samantha tonge – Samantha Tonge

OCD and Me

Sam Tonge — Fri, 27 Feb 2026 09:14:22 +0000

OCD is the toxic friend that’s so hard to get rid of because it convinces you it knows your deepest, darkest secrets, and that it’s protecting you and your loved ones from an unsafe world.

In 2023 the GP referred me for a health condition and I had to fill in some paperwork before seeing the consultant. It was a stressful time and I sat frozen, at my desk, unable to send in the forms, questioning what I’d written, checking and rechecking. The upshot was that when the consultant discharged me in 2024, as an aside he told the GP that I needed a referral for OCD treatment.

Finally I started to gain more understanding of the way my life had been.

I suffered from OCD from being a small child. My OCD is in the form of either thinking I’ve done something bad – or feeling I need to behave in a way to prevent something bad happening. The number 4 became very important to me. If I did things 4 times I could magically prevent harm coming to me or my family. I felt I carried that responsibility.

When I was eleven I went to stay with an aunt for a few days. Years later I found out that she’d rung my mum whilst I was there, and asked if I was okay as I stayed in the bathroom so long every night. At the time I was splashing the taps with water 4 times to prevent anything bad happening. Then I decided 4 X 4 would be even safer, so had to perfectly splash them 16 times. Except it’s never quite that simple. You have to do it *just right*.

At certain points of my life, including an episode at high school, OCD told me big lies, accusing me of having done something irreprehensible. Its intrusive voice persuades you that you’ve behaved terribly, even if you know, deep down, that you haven’t. It’s insidious and compelling, it makes you constantly question yourself. “Yes, but what if you did it? What a BAD person you must be.”

These episodes were harrowing, the anxiety about them lasting for years in some cases, and it blew my mind when, all these decades later, I finally had an explanation.

Now I’ve had OCD treatment. Not a full course. I’ve got too much going on in my life, currently, to have the headspace to deal with the deeper aspects. So we started with the more external *physical* issues I had – checking switches, windows, the hob, especially at night before going to bed.

OCD treatment is about the consequences and the evidence. The consequences of not doing my routines, in my view, were a house fire, a burglar breaking in, my family or myself dying or being murdered. So my therapist said let’s look at the evidence for that: How long have you been living where you are? 20 years. How many houses are there in your road? About 15. How many of the owners of those houses do you think check switches as thoroughly as you do? None. Most probably don’t even bother. And how many house fires have there been in the last 20 years in your road?

ZERO.

In other words, there is no evidence for my concerns, no proof that my rituals made a difference – and that’s what I worked with.

It wasn’t easy, lying in bed at night, forcing myself not to go down and check again, worried for the safety of my loved ones, imagining the worst scenarios, that voice telling me that I WOULD BE TO BLAME if something happened. But the more I did that, the more the evidence built up that my worries were unwarranted, the less I listened to the OCD voice, the less power it had over me. My physical OCD routines are SO much less rigid now. I still can’t quite believe it.

Writing and posting letters and cards has always been difficult, me continually opening them up to check I haven’t written anything offensive. Sounds ridiculous doesn’t it? Funny, even? But OCD is destructive. It eats away at time, at self-esteem, at all logic; it affects sleep, it causes stress and anxiety, it worsens other mental health conditions; it affects relationships because other people don’t understand your behaviour.

OCD controls you and encourages you to seek control.

“I’m a little OCD” is a phrase that gets banded about. But if you colour-coordinate your bookshelves and the consequences of not doing so would be that they won’t look as nice… that’s different to the consequences being that some life-changing trauma will happen as a result of mixed colours – or that you’re anxious because life won’t feel perfect and you literally can’t relax until that shelf is reorganised.

Perfectionism is a definite red flag and my OCD also presents through the high standards I set for myself in many areas of my life – work, appearance, etc.

Why am I telling you all this? For the same reason I’ve spoken about my mental health in the past: to lessen the stigma around this issue and spread awareness. During my life, when the many OCD things have happened, and not understanding that that’s what they were, I’ve believed that I was simply *a weird person*. That’s why I never told anyone what was going on. How harsh I’ve been on myself. It’s great to finally have the understanding and help.

How do you know if you’ve got OCD? There are many symptoms, these were mine, other people’s may be different:

Believing some inane ritual – like throwing water on taps – can magically keep you or others safe.

Believing that a bad thought can actually translate into a bad thing happening and you’ll be responsible.

Turning a switch or hob of and a voice telling you that it might still be on, you need to check again. And again. And again.

Believing you’ve done something terrible and deep down knowing you haven’t, but being unable to ignore the intrusive “but what if?” voice.

Liking routine, a structure, a certain way of doing things, because it makes life feel more *safe*.

Fearing contamination and illness from something everyday, in amounts others would consider harmless, like dust.

Not trusting yourself.

These behaviours and thoughts becoming magnified when you are stressed.

Those of you who’ve read my 2024 novel The Promise of Tomorrow will now recognize where the inspiration for that story came from.

If anything here feels relatable please speak to someone about it – your family, a friend, the GP.

You hold the key to getting out of the OCD prison.

And never forget – it’s actually imperfection that drives evolution.

The Joy of Wabi-sabi

Sam Tonge — Sat, 20 May 2023 09:13:42 +0000

The joy of Wabi-sabi 侘寂 #MentalHeathAwarenessWeek

What is Wabi-sabi? As a character in my new story, The Memory of You explains: ‘It’s a Japanese way of thinking about the natural cycle of life and how it’s imperfect, impermanent, incomplete. It encourages you to find beauty in imperfection…’

Wabi-sabi is about seeking the beauty in the simple life, about accepting the changes that the passage of time brings.

As soon as I stumbled across this concept I knew it intrinsically related to my novel, the themes, the characters – and to my own life. I’m a perfectionist which has its advantages – you need to have an obsessively keen eye for detail if you want to be a novelist – but it’s also led me down some dark roads with my mental health. I’ve suffered from eating disorders on and off for a long time, and part of that journey has been focussing on my self-perceived flaws. Instead of rejoicing in my differences, I’ve wanted to eliminate them. I’m grateful that in recent years I’ve come to accept and embrace myself.

In many ways becoming an author didn’t help, a job where I am continually ranked against contemporaries, where I must do videos, post photos, make public appearances… like so many aspects of modern life, it’s about high expectations and the early part of my journey is reflected in Alex’s:

Her author life had been the opposite of wabi-sabi, with her only being satisfied with utter perfection, in terms of the image she projected and the ranks she achieved.

Wabi-sabi is about accepting impermanence as well as imperfection – levels of success change, we grow older… But there is still joy to be found in an imperfect world, you just need to look harder for the new pockets of happiness.

On the surface it can be very difficult to find any joy in dementia, the main theme of my novel – but it doesn’t mean there aren’t small things that still lift the spirits. I lost a loved one to the condition twenty years ago, and whilst it was heartwrenching watching how they changed, there were still precious minutes of lucidity, of humour, episodes of laughter. Another family member is currently suffering and they find such unadulterated joy in a visit, a hug and a delicious chocolate. There are still moments worth holding close and remembering.

A winter tree might lose its colourful leaves, but its outline is still striking. A wrinkled face might have lost that flush of youth, but laughter lines make for a friendly expression. An immaculately weeded border will eventually grow over, but what delight to be found in a cheeky daisy or proud dandelion.

Nothing stays the same as time passes, and imperfection ensues, but the value of what’s new is no less than what came before. It’s just different.

The Memory of You is OUT NOW, 99p UK, download here.

Lost Luggage Publication Day! Blog post – Never Too Late

Sam Tonge — Thu, 22 Sep 2022 15:05:06 +0000

Today sees the publication of Lost Luggage, my second story with Boldwood Books.

I’m really excited to share it – it’s 72 year old Dolly’s story, a story about life always being full of chances, it’s never too late to turn things around.

When I was heading for my late twenties, recovering from a mental health illness and, at times, stressful university experience, I remember the panic I felt, deep inside, that I’d missed all my chances. I’d never have a career. Never find a partner. My illness had caused me to turn down many opportunities. After graduating I stayed inside for several months, rarely going out unless it was with my parents. I didn’t want to see anyone else. Or, rather, I didn’t want anyone to see me.

That lonely, isolating time is what inspired the story of Lost Luggage, along with Covid and the lockdowns so many of us, around the world, endured, spending months, years in some cases, stuck indoors.

Seventy-two year old Dolly, in particular, has a sense that it is all too late, that she’s missed her chances and settled for a life that is far from the dreams she harboured as a young woman. Her life fell apart when she was let down badly in her twenties and her plans for the future evaporated. As a result she moved in with her older sister and lived with her for fifty years. But then Greta left too and Dolly’s life fell apart again.

As a woman in my mid-fifties, I still have mental health issues, however I no longer experience that depth of hopeless despair because I now have the gift of hindsight. I realise that every year, whatever age you are, brings the possibility of following your dreams, of things turning around and a trough becoming a peak.

Take my career. I didn’t get published until my mid forties and I know writers who’ve got their first deal a couple of decades after that. And then there are my drinking issues. For a long time I’d known I had a problem and it going full-blown was always *in the post* as addicts say. That post arrived big time when I got published and in 2016 I finally went into treatment. So it wasn’t too late for me, I got there eventually and now I’m almost six years sober.

The key to finally achieving your goals? It’s facing your fears. Forcing yourself to do the most difficult thing. And accepting help from people to do so. For me… in my twenties it was a matter of undergoing therapy and forcing myself out to meet friends, and getting a job. To get published, I had to brace myself and send out work, with support from fellow writers. I received over eighty rejections but kept going. And to get sober, with the support of my husband and children I faced the scary prospect of a treatment programme with other addicts. It was one of the hardest processes I’ve ever been through, but when you reach a point where your situation feels as if it can’t get any worse, what have you got to lose?

With the encouragement of her neighbours retired Leroy and eleven year old Flo, Dolly realises she, too, must push herself out of her comfort zone. When she bids on a piece of lost luggage and finds a notebook inside it, containing a Year of Firsts, the answer has landed in her lap.

Dolly must undertake these challenges herself – with a little help from her friends.

Bookish August!

Sam Tonge — Thu, 01 Sep 2022 12:47:34 +0000

It’s been a busy August, plodding on with the first draft of my novel for April 2022… it’s taken a lot of thinking and I’m panicking already about the November deadline. I’ve already had to ask for it to be extended once.

However… I do finally feel I am in the zone and am loving the characters. It’s another story set in Manchester. I can’t say much more at the moment because that might kill my mojo!

So a lot of August has been spent online – but I’ve found time to enjoy myself in the real world as well. A trip to Liverpool meant that I just had to pop into Waterstones to see pal Daniel Riding – bookseller, children’s author and artist. Do check out his art on Instagram @danielriding.

August also saw the 3rd birthday of my amazing publisher Boldwood Books. In 3 years they’ve sold 8 million books, so I just had to bake a cake to celebrate!

I’ve read some brilliant stories, including the new one coming out from Celia Anderson, Coming Home to Mistletoe Cottage and They Both Die at the End by Adam Silvera. I was also gifted this beautiful bird book. I’m a huge fan of birdwatching and we’ve been blessed to have blue tits nesting in the garden this year. And a huge family of sparrows live in our bushes and leylandi!

But of course, my big news is that I’ve been getting ready to launch Lost Luggage on 22nd September! Final edits are done, cover tweaks… I can’t wait to share this story and have just ordered some gorgeous notebooks so keep your eyes peeled for competitions!

Below is the blurb, and it’s up for preorder now. I do hope you enjoy it!

One lost suitcase. Two strangers. And a notebook that will change lives.

For almost fifty years, sisters Dolly and Greta have lived together – getting each other through the good times and the bad.

Except this year, Greta isn’t there and Dolly is feeling lost and alone. In memory of her sister, Dolly heads to the lost luggage auction where she and Greta go each Christmas. But her bid reveals a gift she never imagined.

Amongst the clothes is the notebook of a reclusive woman who has hardly been outside for an entire year, but who isn’t ready to give up on life. The notebook’s contents resonate with Dolly. With the support of her neighbours, retired Leroy and eleven year old Flo, Dolly decides to take on the year of firsts Phoebe had planned.

But, can you have a year of firsts when you’re seventy-two? And is Dolly ready to discover the notebook’s secrets, or are some secrets better left lost at the airport?

Cover Reveal – Lost Luggage!

Sam Tonge — Fri, 05 Aug 2022 16:12:05 +0000

And here it is, the beautiful cover for Lost Luggage, out September 22nd!

It is up for preorder now and also on NetGalley for early reviewers!

Here is the blurb!

One lost suitcase. Two strangers. And a notebook that will change lives.

For almost fifty years, sisters Dolly and Greta have lived together – getting each other through the good times and the bad.

But, can you have a year of firsts when you’re seventy-two? And is Dolly ready to discover the notebook’s secrets, or are some secrets better left lost at the airport?

Rules Aren’t Rules

Sam Tonge — Mon, 09 May 2022 07:56:12 +0000

This week 9th – 13th May is Mental Health Awareness Week and I’d like to talk about how, as with all aspects of life, your experience of mental health is unique to you – and how you should never let anyone tell you that your problems and stresses are not valid. I’ll also examine this through the eye of being an author.

For over 30 years now I’ve suffered on, and off, with eating disorder issues and these eventually led to a drink problem. At times I’ve felt on top of the world when I’ve been most ill, certainly with the anorexic aspects. I wanted to be thin. I got thin. Mission accomplished. The trouble is, as with any ambition, the goalposts always move. You’ve got a few pounds you’d like to lose. Getting into that size 12 is great. But perhaps you then decide a size 10 is better, and so on. Like being an author… you get published. Get into the top #100 on Kindle. Next time you want to get into the top #50. Then the top #10. You want foreign deals. You want awards. Your goals move so far away from your original one of simply wanting to see your book out there.

Like the anorexic who looks in the mirror and views themselves as overweight, an author who’s doing SO well can often see themselves as a failure, compared to their contemporaries, perhaps, or when that person at a dinner party asks if they’re earning as much as J K Rowling.

In 2016 I got sober and yes, I felt fantastic and still do on one of my many good days – but, unexpectedly, sobriety brought problems I never foresaw. Relationships changed – I wasn’t the same person. I lost friends. Instead of escaping into a glass of wine I now have to face my problems and triggers head on and deal with them – and deal with the fallout from doing that.

It’s like getting published – you think signing that first contract and stopping the gruelling submission process marks the end of a long and winding, difficult road, and it does, it’s amazing. But, like stopping drinking, it also heralds the beginning of another challenging journey. There are many wonderful moments ahead but negative ones can temper them – bad reviews, poor sales due to reasons out of of your control, deadlines that are stressful to meet.

During lockdown I had the best mental health I’d had for years, not the experience for a lot of people – and it’s taken a few steps backwards since coming out of the pandemic and having to once again face the stresses of modern life. It’s frustrating to return to a position I thought I’d left behind forever. Having longed for freedom when Covid restrictions went on and on, it’s been unexpected.

But it is what it is. I am what I am.

Never let people diminish the way you feel because the way they see you doesn’t reflect your inner world. Those who’ll say “But at least…” They think they’re helping but those words don’t reflect true empathy as they don’t acknowledge that you have valid reasons for finding your situation tough.

A slim person can have a problem with food or body image. A sober person doesn’t always find life 100% easier than before. A person who’s been in lockdown is allowed to find returning to their former unrestricted life challenging. An author who’s had success does have the right to sometimes feel down about their career.

There are no rules.

One thing I firmly believe is…

Peaks and troughs are part of life. Happiness and unhappiness are part of life. Reaching a peak makes us happy in a way it wouldn’t if we were happy all the time. And the passing of time teaches us that a trough will always end, just as it has before.

But if your trough is so deep you can’t see a way out, TALK TO SOMEONE. That’s what I did in 2016 and I’ve never regretted it. Most of the time I love life now and I love my career. I accept the peaks and troughs and am more successful at not allowing other people to define anything about me. As is said in AA, anyone else’s view of you is none of your business.

Often bulimics or binge-eaters aren’t seen as *ill enough* to warrant medical help, due to their BMI being classed as normal – due to a tick in a box. And yet the mortality rates amongst those suffering with eating disorders is higher than for any other mental illness. Whatever your challenges are, be them struggles on the personal front or with your job, always remember they are valid and you deserve the help to get better.

If you’re struggling why not choose this week to reach out?

New Publisher, New Direction!

Sam Tonge — Wed, 24 Nov 2021 16:41:03 +0000

I am thrilled to announce that I have signed a four book deal with the amazing Boldwood Books!

Under One Roof will be out 9th February 2022 and is already up for preorder! It’s a multigenerational women’s fiction story about an estranged family, treasure hunt and it has ’80s elements.

I can’t wait to share this story that I loved writing.

Here’s the blurb!

Perfect for fans of Beth O’Leary and Paige Toon.

One forgotten discovery will change three women’s lives for ever…

Robin hasn’t been home for decades. After running away to London, she never expected to see her cantankerous mother, Faye, again. But when Faye has a fall, the two women are thrown together once more.

The years apart have not made their hearts grow fonder and the ground between them is unsteady. Then Robin finds an unopened scroll – the last of the treasure hunts her much-missed father used to take them on every Sunday. A hunt he believed might change everything.

Yet, not even this gift from her beloved father can smooth the way until Robin’s daughter, Amber, arrives to meet her grandmother for the first time. Amber is determined that the decades-old mystery be solved.

Can a 30-year-old treasure hunt really ‘change everything’?

A Beta Help

Sam Tonge — Mon, 01 Mar 2021 09:05:09 +0000

It’s been a while since I last blogged and one reason is that I’ve been busy brainstorming and writing Book 16. It’s a little different from my previous stories and because of that I decided to use a beta reader.

For those of you not part of the publishing world, a beta reader looks at the manuscript before it is published/ your agent or editor takes a look. Mine is quite hands on, critiquing as I go along as well. She also happens to be my daughter! She graduated last year with a degree in English Literature and as part of that studied a module in Creative Writing. I decided to take advantage of her living at home during lockdown and asked if she’d consider taking this book on.

It’s been an absolute joy, I’ve agreed with most of what she’s suggested, and now I’m asking myself why I’ve never considered having a beta reader before. Many authors I know have critique partners and/or beta readers but it’s something I’ve always shied away from. Writing a book is a very personal process. However, before any of my work gets published it goes through rigorous appraisals by my agent and editors and I’ve become used, over the last 8 years, to receiving criticism.

Which is just as well. I still want to be talking to my daughter at the end of this process!

What have I found to be the benefits of having a beta reader?

As the author you can be so close to your work that you don’t see the obvious flaws… So the main benefit is, hopefully, that by having a beta reader you will eliminate the stand out problems earlier on in the process, before you rewrite, polish and send off the manuscript to your agent and/or editor. It’s always easier and less disheartening to unpick character development or plot sooner rather than later.

This should mean that, organically, you are shaping the manuscript to a higher standard right from the start.

Specific examples

Book 16 is a subtly different in style and my beta reader is helping me realise this new direction, pointing out where I’ve slipped into old habits.

The structure of the book is not simply chapter after chapter all the way through, and it’s been great having her take on this as to whether it works or not, or adds anything of real value to the story.

Very importantly it’s been great to get feedback about the main characters and whether the ones I want the reader to like and root for appeal in some way, that their motivations resonate, even though their actions might be shocking or questionable.

Crucially, whether the pace is right – chapter after chapter of emotion and drama, for example, can leave a reader exhausted if there are no breaks. And does she want to read on? Is it boring in any part?

She’s made suggestions about aspects I’d hadn’t considered – for example regarding characters that my protagonist has moved away from who, in my beta reader’s opinion, should still be part of the story.

And, of course, above all else… has my storytelling made her become invested in the story? Has she enjoyed it?

All of this has been coupled with praise when pertinent. Now and then my daughter doodles a heart by a section she’s especially liked and this is such a boost and inspires me to keep doing my best.

And the drawbacks?

I can’t think of any – but then I’m 16 books into my career. If you are just starting out and haven’t had much experience of criticism, try not to take it personally, don’t let it dampen that heady passion we all feel when writing the first draft. Remember, any points that you agree with are only going to make your story stronger.

However also remember – it’s YOUR book. I don’t agree with everything suggested by my beta reader, by my agent or editors. Be honest enough to accept what you’ve written can be improved upon but, at the same time, listen to your heart if their view on something particularly rallies against yours.

What would my advice be to any writer considering taking on a beta reader?

Choose someone you absolutely trust with your work – not to talk about it with anyone else, or chat about it online.

Pick someone who can be completely honest with you and be tough where necessary. The beta reader has to be able to criticise you without fear of reprisal!

Make sure they understand the commitment – it’s a fair few hours of reading and commenting. You don’t want them to regret agreeing to help, or to drop out halfway through.

I’ve still a fair way to go but am looking forward to when Book 16 is completed, as she’s a fast reader and is going to read the book in one go. This could throw out a fresh set of problems that I’m excited to address before my agent sees the story.

An author must never get complacent, must always keep striving to improve and expand their knowledge about the craft, and learning from my daughter has been such a rewarding part of this latest journey I’m trying to think up bribes for her to stay at home for as long as possible!

The First Chapter – The Winter We Met!

Sam Tonge — Fri, 16 Oct 2020 13:32:43 +0000

The Winter We Met, my new heartwarming novel, is now just 99p!

The story is about a chance encounter, a care home, a toy shop and a very special Christmas party.

As a taster here’s the first chapter!

It was a misunderstanding that started it. I sat in the wrong row. The air steward said it didn’t matter. The flight wasn’t full and so I stayed there, by the window. We were about to take off.

I was travelling back to England after attending one of the many toy trade fairs that ran throughout the year, this time in Germany. I managed a shop called Under the Tree. It was the end of October and I was thinking ahead to next year’s must-have products. I yawned. It was an obscenely early flight.

Before heading to the airport I’d bought a little Bavarian cuckoo clock. I bent down and took it out of my hand luggage, put it on the seat next to me for a moment and grinned, imagining my plain-speaking gran’s face as the wooden bird flew noisily out of its door.

‘Must be a great joke.’

I looked up at the lofty frame, red jumper and eyes that laughed with me. Hastily, I put the clock back and removed my woollen bobble hat. He put his big rucksack and anorak into the overhead cabin and offered to lift my bag up there as well. Then he settled into the seat next to me and put on his seatbelt.

‘Sorry. I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Nik.’

He had an accent, it took me a moment to place it. Australian. He held out his hand and long fingers enveloped mine.

‘Jess,’ I said, unable to look away from those eyes, surprised by their startling blueness – and the tingly feeling spreading across my palm.

He glanced down at our hands and humorously raised an eyebrow. Blushing, I released him.

‘Sorry. Premature jet lag. I’ve been at a trade fair for two days and feel as if I could sleep through to next year’s.’

‘Me too. Nuremberg by any chance?’ he asked, and we chatted about how busy the fair had been.

‘So you manage a toy shop?’ he said, then really listened as I replied. His eyebrows moved up and down as we chatted. He was interested, paid attention.

Not everyone did that. It made me feel seen.

The plane vibrated as the engines started and Nik ran a hand through thick hair that was streaked with white. It was unusual for someone in their, what, early thirties, and contrasted with his tanned, smooth skin. He looked distinguished. At twenty-nine I’d not had my first grey hair yet.

‘What about you?’ I asked.

‘My family owns a toy manufacturing business in Sydney and I’ve been keeping track of the competition.’

The plane turned onto the runway – normally my cue to lean against the window and try hard to relax.

‘Do you like flying? You must be used to it, coming all the way from Australia.’

‘Love it. Night-time is best, with winds dying down along with thermal turbulence so that you just glide through the air, with stars coming out, realising Earth is just another spherical mass… it kind of gives you perspective, right?’

‘True. It’s so easy to believe that the world revolves around us – until we leave it and realise we are nothing but a tiny cog in a huge machine.’

‘Not that cogs aren’t important. Cogs have needs. Cogs have feelings – even teeny tiny ones.’ He caught my eye and we laughed. He stared at my hands again, which were clenched together. ‘Statistically, this is the safest form of travel,’ he said in a soft tone.

‘It’s still fairly new to me. I only started flying abroad a couple of years ago, with my flatmate Oliver. I never had foreign holidays when I was little.’

‘If it’s any consolation, I threw up the first time I flew. I was seven. It was Easter and I’d secretly scoffed a huge chocolate egg before boarding. The turbulence didn’t agree with my digestive system.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Nor did its contents with the passenger in front. The poor woman was wearing white shoes. The whole cabin stank afterwards.’

Laughing loudly, I became aware we were up in the sky. Nik leant in as the air steward trundled towards us with a jingling drinks trolley. The aroma of coffee energised me and we each accepted a cup, both taking no milk and just one sugar. The two of us sipped and gave a contented sigh before chatting about Nuremberg. My shoulders relaxed as the conversation flowed. There weren’t any awkward silences and we had plenty of laughs. I’d heard people talk about it before – meeting someone you felt as if you’d known for years. That instant connection, like… I glanced down at my lap… like two halves of a seatbelt clicking together. I thought I’d had it once before.

Not wanting to think about that now, I bought a large bar of chocolate from the duty-free list, wishing I’d had time to grab breakfast. I shared some of it with Nik before we lapsed into comfortable work talk again about how his family’s company favoured making traditional products.

‘I loved that wooden clock you were holding, when I boarded,’ he said.

‘It’s for my gran. She used to collect wooden ornaments and would always look for unusual decorative ones for our Christmas tree when I was younger. She’s a huge fan of the festive season. Gran’s a keen reader and would read all of the new children’s festive releases with me. We spent many a cosy December Saturday in the library.’

‘Do you see much of her now?’

‘Yes, but we no longer live together. She moved into an assisted living facility four years ago. She still enjoys Christmas to the full, though. Every December they hold a huge Christmas Eve party. The residents start preparing for it as early as January, buying in cheap craft materials during the sales and, as the months pass, testing out new festive recipes in the communal kitchen for the buffet they put on. They also research different themes. Then in early November a meeting is held to vote for the best one.’

‘Why leave it that late to decide?’ he asked.

‘So that it ramps up the excitement in the weeks before the big day… Last year’s theme was a masquerade ball. The year before a Downton Abbey one.’

‘It sounds ace. Christmas really is the best time of year. My family and I are often too busy to go to parties, going into overdrive completing the production of extra orders of toys that no one predicted would be quite so popular. Not that I mind. It’s worth it if I’m out and spot a kid playing with one of our products.’

Before I could answer the pilot announced we were about to land. How had that happened? Nik had turned hours into minutes. We tightened our seatbelts and I stashed the remainder of the chocolate into my handbag. I gripped the arm rests. Nik pulled a funny face and I couldn’t help grinning. Eventually my rapid breathing slowed as he went on to tell a really bad joke, me shaking my head when he delivered the punchline. Relief surged through me as I realised the plane had touched down. When we came to a standstill, a whistling Nik passed down my hand luggage from the overhead cabin, slipped on his anorak and grabbed his rucksack. The air stewards beamed as he thanked them for a great journey. We disembarked and walked into the large, impersonal terminal, hit by the hustle bustle and flight announcements over the intercom. My stomach rumbled as I followed Nik who navigated the crowd easily as he stood a good head above anyone else.

‘Are you going to another fair?’ I asked, once we’d collected our pull-along cases, needing to leave but not quite wanting to say goodbye. Nik was good company.

‘Sure. Tomorrow – one in London just for manufacturers. Then I’m… taking a break for a few weeks. A friend of the family has gone away on business for two months and said I could have his flat for as long as I wanted, in a place called Islington.’

‘Nice. But a break? At this time of year?’

‘Mitigating circumstances,’ he said. ‘And I can’t think of a better country to spend time in. You’ve reminded me of how much I like England. I’ve really enjoyed meeting you, Jess.’

My stomach did a little flip as he said my name. It caught me by surprise. ‘It’s been great meeting you too.’ I looked at my watch. ‘It’s only ten o’clock. What have you got planned for the rest of the day?’

‘Nothing much. It feels like a waste, to be honest. Guess I’ll just head to the flat and stock up on food. If I was sensible, I’d get some sleep.’

‘Do you fancy having something to eat together first? My stomach is calling out, literally, for eggs and toast.’

He smiled. ‘There’s me thinking that noise was the weather gods welcoming me into London with a roll of thunder.’

We managed to find ourselves a seat in one of the airport’s crowded restaurants. Despite the early hour, a group of young men sat at a nearby table downing beer and flicking drinks mats, their raucous chat revealing they were heading to Amsterdam for a stag party. Nik and I both ordered a full English breakfast and sat nursing mugs of tea.

‘So, you’ve been to England before?’ I asked and took a sip.

‘Yes. It’s only the last few years or so that I’ve been going to the trade fairs on my own. I joined the company straight from university and Mum and Dad have been teaching me the ropes ever since, taking me on work trips abroad.’ He ran a finger around the mug’s rim. ‘They brought me here as a teenager though, on holiday to see the sights. Mum and Dad went backpacking during university holidays and always said there was nothing quite like travel for broadening the mind. They liked discovering unusual places. We travelled the length of the country, from Newcastle to Bournemouth.’

‘Wow. Any favourite places?’

‘Stonehenge was amazing – so atmospheric. And we rented a cottage in the Cotswolds for a few days, in a quiet little village. It looked like a picture off a chocolate box and ducks visited the back garden – Mum fell in love with it. Manchester was pretty cool with trendy independent coffee shops and warehouse stores. We had to visit the Cavern Club in Liverpool as Dad had always been a massive fan of The Beatles and we also took a wonderful steam engine trip through Norfolk. We only spent one day in the capital so I don’t really know London.’

‘It sounds as if you’ve seen more of my home country than I have. So what got your parents interested in toy manufacturing?’

‘Mum was studying a degree in arts and Dad a design degree with modules in consumer engineering. He was left some money from his grandparents – enough to start the business. Also both of their families are big and even in their twenties, between them, Mum and Dad had lots of nephews and nieces and loved entertaining them, and Grams and Grandpa – Mum’s parents – would often talk about how Mum was always making her own toys as a child out of food packaging and scraps of materials or plastic.’ He smiled. ‘She encouraged me as a boy. I used to love crafting with the week’s leftover cereal boxes and plastic butter tubs. I guess that passed the passion onto me.’

‘My gran used to be more of a chef and we’d make a new recipe up from leftovers each week,’ I said. ‘A friend of hers owned an allotment and we’d bake all sorts of crumbles and concoct different pasta sauces with vegetables. Our pumpkin spaghetti became a favourite.’ The waitress delivered our breakfast and I looked down at the plate. It had a small pot of baked beans, fried eggs, bacon, tomatoes and mushrooms, plus slices of buttered toast and a hash brown. ‘Gran would love this. When I was younger, she’d do me a fry-up as a treat every Friday, before school. There’s nothing like waking up to the smell of bacon.’

‘So how did you get into the business?’ he said, offering me the salt before shaking it across his eggs.

‘Angela, the boss of the toy shop where I work – Under the Tree – went to school with my mum, therefore she knew Gran and heard how I wasn’t sure what to do after my A levels. She said there were worse careers than working in retail, and that she couldn’t pay me much to begin with, but would I be interested in a job in a new toy shop she was setting up.’ I shrugged. ‘Angela gave me a future, a purpose, and I was grateful, working hard to prove her trust wasn’t misplaced.’ A comfortable silence fell for a few moments. I popped the last bit of toast into my mouth. ‘What do you eat for breakfast in Australia?’

‘Similar to this if I’ve got time. Or I grab a bowl of cereal.’ He closed his eyes and made a satisfied noise before opening them again. ‘I hadn’t realised how hungry I was. Thanks for suggesting this, Jess. I feel like a new man. Well… almost. My legs are still aching from being squashed behind that seat in front.’

‘Not a problem I have, at five foot three.’ I cut through an egg, sunshiny yolk spilling across the plate. ‘Although next to Gran I’m practically a giant. She must be only four foot something now.’

‘Grams shrank too during her final years.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry to hear she isn’t with you anymore.’

‘It was a huge shock when she passed – even though it had been foreseen for a while.’ He stopped eating for a moment and his voice became quieter. ‘Grams didn’t always know who I was, at the end, but sometimes she’d wink or pull a comical face and we’d laugh.’ His mouth quirked up. ‘But then she’d always been a joker. Grandpa was the serious one and saw it as his duty to teach me the things he’d grown up doing, such as fishing and tying knots. Whereas Grams and me would dance in her kitchen, hand in hand, singing to her favourite folk music. He always did say he wouldn’t last long if she went first.’ Nik dug his fork into a mushroom and a sheepish look crossed his face. ‘Jeez, sorry, I’m getting way too serious this early in the morning.’

Don’t apologise. Your openness is refreshing.

‘You get on well with your grandparents?’ he continued.

‘My granddad died before I was born. He got hit by a stolen car. But yes, Gran practically brought me up. I don’t know how I would have managed without her.’

Nik nodded. ‘I used to love listening to stories from when my grandparents were younger and whatever problem I faced, they had some experience to draw on that they’d share with me and it would help.’ He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. I pointed to the corner and a splodge of yolk. He grinned and wiped it again before pushing his plate away and giving a contented sigh. ‘I don’t feel like moving now.’

I groaned and looked at my watch. ‘I hear you but I’ve got to drop into work. It’s almost twelve and I promised to help out this afternoon. I’d better get going.’

‘Is it in the centre of London?’

‘God no – I couldn’t face the daily commute. I live in a town called Amblemarsh and Under the Tree is in a neighbouring village called Springhaye which is also where Gran’s care home is.’

‘It sounds quintessentially English, I’m picturing meadows and wildflowers.’

‘It boasts a river with canal boats. The village is quite quaint. There’s a brilliant pub next to Gran’s place and the shops are very unique. There’s a bookshop that also sells art, and a shop that sells nothing but handcrafted umbrellas.’

‘No!’

I grinned. ‘A needlework shop sells everything you could imagine connected to embroidery, it’s next to The Corner Dessert Shop that serves the best ever puddings. Next to Under the Tree is a camera shop called Smile Please. The owner, Mr Wilson, begrudgingly sells the mod cons to do with digital photography but his heart is in the old school trends and he stocks quite a collection of film cameras – some you could practically class as antique. It’s a family business, like yours, and has been handed down over two generations and still offers film processing.’

Nik sat up. ‘There’s only one vintage camera and film processing shop I know of in the whole of Sydney.’ He reached into his rucksack and lifted out a clunky old-fashioned film camera. ‘I’m a huge fan myself and have even got my own dark room at home – yes, hands up, I’m a bit of a photography nerd,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing quite like the excitement of developing your own negatives.’

‘Then you’d love Mr Wilson’s collection – almost as much as he’d love showing you around. Since the proliferation of phones with cameras their shop is often empty and certainly the only young customers he has are photography students.’ I paused. ‘You’re most welcome to tag along, as I head into work. Springhaye is about forty minutes on the train from here and it would take you just half an hour from there to get back into London later. It stops at King’s Cross which isn’t far from Islington. You could pop into Under the Tree afterwards. I’m sure my colleague, Seb, could cover whilst I have a quick coffee with you in the staff room before you leave. Although I imagine you must be tired, so please feel welcome to pop in any other day, if you prefer.’

‘I’d love to come with you, if you’re sure you don’t mind! That breakfast has re-energised me and I’ve nothing else planned.’ His face broke into a smile. ‘Thanks, Jess.’

If you enjoyed reading this, why not head over here and treat yourself to the rest for just 99p?!

The Jackie Collins Romantic Thriller Award – and I won!

Sam Tonge — Wed, 04 Mar 2020 12:46:17 +0000

Two days on and I’m still on cloud nine! This inaugural award was in memory of the marvellously funny and feisty Jackie Collins – and was one of the awards up for grabs at the Romantic Novelists’ Association’s yearly awards ceremony in London on 2nd March… a special one this year, as the association is celebrating its 60th year.

When I found out, a while back, that my book Knowing You, from publisher Canelo, had been shortlisted that was exciting enough. I genuinely never expected to win as all the other contenders in this category were so strong.

It was a glittering event, with sparkles on dresses and in glasses, held at the Leonardo Royal London City hotel in Tower Bridge, London. I got there very early with my husband, so in my black faux fur coat I headed off to Starbucks for a fortifying hot chocolate. We got back to the hotel at 5 and I headed upstairs for the formal photographs. Then my husband, along with everyone else, came up at 6.30.

What a wonderful ceremony. Charming Anton du Beke from Strictly Come Dancing was there, as a nominee, along with author legends Sophie Kinsella and Carole Matthews, and comedian and author Jenny Eclair presented the awards. The wonderful Jane Wenham-Jones, looking amazing as usual, hosted.

My award was handed to me by Jackie Collins’ granddaughter – an absolute honour. I am so thrilled (no pun intended), however tenuous the link, to be connected to her inspirational grandmother.

The ceremony passed in a daze – I sat there, feeling a little tearful I admit, and just so happy, wondering how this could have happened. Writing is an up and down career and the moments like this make it worthwhile. Here I am with my husband, and agent Clare Wallace from the Darley Anderson agency.

Then we enjoyed a lovely buffet and everyone mingled, catching up with friends.

I’m so grateful to my agent, husband and children for the support they’ve shown me over recent years. It’s been a difficult time. As regular readers of this blog know, I’ve faced and tackled mental health issues since 2016 – and the eating challenges I’ve struggled with still rear their head from time to time, especially around events like this which, whilst exciting, tap into any body image/dysmorphia insecurities.

But I forced myself to face my fears, just like I did for the event last year when I was shortlisted, and I’m so glad I did.

And you can too as long as you keep telling yourself the truth – that fears are just that, and not actual fact