Rebecca Poulson - Killing Love

R ebecca Poulson is the winner of the Australian Society of Authors 2014 Emerging Writers Award, the 2015 Varuna House Fellowship Prize and the 2015 Barnardos Book Prize.

Rebecca has met with Prime Minister Tony Abbott and the premier of New South Wales and other minsters to advocate for changes in domestic violence systems. Changes in domestic violence laws have been directly attributed to Rebeccas efforts, and she has been interviewed by a wide range of Australian media in her pursuits.

Rebecca has worked in funds management, natural health and counselling. She holds degrees in economics and science and a long list of other diplomas and certificates. She blames her father for her thirst for knowledge. Rebecca lives surrounded by the immense wildness of the Blue Mountains near Sydney, Australia. She lives among the beautiful chaos of her three young children, Max, Rosie and Leo, and a feisty mini pig called Herks. She has perfected the skill of weaving small bubbles of calm in which to write. She completed Killing Love while mothering her children while they were all under the age of four, and therefore believes the importance of being adequately caffeinated cannot possibly be overstated.

Rebecca writes and speaks of her experiences and hopes to positively inspire people to turn their lives around. She is a passionate believer in moulding and creating the very life you want to live, whatever your circumstances. Rebecca is also the CEO of the Poulson Family Foundation Dedicated to the Prevention of Child Homicide. Donations can be made via .

I would like to acknowledge all those who have helped me with my story, from the second I heard the words Adrian is dead through to the moment that I held a copy of my book in my hands.

My mother, Janice Poulson: wise, witty, honourable and a healer. How lucky I am to be your daughter. My father: loving, strong, gentle and the ultimate protector. How lucky I was to be your daughter. My brother Adrian: reckless, loving and respectful. How lucky I was to be your little sister. My sister Ingrid: strong, brave, wise and gentle. How lucky I am to be your big sister. Malee and Bas: how lucky I was to be your Aunty Becky. And to Mick and Laurie welcome to the Poulson family.

To my extended family, Cheryl how lucky I was you married my father and her children Damian and Leanne. To the Hawkesbury clan who were devastated but still showered support upon the Poulson family Sarah Evans, Kate Payne, Gail and Mark Engel, Rebecca Delaporte and the whole Hawkesbury community. Your generosity still astounds me. To David, you are truly an amazing being. As are your parents Judy and Peter, who helped mould you.

My circle of true and tested friends who held me up Kathy Coyte and her sister Jenny, Megan and Matt Constable, Alison and Warren Lewis, Helen and Paul Menin, Tania Bjarne, Chris Werry and Wyndale Yee, Sarah and Dennis Ward, Richard Bell, Jenny Harrington, and so many, many others. To the boys, Adrians friends and ours, who always magically appear exactly when we need them Danny and Belinda Rebel, Cone David Swain, Sloth Adam Burrell, Johnny R John Rotherham and Robert Dalglish.

To the Australian media, who showed respect and restraint throughout my journey, in particular Peter Overton and Robert Ovadia who were genuinely moved and upset by our story.

To the powerful circles of women I have had the honour to sit in my wild sisters from the mountain, my sisters in the room at Petrea Quest for Life Foundation, and my sisters in my writing group Jenny, Ann, Jessica, Penny, Jayne and Jo. Thank you for your patient feedback.

To the Homicide Victims Support Group, particularly Martha Jabour you rock. To Rob, who gave me my beautiful kids and his family who love them. To Patti Miller and Julia Stiles, thanks for your insight and wisdom with my manuscript. To the Australian Society of Authors, and Varuna, The Writers House in Katoomba, who provide invaluable support to emerging Australian writers.

To those in my publishing journey my agent Selwa Anthony; thanks for choosing me from the pile! Manisha Amin and Barnardos, who do so much good work to protect vulnerable children. And the team at Simon and Schuster Australia Dan Ruffino, Larissa Edwards, Roberta Ivers and Anabel Pandiella thanks for moulding my book and bearing with a first time author.

And for all the mothers out there who are creators and who dont have support keep going! Its a crazy dance of motherhood, the children always needing care, the creative muse demanding attention, the financial constraints, the sleep deprivation and the patronising comments about your little hobby. It is not your hobby. Being creative is a fundamental part of who you are and it needs space and respect and attention. Claw back that time and fight for it!

Finally to my children, Max William, Rosie Ingrid Malee and Leo Adrian Sebastian. Thank you for bearing with Mummys writing. You are my all and my love for you will endure through everything.

Rebecca Poulson

2015

I wasnt at home to receive the phone call from Mum to tell me my brother Adrian was dead. That Tuesday, 24 August 1993, I was still at work, auditing in the glass and marble offices of Arthur Andersen on Walker Street in North Sydney. I was still untangling financial statements of large corporations, thinking the work I was doing was of utmost importance. Now I am haunted by the powerful pain that, as my finger ran down a straight column of figures, my beloved brother was opening his wardrobe door. As I flipped over a page, my brother pulled out a shotgun.

I was focused on promotion and work employee ratings and performance. I was studying hard to get perfect marks in my Chartered Accountancy exams. Perfect marks, promotion and my career were the most significant things in my life that day as my brother lay down on his lonely single bed, put the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger.

In those few hours, before I got the news, my safe childhood, my loving and affectionate parents, my blossoming adult relationship with my siblings 24-year-old Adrian and 21-year-old Ingrid were all as they should be. My life was safe and snug and known. I licked my finger and flipped another page of figures over. The air-conditioning in my hermetically sealed office hummed on. My brother was already dead.

Mum had been staying with Adrian for a few days before his death. Her radar as both a mother and psychologist was on alert that all was not well with her son. Adrian was not eating properly and seemed jittery and then depressed. But she did not know, none of us did, the absolute depths of despair and pain he was in. Hed proposed to his girlfriend Sally and she had said no. Hed introduced me to Sally with great pride when theyd come to Sydney for a date and stayed at my flat overnight. Although I saw a nice-looking girl with an amiable personality, Adrian in his usual utterly-in-love state saw a beautiful princess worthy of his undying devotion, his every gesture towards her respectful and gentle.

Adrian was also obsessed with becoming a self-made millionaire. He worked hard yet his business was not taking off as he had imagined. Most people can manage through the knock-backs in life. But Adrian was not most people.

We did not know of the illegal shotgun he had bought two years earlier from a farmer for hunting purposes, let alone that hed hidden it in his wardrobe. The farmer was distraught once the police traced the gun to him, said hed never have sold it had he known. Only a few of Adrians close friends knew of its existence. They were devastated when they learnt what he had done with it, putting the gun to rest against his left temple my brother was left handed, like me and pulling the trigger.