It is with great sadness and shock and a sense of loss that is hard to convey that I write about the death of STEPHEN MALLATRATT.
Stephen was diagnosed with a severe form of leukaemia early this year and died on November 22nd after an unwinnable battle against this cruel illness.

The play of my ghost novel THE WOMAN IN BLACK owes everything to Stephen. He read it, saw how it could be adapted, and did so brilliantly, for the stage.. and the rest is theatre history.

It works. He knew it would work and I didn`t believe him. What a fool. As soon as I saw it, in the tiny studio in the old Stephen Joseph Theatre in Scarborough, I knew that I had been a fool not to trust in Stephen.

We all owe him a debt we can`t repay… we ? We are the dozens.. hundreds, indeed – of people who have been kept in work and an income and a reputation, for some 18 years, because of his genius in seeing what could be done with a book which otherwise would have sunk quietly out of sight.

Stephen wrote a huge amount… he wrote scripts for CORONATION STREET for years, adapted a number of books for television. He wrote the recent series ISLAND WAR, he adapted THE FORSYTE SAGA… but he will be forever known as the genius who made THE WOMAN IN BLACK into one of the most exciting and educative pieces of contemporary theatre.
He wrote his own plays , several of which were performed, both on stage and on television, and he wanted to be known as an original playwright, not merely as an adaptor. But as I often told him.. there is nothing ‘mere’ or second-fiddle, about making such a play out of a book. Nothing.

Stephen was my friend for 18 years. We used to be very close. We rang one another up frequently, to talk about the latest adventures of what we called ‘our dark lady’, to talk about life and the world ..I shared in his joys, his house-moves, his broken heart – and then we lost touch. I didn`t hear from him. That was because he had married Emma, whose love and support enriched him, and gave him the greatest happiness. We were soon back in touch, having a laugh about the play we thought would run in Scarborough for 6 weeks and which went on into the West End for 16 years. It always seemed funny, somehow.
He was a gentle, principled, loyal person, sometimes melancholy – until he met Emma.
But we had the best fun in Barcelona, where we went for 3 days, ten years ago, to see the play performed in Spanish – brilliantly. Maybe my best memory of Stephen will always be of our sitting at a long table outside under the Barcelona stars, with the cast and company of the play – being served vast plates of Paella at 2 in the morning – which is when the Spanish seem to eat.
A bottle of wine came round. Stephen poured a glass for me and one for himself. The he raised his and winked. ‘Beats working, Susan,’ he said.

I find it hard to accept that he is dead and my heart and prayers go out to Emma, his daughter Hannah, and his step children, Jack and Lily, all of whom gave him so, so much love and fun and strength and support, in health and joy, in sickness and in dying.

Please remember them.

Thank you Stephen. Thank you for everything – your friendship, your generosity, your genius, your jokes. The fun we had. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Susan