I remember the day I got told, like it had just happened yesterday.

I knew my mother was ill. Cancer. Although I was only nine when she passed away, I understood everything that was happening, I'd matured quickly. I barely had a childhood, a lot was expected from me and my two sisters, Grace and Lola, from an early age. 

My father, Niall Andrews, was a music producer and my mother, Mia Andrews, was an actress. Always at work, my sisters and I were practically brought up by our minder, Alice. We lived in a big house on Blossom Hill and it was a perfect place to be brought up for a girl like me. I loved the colour pink, and dolls and glitter and stuff, I suppose. 

On the occasions when both of my parents were at home, things in the house were very different to what they were when Alice was looking after us. My mother used to sit me on her lap in front of the fire and tell me stories of when I was younger and all the funny moments she witnessed from me. 

But my father and I hardly communicated, even when I was nine. Sometimes he'd glance at me and smile, and at dinner there would be small talk. At family gatherings and media parties he would peck me on the cheek but apart from that, he didn't exist in my life. I wouldn't go as far to say I grew up with out of a father, but he definitely wasn't a big part of my life.

Anyway, back to my mother. She'd been ill for a while, and it got especially worse a couple of months before my tenth birthday. When I was nine, Lola was twelve and Grace was two. None of us had much knowledge, especially Grace, but Lola and I always knew mother wouldn't be around much longer.

That cold Sunday morning in early December, I remember waking up and looking out of my bay window at the white, glittery coated trees and the grass sprinkled with snow and smiling. But a few minutes after taking in this beautiful view, I heard a wail. I went downstairs cautiously, padding down the steps in my Princess Plum slippers. 

Lola was sat on one of the imperial chairs, usually they were restricted for important meetings that father had to attend, but today Lola didn't care. She almost looked like she'd collapsed - tears streamed down her eyes and she was wailing continuously, almost as if she was in unbearable pain. Father's eyes were red and he was shaking slightly.

'Naomi..' He spoke gently. 'I'm afraid your mother has gone to heaven.'

He said no more. Nobody did. All you could hear was Lola's wails. But then, they were drowned out by my own.

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