Matthew (MJ): Dad became a QC when I was seven years old and, when I was 12, he began the prosecution of Jeremy Bamber at Chelmsford Crown Court. Bamber was a 25-year-old who had murdered his parents, sister and two nephews. I was shocked and intrigued, as I would be with many of the other horrendous cases Dad would work on. It’s no wonder I became a crime novelist.
I grew up in Hampstead, in a tall, creaky Georgian house that Mum and Dad bought in the 1960s. It was a very arty neighbourhood, lots of famous writers and actors lived there, like Judi Dench and Jonathan Pryce. The one who stood out to me was Peter Cook — he had a topiary bush outside his house carved in the shape of a V-sign.
I was the youngest of four kids: two boys and two girls. My sisters, Catherine and Victoria, were big on the arts and went to a local comprehensive, Camden School for Girls. My brother, John, and I went to a private school in Hampstead called UCS [University College School]. I had people like Labour’s shadow minister, Tristram Hunt, and the BBC correspondent Gordon Corera in my year. I don’t think private schools are any better than state ones, but they do seem to breed a weird self-confidence.
We were all made to learn an instrument at home, and while my sisters were very musical, John and I were hopeless. I took playing with my Star Wars figures far more seriously. Discipline didn’t figure too highly where Dad was concerned; that was left to Mum, who was a French and Russian teacher. They didn’t mind what I got up to as long as I did well at school.
“I’d watch Dad in court and what struck me straightaway was how much of a performer he was. It was like he was on stage. He'd also mock the judge, which the jury loved”
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I knew very early on what Dad did, partly because he’d talk about who he was defending or prosecuting. He also used to bring home huge legal tomes, which he’d leave lying around, and, being a rather inquisitive child, I’d start reading them. A lot of them were very dry, but every so often I’d find gruesome details about a murder, or crime-scene photos, even an autopsy video.
I’d also go with Mum to watch Dad in court and what struck me straightaway was how much of a performer he was. It was like he was on stage. He had such a way with the jury and he’d often mock or take the piss out of a judge, which the jury loved. Dad’s got a brilliant sense of humour. He’s also very charismatic and I’d see how he’d use that to get the jury on side. I think there’s a part of Dad that would have loved to act. When he was doing law at Cambridge, he was in Trevor Nunn’s first student production and performed with the likes of Corin Redgrave and Ian McKellen — he’s still mates with some of them.
Like Dad and John, I went to Cambridge too, but it was while I was studying my A-levels that my parents separated. It was a shock and, being the youngest, they were most worried about me. But it was distressing for all of us and, as in any break-up, it caused a lot of problems and emotional stress.
But I wasn’t too worried about Dad. He began dating people soon after and some of them I got on better with than others. The only time it was a problem was when the press picked up on his relationship with Constance Briscoe [a lawyer], and doorstepped him and other members of our family.
He’s been with his current partner, Heather [Lockwood, a lawyer], for a while now. There’s a big age gap [50 years], but all you can do is judge them on how they are together. I’d like to think our family isn’t too strict about conventions. At the end of the day, we all love him and want him to be happy.
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The thing I admire about Dad is...he’s fearless, he’s bulletproof. He’s not concerned about what others think. He also has incredible energy. He’s 78, but he’s still working and he’s just written another book. I really don’t have to look very far when it comes to inspiration.
Anthony: All my children were into the arts in one way or another, so it’s no surprise that my two daughters became professional musicians and my two sons became writers. Their mother and I expected all of them to work hard, but when Matthew was young, he didn’t want to appear like his brother, who he regarded as too driven. In fact, he liked to give the impression he wasn’t doing any work at all.
When it got to his A-levels, I was convinced that Matthew wasn’t doing enough at all, so I said: “Look, your whole life will depend on these exams.” And he’d reply: “Dad, don’t worry, chill out.” I was on holiday when he got the results, so I rang him up and he said: “How’s the holiday going?” “Blow the holiday, how did you do?” “I did OK.” “What does that mean?” “I got three As and an S1!” I said: “You rotter!”
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Even at that age, he had a sense of humour and a lot of confidence. When he went up to be interviewed for a place at Cambridge, this don held a light into his face and, having fired off all these questions to him, said: “Is this going as you expected?” To which Matthew replied: “At least you haven’t thrown a rugger ball at me.” All he heard was: “Shall we cut the jokes out, Arlidge.” He came back that evening and was convinced he hadn’t got in. But he had.
Since graduating, he’s been on a path that’s taken him from writing for big TV dramas like Silent Witness to setting up his own production company and landing a six-book deal. Though I was rather surprised when his second novel came out: it seemed to indicate that he knew a lot about pornographic websites. I asked him where it came from, and he said: “Dad, nearly all the people in publishing are women these days, and they keep saying to me that readers want more sex and violence.”
Matthew’s got children of his own now and I have no doubt that he’s a much better father than I was. As a teenager, he was probably the one most affected of all my kids when my wife, Topsy, and I split up. Your children don’t always tell you how they really feel, but he’s always been very close to her. I also had to respect their feelings when I started meeting new people. Heather and I have been together for four years now. At the start, some thought the age gap was strange and were convinced it wouldn’t last, but, in fairness to my kids, they saw beyond that and get on well with her.
I can’t wait for Matthew’s next move. Maybe it will be films. We used to joke that he was the runt of the litter and that I’d cut him out of my will, but when he started earning good money, I asked if I was going to be in his will. “Certainly not, Dad. Not after the way you’ve treated me. Nor can you come to my villa in Bel Air... when I get it.” You see, there’s just no stopping him/
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MJ Arlidge’s latest book, The Doll’s House (Penguin £7.99), and Magna Carta Uncovered, by Anthony Arlidge and Igor Judge (Hart Publishing £25), are both out now