My Favourite Holiday: Orkney’s inspiring scenery gave author Helen Callaghan the write stuff

AUTHOR Helen Callaghan had plenty of travel experience growing up.

She was born in California to British parents and spent her childhood on both sides of the Atlantic.

Now happily settled in Cambridge, she published her first novel, Dear Amy, last year.

It was one of 2016’s biggest-selling crime debuts and is just out in paperback (Penguin, £7.99).

THERE’S one place I go every year, and I always plan it months in advance.

Some may not view it as a holiday – although it is to me – as it’s a working one. In the dark depths of winter, I rent the same house in Orkney for a fortnight and set off to write there.

It’s a retreat that begins the moment I leave home. As I drive up increasingly narrow roads through forests and mountains, heading for the very edge of Britain, I’m leaving behind more and more distractions.

There’s just me in the car with my thoughts on the book to come, and the rolling scenery, dusted with ice and snow.

By the time I’m on the ferry, rocking on the grey waters of the Pentland Firth, I’m ready to start work.

It may seem a strange time to go so far north, but the short hours of daylight concentrate the mind.

I take a walk first thing to stretch my legs, maybe over the natural causeway to the Brough of Birsay, if the tide is out, or I’ll circle Marwick Head to admire the splendid cliffs and clouds of wheeling seabirds.

Then I’ll find a cosy pub or cafe and have a spot of lunch before setting off back to the house in Burness, a white, warm place with a large kitchen table facing the window.

At the table I’ll sit and write, trying not to be distracted by the ever changing sea and sky, or the swiftly-setting sun.

By the time all is darkness and the lights of Kirkwall are twinkling across the bay, I’ll cook something filling for my dinner, and then work on until the wee hours, when tiredness takes over.

Sometimes, when I need to stand and stretch, I’ll go outside to the field at the back and admire the myriad stars, searching the night sky for the Northern Lights. I’ve never yet seen them there, but I’m not giving up hope.

I always sleep like the dead, no matter how scary the book I’m writing – the exercise, the ever present sound of the sea and the fresh air never fail to work their magic.

It’s the most productive time of the year. I wouldn’t give it up for the world.