In her latest novel, The Barbecue at No. 9, Jennie Godfrey explores the intimate dramas, secrets, and rituals of suburban life against the backdrop of a single, transformative day in 1985.
In this candid Q&A, she shares how childhood memories of neighbourhood gatherings, her Yorkshire upbringing, and even corporate HR experience inform her depiction of class, identity, and domestic performance. From the humour and tension of a seemingly “perfect” barbecue to the global moment of Live Aid, Godfrey reveals how ordinary lives intersect with history, popular culture, and the timeless dynamics of human connection.
The cooking, the barbecue, the garden party — these rituals of hospitality and display are charged with meaning. What drew you to food/entertaining as metaphor in this story? Did you draw on any real memories of neighbourhood gatherings in the 1980s?
Absolutely. The street parties of the 70s and 80s are the stuff of legend! I can remember the parties for the Silver Jubilee (in 1977) with such clarity, and there is a sense that we have lost a lot of that in the 21st century. The sharing of food represents community, but it is also significant in what it says about money, class and status.
Your novel unfolds over just twelve hours on 5 July 1985, during the build-up to Live Aid. What made you choose a single-day timespan, and how did that constraint shape how you structured characters and secrets in the story?
I have discovered that I write best when I have a really clear structure from the start, my mind just works that way. So, in the same way that my first novel, The List of Suspicious Things was structured in a list format, The Barbecue at No.9. is structured around the Live Aid concert.
Once I have that clear, it seems to help me break down the mammoth task of writing a novel, and makes the whole process less daunting, though it presents it’s own challenges in terms of the action that can take place. I like that challenge though. It’s one of the joys of writing for me.
The setting – a suburban close, a seemingly “perfect” barbecue at No. 9 – becomes a microcosm. How much did your own upbringing in West Yorkshire and your corporate-to-bookseller transition influence your depiction of domestic performance, facade and social expectation?
I have always been interested in ‘ordinary’ people’s lives. Coming from a very working class Yorkshire family, growing up I saw very little of the life I led represented in novels or on screen (apart from in soap operas like Coronation Street!), and was always so excited when I got to see a slice of reality, particularly in books. I am so interested in what lies beneath the surface of people’s outer worlds and having had a long career in HR, I felt as though my career had been all about understanding how people work, and making the most of our differences. It seemed a natural fit for me to write about those things.
You’ve spoken previously about themes of class, identity and change. In this novel you include the event of Live Aid — an enormous global moment — juxtaposed with intimate personal secrets. What do you think large-scale cultural moments show us about the private lives of ordinary people?
I am really interested in what is happening in ordinary people’s lives during times of change and global significance. The stories we are told are often the ‘big’ ones, but actually it’s the small, domestic lives of individuals that make up history. For the residents of Delmont Close, Live Aid matters, but only in the sense that it unites them temporarily, and has them think about something outside of themselves if only briefly.
House-proud Lydia reveres both Princess Di and Delia Smith. How does popular culture from the 1980s (royalty, cookery, television) function in the novel as both anchor and illusion for the characters?
I find it really interesting how singular the culture felt in the 1980’s vs now. If you were growing up in the UK at the time, it is likely you will be aware of all the references, which wouldn’t necessarily be the case now, and yet, I see the same behaviours and expectations from Lydia as I see around influencers ‘selling’ their image of the perfect life now. There is something timeless about that I wanted to explore in the novel.
“My most treasured moments are spent with imagined people living imagined lives!””
One of the characters is a young Falklands veteran, another a new migrant from Australia. What fascinated you about placing very different “outsiders” into that 1980s British suburban bubble — and what tensions or truths did you hope to reveal through them?
I was a young teenager during the Falklands War, but it feels as though it is somewhat forgotten now (more broadly), and I wanted to acknowledge it’s place in history. I read some incredible first-person accounts of the conflict and its impact, particularly on the young men who fought, and I really wanted to represent that in the book, along with the lack of understanding of PTSD that was prevalent then.
The novel embraces humour, warmth, but also a deep undercurrent of suspense and darkness. How do you balance lightness and unease in your tone — and did you ever worry the domestic “barbecue moment” might lull the reader before the secrets hit?
I am really interested in representing the experience of real life on the page, with all its mundanity, drama, sadness and comedy, so I tend to balance those in the way I experience them myself. A day can contain all of those experiences.
If you were to host your own barbecue on Delmont Close, which character would you most fear as a guest and which would you most want to sit next to — and why? (A playful question, but revealing perhaps of your characters and your writer’s view of them.)
Oh my goodness, can you imagine having Aunty Beverley as a guest? She would be running her fingers along shelves looking for dust, and turning her nose up at the décor/food. She would be my nightmare guest whereas Tina would be an absolute treat, and would have everyone in stiches.
Looking beyond this novel: as someone who gave up a corporate career to build a life around books and now writes about neighbourhoods, identity and hidden lives — what do you hope your readers will take away about their own “close”, their own backyard and the stories they tell about home?
Empathy. That’s it.
What’s the one thing that you feel as an author makes you unique to people who aren’t authors?
That my most treasured moments are spent with imagined people living imagined lives!
Where you write from – please describe it for us, including views, any must-haves with you, totems, music, etc.
I am SO lucky to have a room devoted to writing and books. It’s painted in a calming shade of green, yet filled with lots of colour, books and art. It is always impeccably neat, as I find mess and clutter really distracting, and I also write in silence. The view is of the Somerset countryside, and I spend a lot of time staring out of the window!
What’s the best book you’ve ever been gifted? And what’s the book you would always gift?
Someone gave me Rachel’s Holiday by Marian Keyes in 1998 and it changed my life. Not only because Marian is a brilliant writer, who can make you laugh and cry in the space of a page, but also because she wrote about addiction in such a clear-eyed yet human way. I have around five different editions of it on my shelves! I often gift Sorrow and Bliss by Meg Mason, because I adore it!
In shifting, as you did, from a childhood in a mill-town to a life in the Somerset countryside and writing full time, in what ways did you re-encounter the “neighbourhood” as a theme? Are you writing about what you’ve left behind, what you’ve discovered, or something you’ve imagined?
In between leaving Yorkshire and my move to Somerset, I have mainly lived in large towns and cities. There is something about the move to the South West that has felt like ‘coming home’ because it reminds me of the feeling of community I grew up with.
