Always expect the unexpected…

But sometimes it is just too unexpected to be believed. I have certainly be taken by surprise by all the extraordinary events that have unfolded since I first set out to write my novel about The Spenders - Britain’s most famous family. Dead Rich. It has proved to be one of the most enjoyable and surprising experiences of my life – totally unexpected!

The twists and turns that have led from its first inception to publication, seem like an endless succession of happy accidents, and to some extent they are. But thinking about what informed the novel and the question that lies at it’s heart – ‘Is a life of fabulous wealth and fame really everything it’s cracked up to be?’ I realise that all the strands of my life and experience are woven together and I have drawn upon them to make up this novel – it is a work of imagination which demonstrates what I believe to be true and that is - to quote Brad Pitt – Fame is a bitch, man.

I was born as far away from the life depicted in Dead Rich as it is possible to be…my father was a sheep farmer in South Wales and I grew up on a beautiful welsh mountain. I ran wild, raised pet lambs and hardly ever went to school – it was idyllic. Both my parents were very hard working and sociable – our house was always full of people - farmhands, friends and fun. Unfortunately, when I was about eight, the bailiffs turned up and that was the end of our life on the farm – nobody expected that!

My parents dealt with such a bitter blow with extraordinary pluck, humour and resourcefulness.  We moved around for a while, dependant on the kindness of friends, until my father became journalist on Farmer’s Weekly and Le Figaro. My sister and I trained wild ponies - which Mum sold on as riding ponies.  We learnt useful lessons early on – you can always work your way back from financial disaster and that family and friends are what matter most.

After a few happy years at the local Grammar School I decided, aged 16 that I needed to move to London. Tired of mud - I wanted pavements – and the pavements of 1970’s London seemed like the most exciting place to be. A brief secretarial course was undertaken (remember those?!)  and I was out into the working world.

Unfortunately, I was the worst secretary on earth. Having been sacked from a job at the Economist – there followed brief and unsatisfactory spells in a couple of advertising agencies - more Sad Men than Mad Men - I began to think I might be unemployable.

I had a wonderful Uncle, who used to hang out in a very disreputable afternoon drinking club, The Colony Room in Soho – famously the haunt of Francis Bacon, Lucien Freud and, less famously, Brian the Burglar.

One drunken afternoon my Uncle met a brilliant designer called Thea Porter at the club. He mentioned his niece ‘was interested in clothes’ To be honest, the only evidence of this, was that I had exhausted my mother’s supply of old table cloths and curtains by making them into very ‘interesting’ dresses. As I say, he mentioned me and I suddenly found myself with the job of my dreams.  I was 17 - Thea Porter was at the height of her fame – making exquisitely glamorous, boho clothes for the most famous actresses, pop stars, directors, writers and artists of the 1970’s. Her exotic, souk/bazaar/shop in Greek Street, Soho was visited by an endless succession of stars; Elizabeth Taylor, Diana Ross, Barbara Streisand, The Stones, Rod Stewart and even Dame Edna…trying on clothes, hanging out, drinking and smoking – telling the stories of their lives – so it was there that I first got a glimpse of what lay beneath the façade of fame. Fascinating, fabulous people – but I couldn’t help noticing that some of them were very fragile indeed…

In those years I often travelled to Paris and LA and visited the houses of many of the Hollywood stars, I hung out with their kids and got a glimpse of what life was like for the families of the famous too.

Then, aged 20, I met and married my husband Theo – this was also pretty unexpected, as we hardly knew each other – but he was very handsome and funny and he asked me… what more can I say! We set up home in a damp little flat, which never had the phone or heating on at the same time – this meant we had to go out – a lot. We met a huge amount of people in those party years and many of the friends we made then remain so today.

Theo was working very hard, beginning to build a career as a jewellery designer and I went on from Thea Porter to become a photographer’s agent – which, not unsurprisingly, took me into the world of photographers, models and advertising agencies. Managing the careers of creative’s was something I enjoyed enormously for a few years – but, after my daughters were born, I found working long hours away from them too difficult – the dilemma of every working mother – I missed them too much.

So I returned to my roots in the rag trade and set up a business that I could run from home, selling Designer samples and excess stock to a list of private clients. I have been doing this happily for the past 20 years. Many of my clients have become great friends. Dressing women is a very intimate experience – the vulnerabilities and insecurities, which so many of us share, make my job very revealing - in every sense. Some of the things I have been told by people have very surprising indeed and I am often reminded that life really is stranger than fiction. 

Then along came this novel – quite unexpectedly – although I have been writing for years. Book outlines, screenplays, a TV series or two. I never had the confidence to show them to anyone – until Dead Rich.  When I told a friend about The Spenders - three generations of a rich, famous family behaving very badly – she just said ‘write it’ and gave me a copy date. That was the spur – The Spenders had lived inside my head for a long time before I started to write about them…so when I finally let them out they were soon elbowing each other out of the way to get as much page space as possible. Lots of things they said and did shocked even me!  So, where did all this stuff come from…pouring out onto the page? Where indeed?

Then I look back at my life so far and I realise – ah – that’s where!

What to wear? Perfect clothes to snare a job...

Apparently, I’m an adult.

At the time of writing, there are just DAYS until I finish university and have to enter the REAL WORLD.

A scary place where the flash of a student card doesn’t make Topshop that little bit cheaper and a £500 fashion allowance is an offer dreams are made of.

As much as I could pop the entire budget into my currently non-existent dream Mulberry bag fund (a £925 Oversized Alexa in Oak Light Patent Leather please!) a growing up girl needs a grown-up outfit.

Job hunting starts next May so I need a killer, take-down-the-advert, stop the recruitment, we’ve found our girl kinda outfit.

So Nancy Sinatra’s boots are made for walking, but I need shoes. Shoes that are made for hiring. Then, walking, talking, writing, editing, business meetings, long lunches, longer office parties and everything else in-between.

These two-tone Classic Collection LK Bennett courts are perfect, they have a high enough heel to ensure I’m confidently walking tall, yet aren’t knee-buckling, blister-causing skyscrapers.

The caramel and black colour-block of the shoe provides a hint of Chanel class. Very K-Middy.  At £185 these are definitely a necessary investment.

Some tailored trousers are next on my wish list. A pair of £110 Ted Baker velvet cigarette legged trousers provide a nod to the androgynous trend, whilst still holding a feminine edge. Fabulous. Next, I want a shirt that I can utilise in lots of office outside. H&M, the source of ‘I love your dress…how much? REALLY?’ conversations, is where I’ll head. This pearl chiffon blouse is a wardrobe staple for just less than twenty British pounds.

I shall of course be abiding by the work-wear fashion commandment – thou shalt wear smart tailoring. Epitomised by Jaeger at London Fashion Week in pastel candy colours, my interview outfit needs a fitted blazer.

My current wardrobe is packed with hues of chocolate and caramel, so this camel blazer definitely caught my eye. Found in high street haven All Saints, its creased paper-like finish will contrast nicely against my sleek trousers and blouse.

At £180, it would go great with a shift dress, tights and ankle boots too. A winner.

I’d wear the blazer open, showing off the pussy-bow detail of my bargain blouse.

My hair twisted into an effortless yet smart top-knot, I’ll add a cute bow hair clip to finish the look for just £3.50. Accessorize always gets a gold star for their outfit making extras at pocket money prices, and this clip is no exception. It adds a fab girly touch to my interview outfit.

Holding onto my savvy student spending ways, I’m left with a whole £3.50 to spare. That’s just enough for a pre-interview latte and a muffin.

So now I’ve got the look… who’s hiring?

"How I Changed From Commissioning TV to Writing Books"

When I was 17, I asked my mum, with no hint of irony, whether she thought I should use my real name for the books I was going to write or whether I should come up with a pen-name.

My mum, who is nothing if not forthright, looked at me askance and said in her strong Northern Irish accent “I don’t think it’ll ever be an issue so I wouldn’t waste time worrying about it!”

But fast-forward 25 years and I DID finally achieve my ambition to become an author, when my first novel, RSVP, was published. 

So what took me so long?  Well, I suppose what got in the way was the other ambition I had nursed since I was very young, to work in TV.  From the age of about 7, I would send off endless letters to the BBC, suggesting ideas for programmes that invariably involved me presenting them.  This was despite being rather chubby, with short, greasy hair and thick glasses.  At such a tender age, I hadn’t yet realised how lookist TV is.

At university, I got a less than impressive degree, thanks to my devotion to Richard & Judy on This Morning.  Mornings that should have been spent at lectures were spent much more pleasurably, lolling on my bed learning the vitally important life skills of using hair conditioner when shaving my legs and how to apply fake tan without staining my palms.

I had no idea at the time but all of this was to come in very handy when a few years later, I landed my dream job as a day producer on… This Morning!  It was stressful, terrifying and utterly, utterly brilliant. 

From there, I gradually climbed the greasy TV pole until I found myself in one of the best jobs in the world, as Head of Daytime for Channel 4.  I was actually PAID to be in charge of shows like Come Dine With Me, Deal or No Deal and Coach Trip!  I’d have done it for free but luckily Channel 4 didn’t know that…

But as with everything, there was a price to pay for such a fantastic job.  Every day, I had to travel for 5 hours to get to and from work.  In order to cope with the commute, I started to write and that is how I came to write RSVP and IOU.  Every day, I would get on the train, open my laptop and start to write.  When I arrived at Liverpool Street, I would close the laptop, go to work and repeat the whole exercise again in the evening. It was great but it was exhausting.

So when, in October 2011, I got a call to say that I had been offered a new 3 book deal, it was as if all the pieces suddenly slotted into place and I decided to leave Channel 4 to write full-time.

At the beginning of 2012, I found myself sitting at my desk at home, overlooking the beautiful, wild sea and wondering why I didn’t do this years ago. 

But the truth is, I couldn’t have done it years ago because it wasn’t the right time. Now is the right time and I feel blessed.

p.s. I did use my real name – and my mum couldn’t be prouder.

Author Jane Costello

Well, single ladies, here is my plea to you: DO NOT FALL FOR IT!

There is no doubt that being in love is the best thing in the world. Better than sliced bread, the Milk Tray Man and an unexpected tax rebate, all put together.

I know, because I am. In love with someone, that is. Now, before I lose you, let me say straight off that I am not smug about this fact. Happy, yes. Smug, no. Because, singletons, I’ve been there. I know exactly what it’s like at this time of year – and it isn’t always pretty.

I’ve been the woman who returns from work, aflutter with hope that some mystery hunk has sent a card . . . only to find a gas bill and invitation to sponsor a donkey in Peru. I’ve dreamt of lavish dinners a deux, but had to settle with something that takes three and a half minutes at 850 watts.

I’ve been there and I came back from the brink; gave myself two sharp slaps across the face (not literally) and reminded myself why being single can be, not just okay, but great. And a pesky little thing like Valentine’s Day isn’t going to alter that.

Never forget that the biggest thing going for periods of singledom is the fact that you can do exactly what you want.

You can holiday where you want, cook what you want, depilate your leg hair when you want (and if that means when your mother claims to be capable of crocheting it, so be it).

Some women can only dream of a world that involves never allowing a Jeremy Clarkson programme into their lives again.

You can decorate the flat to your specifications, secure in the knowledge that your Herculanean efforts on the soft furnishings won’t be greeted with little more than a grunt. You can clean the loo confident that nobody will be along ten seconds later to play lavatorial coconut shy – where every area in a three foot radius wins a prize.

I know Feb 14 is tough, but stay strong, sisters. Go out with your single friends, have a blast – and remember that simply having a boyfriend doesn’t necessarily make for a show-stopping Valentine’s Day anyway.

Just ask my friend who, after flicking hopefully through the Mr&Mrs Smith website one year, received the most lavish and thoughtful gift her boyfriend could conjure up: a crate of Stella.

Read, Pray... Job!

Editorial assistant Georgina Bouzova

Last January I was watching Julia Roberts take off her wedding ring in the film Eat Pray Love, about to embark on a journey to “Find Herself”, when it suddenly dawned on me that I too had come to the end of a relationship. Except mine was with my ten-year-long acting career. So I made the biggest New Year’s Resolution of my life and decided to change professions.

A lawyer friend said I could intern for her and told me that the best interns did everything they were asked with good grace, and this became my mantra as I stood by the photocopier waiting with the other interns, all three of whom, even when I added their ages together, were younger than me. However it wasn't long before I realised that you can dress Law up in all the glamour in the world, but it is a dry, dry subject and after ten hours of researching superinjunctions I learnt that sometimes interning is useful just to know which job you DON’T want to do.

Next I interned on a fashion magazine, but after a few days of writing about nail varnish shades I told my friend who was the beauty editor that it wasn’t for me. “You have to keep trying different things,” she said. “It’s like finding The One. You’ll just know,” and promptly gave me a huge bag of beauty goodies to cheer me up.

She was right. Two weeks later when I walked into the offices of an international publishing company, being surrounded by all those books, I just knew. On my first day when in a meeting for Books and the City, I saw the room was laden with baked goods and fresh coffee.

“Is this normal?” I asked one of the girls.

”Oh yes,” she said and promptly forced a Red Velvet Cupcake into my eager palms, "Welcome to publishing!"

My boss was quick to notice my enthusiasm and was soon giving me responsibilities and feedback which really allowed me to learn about the business. I watched her every move and tried to make myself indispensable, making copious amounts of tea (although I once forgot to boil the kettle which was a bit embarrassing). Often the girls would say “You really don’t need to make us tea and coffee all the time, it’s not what you're here for,” but I was just so grateful to have found my “One” I was prepared to do anything to get a job there (and besides I felt that it was karma for all the tea various runners had brought to my dressing rooms in my time as an actress).

Then a few weeks in, my boss led me into her office. ‘We’d like to offer you a job,’ she said. 

And to my absolute rapture I was signed up as Editorial Assistant for the fiction department, the beginning of my new career in publishing.

Those months of interning weren’t the easiest. Just like Julia Roberts’ character there was insecurity about the future plus, in my case at least, a lot of Heinz tinned soup for dinner due to lack of income, but throwing myself into the unknown, just like Julia’s character, paid off in the end. I have at last found the career for me, and making that New Year’s Resolution is the best thing I ever did.

Why Every Girl Deserves a Secret Wardrobe

In my debut novel Miracle on Regent Street, the main character, Evie Taylor, is a shy, unassuming stockroom girl. And just like Hardy’s, the faded, forgotten old department store in London that she works in, she feels utterly overlooked. But behind her plain clothes and duffel coat she hides a big secret: a passion for vintage fashion. At home she has an antique Armoire full of beautiful, individual pieces from every era, each garment has the potential to change the way people see her. But she has never worn any of the clothes in ‘The Wardrobe’ as she believes her life isn’t good enough for them. Instead she patiently hangs them up and closes her closet, dreaming of the day when she’ll have the opportunity to step into them – and out of the shadows.

I believe that every woman has got a secret closet - even if you don’t own a beautiful Armoire, like Evie’s. Perhaps your unworn garments are hanging next to your every day work clothes, or maybe they’re still in their shopping bags with the labels still attached or packed away in the loft. Just like the wardrobe that leads to Narnia, the clothes in our secret wardrobes hold the key to the lives that we want to live. Like the ‘thin’ clothes we buy that we can’t actually fit into, the special, can’t-breathe-it’s-so-beautiful evening dress we own ‘Just in case we get invited to the Oscars one day’ or the chic designer top we bought to wear to an important business meeting with the bank (if we ever get off our butts long enough to do something with that business idea we’ve had for years). There’s our wedding dresses, worn once but never forgotten. The beautiful shoes that are too high to walk in but we splurged on anyway because buying them made our day brighter somehow, the expensive handbag we’re too scared to use in case a pen leaks inside it…

You’d think these garments in ‘The Wardrobe’ would haunt us with their presence, reminding us of everything our life isn’t. But for me, they hold the key to possibility. They embody my hopes and dreams. There’s the beautiful 1950s style citrus bright Louis Feraud dress I spotted in the window of my favourite vintage shop and bought, even though I knew my social life, which consists of an occasional a dinner at a local pub, would never be good enough for it. And the skinny jeans I bought when I was pregnant became something to aim for once I cared enough about my body again after giving birth to try them on. My glorious Christian Louboutin wedding shoes have pride of place on my shoe shelves because they hold memories of that day that are better than any photograph could capture – and I get to look at them every single day. I’m keeping them for my daughter in case she wants to wear them on her wedding day. If not, I’ll give them to a vintage shop in 30 or so years time and maybe, just maybe, someone like Evie will have their life transformed by them.

So don’t ever feel bad for having a secret wardrobe. Like Evie, you may suddenly find the day finally comes when you need to open it. Remember that beautiful vintage Louis Feraud dress I bought thinking I’d never have anywhere to wear it? Reader, I wore it to my first ever book launch!

The Inspiration behind ‘An Autumn Crush’

Autumn isn’t a typical month to set a book in, I’ll grant you.  I think most people associate it with things dying – which doesn’t make for a good romantic start.  However, last autumn, whilst I was writing An Autumn Crush, I saw the season through very different eyes.  How beautiful it is, how rich in colour, and how much goes on in autumn: bonfire night, Halloween, Harvest Festival... it’s a riot of activity and a feast for all the senses.  And, I realised that it’s actually not a season about dying at all – it’s a time when the fruits are all picked, the flowers have all been admired, the trees and plants have done their duty and it’s nature’s time to wind down and sleep, ready to spring into bud again next year.  What better message then for characters who feel that their big chances to be happy or successful are gone?  Never to underestimate life’s abilities to grow the bud that will one day be a big fat blossom.  Autumn is not the end, it is the rest before the restart.  Why would it be so beautiful if not to inspire a message of hope?

In many ways Autumn Crush is my most poignant book.  There is quite a tragic thread running through it which the season reflects perfectly.  However, if I’m going to write a book which is intended to inspire a Kleenex to be applied to a reader’s eyes, the last thing I want is it to be wallowing in misery, which is why I also made sure there was a lot of fun in it too - you need to employ both the light and dark of tragedy and comedy to accentuate the other.  The characters in this book are amongst my favourite ever:  Guy who despairs at himself for being clumsy and always saying the wrong thing, Coco who thrives on drama, Steve who all bluff and bravado on the outside but inside just wants to be part of a family, Floz who is a gentle bud waiting for her time to bloom – and Juliet, who was the second lead character in the story, but is so bolshey that she wouldn’t take the ‘bridesmaid’ role (you’ll forgive me if I talk about my characters as if they are real – to me they are!) and became the real head female.  She was marvellous to write – a big, feisty bird who you just wouldn’t mess around, but with a very soft heart and vulnerabilities – even if they are well hidden.    

The man who has a massive crush on her, Steve, is an amateur wrestler – an untypical hero maybe, but the world of wrestling and I are fond friends.  My dad’s pals – and my granddad – were wrestlers and I’ve always loved the sport.  I’m friends with many of the wrestling fraternity and go to the twice-yearly reunions.  I’m great mates with the legend who is Klondyke Kate who out of the ring is the sweetest, gentlest lady you could imagine – (see Juliet).  In the ring – well that’s a different story.  I’m actually in the process of writing a factual book about Yorkshire wrestlers.  The stories I’ve collected have been very funny and I can’t use most of them because I’d be arrested under the indecency act.

Juliet is looking for love but a strong woman needs a stronger man, something she finds distinctly thin on the ground so she resorts to internet dating.  Ten years ago it was quite a new and slightly dodgy place to try and hook up with a new partner, but these days most single people I know have tried it.  Me included.  I’ve howled with laughter at some of the stories I’ve collected about online dating, and been very moved by the cruelty that can occur when honesty isn’t employed.  I never had as much luck as five of my friends who are now happily married to men they met on dating sites.  I landed a policeman who I dated for over a year who was secretly involved with a much older woman for the whole time.  Ouch.  Myself and my savings had a very lucky escape there.   I did meet the most perfect man in the world on it too who ticked every box but the one which asked ‘do you fancy him?’  And the truth was that I didn’t.  Oh how much simpler life would be if we could just fall in love with the people who fall in love with us.  Which is another theme of the book: that Love is a minx and will NOT be mastered by anyone.  That’s why our hearts often stick to an unimpressed steady rhythm for the nice guys in life yet boom for the most unsuitable people – like the ‘disappearing lover’ who is a feature in the book.  Things are going great then suddenly your calls aren’t returned and you are faced with a wall of silence and no answer to the puzzle.  These lovers have a habit of turning up just when, ‘you’ve got yourself together.’  And annoyingly your damn heart betrays you and starts thudding with excitement.  Love, eh?  An imp if ever there was one.  I’ve loved writing about the darker sides of love in this book.  It’s my most passionate book to date.  I needed a cold shower after writing some of the chapters.

Love can behave sweetly and conventionally, or wild without reason.  It can love can turn enemies into passionate lovers and bring people together against all the odds.  Love can be fickle and cruel, obsessive and fabulous – but it’s always powerful – and would life ever be worth living without its presence?