It’d be so much neater to say that the plot of Sweet Little Lies was inspired by one thing – a dream, a news report, an overheard conversation on the bus – but the truth is there was no single inspiration. Cat’s world and Maryanne’s fate just seemed to slip into my consciousness and I can’t remember the how or the why. I do remember that it started with Maryanne. I had a strong image running through my head, almost on a loop, of a young, pregnant, Irish girl boarding the boat to England, and gradually that image developed into something more complex. Soon I decided that my novel wouldn’t be about this girl’s journey, but about the mystery surrounding her disappearance.
Initially it wasn’t a police procedural, although that seems inconceivable now. For years, I had this slight hang-up that you couldn’t write within the genre without being somehow involved in the criminal justice system, and therefore the early seeds of Sweet Little Lies were planted very much in the psychological-thriller space with Cat Kinsella (she was always Cat Kinsella!) as simply a young woman who fears her dad may be involved in the disappearance and subsequent murder of another young woman.
Thankfully I got over my hang-up! I accepted it was plain old fear of failure that was holding me back and lo, DC Cat Kinsella was born (thanks to the internet, the APCO Murder Investigation Manual and the generosity of a very helpful police officer.)
The first image I ever had of Cat was her squaring up to her Dad in an ‘I-know-what-you-did’ style denouement (yes I know, very soap opera) however, as the story took shape, I realised it would be far more unsettling if Cat never knew for sure – at least until much later – exactly what her dad had done, just that he had done something. I loved the idea of them trapped in this toxic dynamic – Cat never sure just how dangerous her dad actually is, and her dad never sure why she hates him so much.
Cat announced herself quickly as I knew exactly how I wanted her to come across. Like so many crime fiction fans, I love a flawed detective, but it was important to me that Cat was flawed but entirely relatable. Someone you might go for a pint with. Someone you recognise. Someone who’s messed up on the inside but managing to function normally on the outside, at least most of the time. I think that probably goes for most of us!
Having spent my working life in office environments, the team also came alive pretty quickly and I loved writing the incident room scenes. While none of the characters are based on anyone I’ve worked with, I had lots of experience of office life to draw from – the laughs, the sniping, the tea-runs, the boozing, the occasional boredom – and again, I wanted to create a team that the reader recognised. Maybe even one they’d like to work in. In terms of specific characters, Parnell was conceived as being the polar opposite of Cat’s dad and Steele is basically the woman I’d love to be – sharp-witted, self-assured and feared and loved in equal measure. It’s fair to say I have a huge girl-crush on Steele.
Location was important on a personal level. As the idea for Sweet Little Lies was starting to form, I was actually in the process of leaving London after many years, and I think basing the novel there was my way of dealing with the initial homesickness I felt. It was also important to set the story somewhere it’s easy to feel anonymous, and while we often think of London as the place people go to make a name for themselves, it’s actually very easy to slip under the radar in the capital. Could a ‘baby-factory’ exist without people noticing in a small Warwickshire town? Probably not. Could it exist in the middle of Central London? Shockingly, yes.
I chose the west coast of Ireland as it’s the area I know best, but I decided to keep the exact location deliberately vague. As the Ireland chapters serve as quick flashbacks, rather than as a fully developed second timeline, I was conscious I could never do justice to the beauty of the real villages and towns within these very short scenes and therefore the town of Mulderrin is entirely made-up.
At the risk of sounding grandiose, I’ll finish by quoting Pablo Picasso, ‘Inspiration exists, but it must find you working.’ I think the main thing I’ve learned while writing this novel is that inspiration isn’t confined to the beginning phase of the process, and it’s rarely the trigger that gets books written – in fact, if you sit around waiting for THE idea to somehow present itself, you’ll probably never write anything. In reality, all you need is an image, a cracking opening line, a vague pull in a certain direction, and once you start writing, you’ll be surprised how the inspiration comes.
Writing = inspiration, not the other way around!