At the tender age of four I started my education in St Vincent’s primary school. Unfortunately there was another girl in my class called May McNulty which caused some confusion amongst the teaching staff. Later the nuns decided to rename me by my confirmation name, ‘Philomena’, and from then on I was to be known by the alias Phil McNulty. Many of my school friends will not be aware that the author Mary A Larkin is in fact Phil McNulty from their childhood and teenage years.

Ten years later I left school and got employment at the famous Blackstaff Linen Mill where I worked in the weaving shop. When not at work I spent a lot of my spare time in the church, and at one time I seriously considered joining the Order of the Poor Clares before my friend Teresa McGarry persuaded me to accompany her to a learner class for ballroom dancing.

After attending a few classes Teresa and I were smitten by the dancing bug and every Friday evening would see me and my friend on the bus for the short journey into the city centre to attend ballroom dancing lessons.

Soon we had learned enough steps to give us the confidence to branch out to the more popular ballrooms, our favourites being ‘The Club Orchid’ and ‘The Fiesta’. It was at one such venue, namely ‘The Floral Hall’ that I met my husband to be, Con Larkin, whom I married two years later. Our marriage produced three sons, Con Jr, Paul and Edan and, when Con was offered a position in Darlington, we all moved to the North East in the summer of 1974, although we still go back to the old town each year to meet friends and do some research.

Whilst strolling along Royal Avenue with my sister Sue, during one of these visits, I happened to remark on the ever changing landmarks, stores and streets, saying that I hardly recognised the city as I remembered it from my youth. We discussed the subject for a while and agreed that to the best of our knowledge no one had written any novels about the era we had grown up in, and that any written works about Belfast invariably centred on the “troubles”.

A void needed filling and Sue threw down the challenge, saying that if anyone could do it I could. We had lunch in the town centre and soon the conversation took on different topics of a general nature and the writing was forgotten.

But on my return to Darlington, the idea started niggling at my mind and the urge grew so compelling that I began jotting down notes and ideas on a writing pad. One pad turned into twelve pads before I realised that I had the makings of a fair sized book before me.

I then realised that my scribbling would have to be transcribed into readable type if I was to progress any further, so I invested in a word-processor and began tapping away with one finger. The final result of my labour was ‘The Wasted Years’.

As any writer will tell you, that isn’t the end of the story. Next I had to find a publisher who liked my story enough to offer me a contract. Nervous, but undaunted by stories of new authors taking years before finding a publisher, if ever, I reminded myself of the number of times The Beatles were turned down before getting that elusive deal.

As it turned out I needn’t have worried, as after only a couple of attempts I was taken on by Judy Piatkus (Publishers) Ltd., and ‘The Wasted Years’ was published in 1992. ‘Ties of Love and Hate’, ‘For better for Worse’, ‘Full Circle’ and ‘A Matter of Trust’ all followed successfully before I moved to Little, Brown Book Group Ltd, my present publisher, who released ‘Playing with Fire’, ‘Best Laid Plans’,‘Sworn to Secrecy’, 'Painful Decisions', 'Suspicious Minds' and 'Shades of Deceit'.

Each of these titles reached No.1 on the best-seller list in Northern Ireland, serving to establish me as a household name in the region.