To the HQ dream team, you all epitomise enthusiasm, brilliance and hard work, especially Lisa Milton, Lucy Richardson, Janet Aspey and Rebecca Fortuin. Also shout-out to all my fellow HQ authors, I’ve loved sharing this journey with you.

Homecoming was such an intense challenge to write and I don’t think I could have done it without the feedback from my first readers Kevin Linnett, Alexis Rigg, Gill Haigh, Paul McMichael, Veronika Dapunt and Jo Haas.

Thank you to James Wambua for graciously checking my Swahili and to Maryam, the unofficial Head of the Litty Committee, for schooling me on being an eighteen-year-old. Any mistakes in language are my own.

I’m so grateful to have a family who are supportive of my writing, which at times can be the most draining of side-hustles, so thank you to Patrick and Annabelle.

A final thank you to The Society of Authors for their generous grant which allowed me to complete this novel.

If you enjoyed Homecoming, don’t miss Luan Goldie’s emotional and powerful debut novel, Nightingale Point - available now!

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Extract

Read on for an extract from Luan Goldie’s emotional debut Nightingale Point, longlisted for the Women’s Prize for Fiction 2020.

Saturday, 4 May 1996

The evacuation began this morning. No sooner had the bins been collected than the hundreds of residents from the three blocks that make up Morpeth Estate began streaming away in their droves.

Bob the caretaker sat in his cubbyhole on the ground floor, telling anyone who would listen that ‘it’s only a heatwave if it goes on ten days’. But no one listened, instead they asked when the intercom was getting fixed, if he knew the lifts were out and what he was planning on doing about the woman on the third floor who kept sticking a chair out on the landing. Moan, moan, moan.

Bob stubs out his cigarette and looks up at the grey face of Nightingale Point, smiling at the way the sun illuminates each balcony, every single one a little personal gallery, showcasing lines of washing, surplus furniture, bikes, scooters, and pushchairs. Towards the top a balcony glints with CDs held by pieces of string; a few of the residents have started doing it and Bob doesn’t have a clue why. He must ask someone.

Mary is amazed at how well it works. Who would believe that hanging a few CDs on the balcony stops pigeons from shitting on your washing? She had seen the tip on GMTV and immediately rushed to the flat next door to ask Tristan for any old discs. His music was no good anyway, all that gangbanging West Coast, East Coast stuff.