AMANDA BRITTANY lives in Hertfordshire with her husband and two dogs. She loves travelling, and visiting Abisko in Sweden inspired her to write Her Last Lie. She began writing fiction nine years ago, and has since gained a BA in Literature, a Diploma in Creative Writing, and had 200 stories and articles published in magazines globally. When her younger sister became terminally ill, Amanda’s hope was to write a novel where her royalties went to Cancer Research. Her Last Lie is that book, and all of Amanda’s royalties for downloads will go to that charity. Her Last Lie is her debut novel. You can follow her on Twitter @amandajbrittany and on Facebook www.facebook.com/amandabrittany2
A huge thank you to my wonderful Editor, Hannah Smith and all at HQ for your invaluable support, for guiding me through to publication, and for believing in Her Last Lie. It’s been an amazing journey.
Special thanks to Karen Clarke for all your support, and for being there when the words flow, and when they don’t. And to Joanne Duncan, thank you for reading early versions of Her Last Lie and giving me such great feedback.
To the Pink Ladies, my extended family, my friends, bloggers and Facebook friends – thank you for being so supportive throughout my writing journey.
And a big thank you to everyone who reads and enjoys Her Last Lie – you make it all worthwhile.
Finally, my biggest thanks go to my close family: Liam and Daniel for their unfailing encouragement, Luke for brilliant brainstorming and talking me out of many a dead-end with Her Last Lie, Lucynda for great feedback on an early draft, and having such faith, and Rhiannon for all your encouragement
To Mum and Dad for believing in me, and to my sister, Cheryl who was certain I would have a novel published one day. I wish she was here to see it. And last but by no means least, to my amazing husband, Kevin – I have no doubt whatsoever that without you there would be no Her Last Lie. I love you all so much.
To Cheryl
My brave sister
Saturday, 23 July
NSW Newsroom Online
Serial killer Carl Jeffery convicted of triple hostel killings, granted appeal.
Six years ago, the so-called Hostel Killer, Carl Jeffery, now thirty-one, was found guilty of the murders of Sophie Stuart, nineteen, Bronwyn Bray, eighteen, and Clare Simpson, twenty-six. He got three life sentences.
Now his younger sister, Darleen Jeffery, hopes to get him acquitted.
Mr Jeffery was accused of targeting women travelling alone in Australia. He would gain their trust, and when the women ended their relationship with Jeffery, he would tap on their window in the dead of night, wearing a green beanie hat and scarf to disguise his appearance, striking fear. He later killed them.
The main prosecuting evidence came from his intended fourth victim, Isla Johnson from the UK, who survived his attack and identified him as her assailant. She suffered physical and psychological injuries. Following Mr Jeffery’s trial, she returned to England where she now lives with boyfriend Jack Green.
During his trial, Jeffery broke down when questioned about his mother, who left the family home when he was eleven, leaving him and Darleen to live with their abusive father, who died three months before the first murder.
Darleen, who penned the bestseller My Brother is Innocent, has campaigned for her sibling’s release for almost six years. She claims her brother’s DNA was found on Bronwyn Bray’s body because they had been in a relationship, and that this wasn’t taken into account fully at the trial. She also insists the court should re-examine Isla’s statements of what happened the night of her brother’s arrest, suggesting there is no proof that he started the ‘bloodbath’ that unfolded that night.
Canberra’s High Court granted permission today for an appeal, agreeing there are sufficient grounds for further consideration of the case. The hearing will take place on 30 September.
Leaving court today, Darleen, wearing a two-piece royal-blue skirt suit, told reporters, ‘I’m over the moon. I believe we have a sound case, and I can’t wait for my brother to be released.’
We contacted Isla Johnson in her hometown of Letchworth Garden City, England. She told us she wouldn’t be attending the hearing. ‘They have my original statements, and I’ve no more to offer,’ she said.
Tuesday, 26 July
It was hot.
Not the kind of heat you bask in on a Majorcan beach. No tickle of a warm breeze caressing your cheek. This was clammy, and had crept out of nowhere mid-afternoon, long after Isla had travelled into London in long sleeves and leggings, her camera over her shoulder, her notepad in hand.
Now Isla was crushed against a bosomy woman reading a freebie newspaper, on a packed, motionless train waiting to leave King’s Cross. The air was heavy with stale body odour and – what was that? – fish? She looked towards