The Treatment

Chapter 1

My mother and father were rather traditional. They met inButlins, Bognor Regis. Mum had been born in the UK and Dadwas from New Zealand. His father had been taken out to NewZealand from England as a baby. In 1959 dad came to the UK.Not long afterwards he met my mum. Dad was Mum's firstserious boyfriend and after they married in 1962, they wantedchildren. My two eldest brothers Michael and Tony were bornin the UK. In 1965 my parents decided to go back to NewZealand by boat, a journey that took five weeks. They settledin the North Island, where Dad's family were from, years laterbuying a house in the lovely suburb of St Heliers, Auckland.That is where my third brother Russell was born in 1966 and Iwas born nine years later on May 1, 1975.Dad had got a job with Air New Zealand. By the time hewas made Chief Purser he was flying all over the world andit was one of the perks of the job that Mum and I could flywith him. We went to all the places Air NZ went: Singapore,Tahiti, Fiji, Hawaii, LA, Tokyo and Canada. I always loved to travel. We came to England frequently to see Mum's side of thefamily, eventually buying a flat in Southfields near WimbledonCommon.It was while I was in England that I got my first job workingfor my brother Michael, who at the time was living in the UK.I had always respected Michael, who was a qualified engineer.He was also a courageous, adventurous man and had set uphis own bungee-jumping company, Natural High Bungee. Itwas a wonderful introduction to English musical festivals withMichael, overseeing and organising jumps from a 200ft crane. Idid several jumps while I was working for my brother. Michaelwas a bungee-master having done over 400 jumps, includingout of helicopters. I much preferred the safety of the cage andwatching other people take the leap of faith; I found going upand down in the cage thrilling enough.My early twenties were spent continuing to travel the world.Having an ear for music, I had invested in some professionalequipment while in Tokyo. With my parents' home in Southfieldsand my brother Michael living in High Barnett, London, I enrolledon a sound engineering course at the Liberty School of Music.My move to England wasn't going to be permanent, my friendAmanda lived in South Africa and had a recording studio on herproperty. I had given her a little money to invest in some land andwas sure that after completing my course, that was where I wasgoing to be spending the fast-approaching millennium.I had only been in London for a few weeks when I met BenRoberts, my future husband. Ben's time at school had been verydifferent from mine. He had been sent to a prestigious boardingschool when he was seven but he had not enjoyed it and spokeabout it bitterly.'My children both loved boarding school,' Ben's motherChristine said on one occasion.'No, I did not, Mum, I hated every minute of it,' Benhad scoffed back. 'Dad loved Cranleigh, not me. I will never understand why you sent me there. We only lived around thecorner. Why did you not send me to Bedales with Lucy? She hada great time.'Ben's high school days had come to an abrupt end, expelledwhen a random drug test came back positive after a weekend athome. Since then, he had been living in his parents' basementflat in Knightsbridge. Christian, Ben's father, owned a five-starbeach-side restaurant in the West Coast on the Caribbean islandof Barbados where they spent much of their time, leaving Benthe London flat to himself. When Christian and Christine foundthemselves wanting to spend more time in the United Kingdomthey encouraged Ben to start looking for his own place to live.Ben and I met through a mutual friend on the doorstep ofthe record label where Ben was working as an assistant soundengineer. Ben was fun; he had a big smile, blond hair and woreglasses and over dinner that night we talked about music, studiosand technology. We got on well, we both loved a certain style ofmusic, were interested in production and loved to dance. Afterspending time together in the studio, days turned into weeksand then months. I was hardly going home to my parents' placeand made the decision not to go to South Africa as planned,choosing to help Ben look for a house where we could set up astudio of our own. London was impracticable and too expensiveand we wanted to be somewhere we didn't have to worry aboutour music offending the neighbours. A place in the countrysideseemed like the obvious solution. We took a week out to drivearound the West Country to look at houses. We were ready fora long search but as luck would have it we fell in love with thefirst place that we saw and moved in March 2000.Weeke Barton was an 800-year-old farmhouse in the small WestDevonshire town of North Tawton, near Dartmoor National Park. Both Weeke and Barton are names often associatedwith farms that have significant features proclaiming themas important dwellings in the past. The ancient market town,property and house itself oozed character. There were no straightwalls; it had sloping floors, exposed beams, a well, inglenooksand fireplaces in almost every room. The spiral staircase tuckedin the corner of the main living room was so narrow and lowyou had to duck your head to enter and practically crawl onyour hands and knees up and down the stairs. It was written inthe deeds of the house that if ever there was a water shortage,our well, which backed onto our dining room, would supply thetown with water. Close by, there was Weeke Farm and WeekeCottage. I wanted to give our house more of a sense of identity,so I registered it with the local council calling it Mysteria.Mysteria was positioned down a winding country lane. Ithad a courtyard with old stables and various outbuildings. I wastold the previous owners had sold off all the adjacent land thatsurrounded the property all the way down to the river, whichwas just as well – we had enough to look after. It felt like ourown bit of paradise. In a sense, it was idyllic.With the River Taw running right alongside the front of thehouse and surrounded by fields and woods, it was picturesque.Occasionally, I would see a fox hunt go by with all the finelydressed riders on horseback following the foxhounds raringto catch a scent. It was impossible not to feel the adrenalinpumping with at least fifty hounds who all looked exactly thesame, bred for the hunt. I always had my fingers crossed for thelittle fox.As much as I loved England, I always thought I wouldeventually end up back in New Zealand; I loved the sub-tropicalclimate and the outdoorsy lifestyle. I had even loved my all-girlsCatholic school, Baradene, where I had studied religion taughtby nuns and had made some great friends. Although I missedmy friends and family and having passion fruit vines, citrus trees, feijoas and guavas growing in my backyard I liked beingnestled away deep in the English countryside, enjoying beingsurrounded by farms and nature. I adored the feeling of the oldland, the narrow country lanes and the rolling pastures.I walked our Staffordshire Bull Terriers Jasmine and Venusevery day and never tired of the legendary Tarka Trail thatwas right on our doorstep. In one of our outbuildings on ourproperty, we had a huge old cider-press. Mysteria had beenaround a long time with diversified uses from farming crops andanimals to being an old school house. There was also villagegossip that it had once been a brothel.My father said that he compared the age of our house towhen the Maoris had first landed in New Zealand. It really putit into perspective how long the old house had been standing.Although Mysteria was no longer thatched, the rendered wallsthat had stood the test of time were primarily made frommud and horsehair. Our garden was bursting with apple trees,berries and herb and vegetable patches. In the warmer months,I was kept busy planting and harvesting. Meanwhile, Ben withthe help of his father Christian embarked on turning one of ourold stone barns into a state-of-the-art recording studio.We spent two long years renovating the studio, alongsidedeveloping our skills as sound engineers and music producers.We appreciated that having a studio of our own was anincredible luxury and Ben and I would spend most of ourwaking hours there. Together with a friend, Adrian Shortman,we formed a group called Starmagix and worked solidly on ouralbums. Adrian, who had been a sound engineer for singers suchas Nenah Cherry and the Sugababes, was known as ProfessorStretch. We had another project called Dev'n'Dub, which wasdevoted to a more diverse style of music, and Ben was workingwith me to compose my album, which I took great pride inproducing. Ben and I existed in a flow of fulfilment and ourpartnership went from strength to strength.

When I wasn't in the studio, I was carefully and lovinglybringing Mysteria back to her former glory. Working on theold property was satisfying. It was uplifting restoring the housewith more of her beauty revealing itself. I cut down the conifersin the back garden to let more light in and made a fence fromthem. The majority of the oak beams, including the floors, hadbeen painted with sticky black paint that had been fashionablein the sixties and seventies; this had to go and so I hired a sanderto strip them back.Never a dull moment. My neighbour, who specialised inold buildings, showed me how to repoint brickwork in orderto repair the leaky exterior walls of the studio. My parentswould lend a hand when they were over from New Zealandand sometimes friends helped out but most of it fell on myshoulders. Mysteria was literally a money pit. It was a largehouse to upkeep and the previous owners had really let it go. Itneeded serious updating. I could not help sometimes feeling alittle weighed down by the workload but once Ben and I were inour studio it was like nothing else mattered.'So, Sally, what's going on with you and Ben?' my friendRachel asked, sitting down outside at her garden table in theheart of Devon while enjoying the midsummer sunshine andsipping tea.'What do you mean?' I asked putting down my cup.'Well, you know, you've been together for ages... five yearsisn't it? If you had a baby what would you call it?''If I had twins,' I laughed, 'I'd call them Tyla and Tylo.'Although twenty-nine, I had not thought about havingchildren with Ben. We were quite content being caught up inthe house and studio and happy just enjoying life as it was. Ihad grown up with the Disney-imprinted dream that someday I would meet my prince and we would live happily ever after.However, Rachel's question had got me thinking.It was only weeks after speaking to Rachel, one late afternoonwhile I was stripping off the stubborn, icky black paint above theopen fireplace in the living room, that I began to feel lightheaded.It was one of those awkward jobs; I had been stuck up a ladderfor days, having to do most of it by hand because the electricsander would not work on the curved wooden beams. At first,I thought it was the toxic fumes from the thick black paint thatwere making me queasy. However, I was over a week late withmy cycle and thought I should probably do a pregnancy test so Idrove into town to buy one. It came back positive.I ran to the studio to share my discovery with Ben.'I think I'm pregnant,' I gushed, unable to contain mymomentous news.Ben swivelled his blue orthopaedic chair around and peeredover his glasses. 'I'll support you whatever you decide to do.'I did not question what Ben meant in his matter-of-factmanner. I was thrilled to be having a baby; it felt right. 'I'm sohappy. I feel ready.' I beamed.'We're ready.' Ben paused. 'It is amazing, Sally, but how canyou be sure that you are pregnant?''It makes sense. Remember our little weekend trip toParis last month?' I recalled. 'That might have something todo with it... and with the way I have been feeling, it explainseverything... and the pregnancy test... look... that confirms it.'My pregnancy went smoothly. I did not put on much weight,I just grew a belly and boobs and my only craving was for pancakes. At twenty-one weeks Ben and I went to the hospitalfor our first scan. The nurse squidged the cold gel over my bellyand we both looked eagerly at the screen.'Oh crikey,' the nurse said, rolling the handset around onmy tummy.'What is it?' I asked, praying everything was okay. The nursedid not say anything but continued to look at the screen andmove her handset over my bump. 'Is there a problem?' I asked.'Well, dear,' the nurse hesitated. 'Have you got twins in yourfamily? It looks like there are two in there.''You are kidding?' I giggled. 'Really?''Don't move, dear, or I'll have to stop,' the nurse frowned.'You're last on my list today and I want to go home. If you don'tkeep still you'll have to come back tomorrow.'I had been happy before but now the joy had doubled. Onour way home Ben called his parents to tell them the news –they were thrilled, as were mine. Mum and Dad were out onmy brother's boat in Auckland harbour when I told them. Mymother squealed with glee. Twins did not run on either side ofour families, I felt blessed.