My Story

For traumatised children, safety often stops being a feeling. It becomes a task.

You were moonlight and wildflowers, boots on wet earth, sage smoke and cider and whispered truths. We didn’t hide from each other. We didn’t know how.

My Grandad was a war veteran, a photographer, and an engineer. He made things work when others gave up. And when the system failed me — when I was taken from an abusive foster home that should never have existed — he was the one who came.

In 1657, two women were hanged for witchcraft in Goudhurst — the same village where I was later cast out for writing about women like them. This is the true story behind my novel, Cunning Woman — a tale rooted in history, blood, and my own exile.