News of the Anatomy of a Scandal billboards on Sunset Boulevard sits in my DMs while I shepherd my teens through the preschool chaos. Its the morning I drive my youngest to school. Have you seen my goggles? he calls, while I covertly flick to the Insta app on my phone and see that one of the executive producers of the Netflix show based on my thriller has sent me four messages. My heart trips. I may have written an international bestselling novel developed by the Big Little Lies dream team, but imposter syndrome rages; my default response that Im about to be found out. Only, there they are: photos of vast billboards depicting the series leads - Sienna Miller, Michelle Dockery, Rupert Friend, Naomi Scott, and Josette Simon looking suitably noirish against a hazy LA sky. Its the latest in a series of discombobulating moments, but I havent time to dwell on it. Come on, comes the cry from the hall. Were going to be late!

It's one degree and sleeting by the time I drop the boy and look at the image again, on a freezing dog walk. I fire off a tweet, and head along an East Anglian field, sleet driving into my face. Hands in my pockets, I can feel my phone vibrating with congratulatory messages from other authors. Take a selfie! suggests one. Jump on a plane! says another. I think of my to-do list: the articles to be written; the small matter of dog and children; covid just experienced, still clouding my brain. The scene is bleak: grey skies; ploughed-up brassicas; a biting wind whistling from Siberia, but I smile. I dont need to fly 5,400 miles to see the billboards in person. The six-part series based on my thriller about power, privilege and consent is being paraded along the road to Hollywoods studios. Its enough to know that its there.

It's been quite the journey. When I wrote it, back in 2016, I had no idea if anyone would want to publish it. A former news reporter and political correspondent on the Guardian, Id taken voluntary redundancy after my second baby, the childcare juggle/two-hour commute seeming insurmountable and financially impossible with a husband doing anti-social shifts. My first two novels didnt trouble the UK bestseller lists, but then came Anatomy, partly inspired by a phone call Id taken from Boris Johnson, back in late 2004, over his affair with Petronella Wyatt. Drawing on my time at Oxford, my experience at Westminster, and my court reporting, its been sold to 24 countries and was swiftly snapped up by Made Up Stories, 3dot Productions and David E Kelley. Four years later, its now one of the most watched shows on Netflix.

And its been a ride. Ill never forget going on set at the end of the third lockdown and meeting an Ugg-shodden Sienna, Michelle, and Josette (covid protocols meant the Shepperton studio in which they were filming the court scenes was freezing) or discussing consent and privilege with an emotionally intelligent Rupert Friend. Ive felt a quiet thrill hearing my lines voiced by these actors, while recognising that something fresh has been created: that my baby has developed way beyond my pages into something gripping to be screened in 190 countries; is no longer mine. Of course, there are changes its twistier and more sumptuous but Im thrilled it remains faithful to the tone of my thriller with its key themes of entitlement and consent. The cast have been doing sterling work, touring the US chat shows, and, in Siennas case, being frank about the parallels with her own life. Reading and listening to her speaking so passionately about its relevance is another pinch-me moment. It couldnt be more timely.

The Conservatives have helped with the marketing. That was my immediate, irreverent response to the recent allegations againstTory backbencher David Warburton. Whenever Ive worried that Anatomy might feel outdated, another politician does something abusive or entitled: Charlie Elphicke; Matt Hancock; the PM and Partygate; and now the MP for Somerton and Frome. It means rewriting a T2 front, originally slated for transmission day, but its a pleasure. A middle-aged man accused of sexually assaulting two younger women while his wife stands dutifully by him? Sounds rather familiar.

Weve grabbed a few days in north Cornwall, though the idea of my taking a holiday at the most exciting point of my career is clearly stupid. Nevertheless, its wonderful to be here. The historian A.L. Rowse described the county as the land of my content and I feel similarly about the spot Ive been visiting since I was a child, and from where my mums family hail. My literary claim to fame used to be that a distant relative, one Hilda Jelbert, was DH Lawrences 14-year-old maid at Zennor. After scouring Padstow Tesco, where Anatomy of a Scandal is on the front of two magazines, inside several others, and the Times, I realise thats about to change.

Originally posted here:
How a phone call from Boris inspired me to write Anatomy of a Scandal - The Spectator