy, Droppy and Droopy to my two younger sisters when I was four. I cant remember a time when I wasnt scribbling away at something, and I wrote my first book when I was eleven, an adventure story, most of it in secret in lessons at school—particularly maths lessons, which I hated.

But everyone, particularly teachers and my parents, told me that I would never make a living as a writer, and I should work towards a more secure career. So I decided instead that if I couldnt write books, I could at least work with them and so I settled for becoming a librarian. On leaving school, I went to the University College of Wales Aberystwyth where I studied English and Librarianship for my degree.

More importantly, university was also where I met my husband who was also studying English there. We married and moved back north, eventually settling in Lincolnshire. Here I worked as a childrens librarian until I left work when my son was born.

After three years of being a full-time housewife and mother, I was ready for a new challenge, but needed something I could do at home, and so I turned to my old love of writing. My first attempts at novels were written on the kitchen table, often late into the night when my son was asleep or during a few snatched hours when he was out at nursery school.

The first two novels sent off to Harlequin Mills & Boon were rejected, but the third attempt was successful. I can still remember the moment that a letter arrived