I put things down and never move them. My bedside table is full of books I'm waiting to read - the book I'm reading at any one time actually lives on the floor. I foolishly agreed to judge a thriller prize, and I'm halfway through the long-list. Underneath is the second draft of my fifth Young Bond book. I always print it out in case my computer crashes. Nothing on my bedside table is useful except the glass, actually an old Nutella jar. Photograph: Anders Gramer/Guardian
On the glass shelf is a light in a cube of hollowed-out rock salt, a telephone and a metal bowl by an Australian artist. In it is my Liberal Democrat badge and a Terrence Higgins Trust ribbon I got at its last gala auction. I bid for cufflinks, a made-to-measure suit and a portrait of George Bush made from pornographic magazines. I was outbid. Lastly, there is a stone my partner gave me. I think he has rose-tinted spectacles because it says, "You are perfect". Photograph: Anders Gramer/Guardian
My bedside table is a roll call of my nearest and dearest – photographs of my husband, children, brother and cats. There is one I love of me holding two-year-old Freddie outside the gates of our country house just before leaving for the wedding of Prince Charles and Diana. The photo under the glass is of my four cats, two Siamese and two Burmese. Sadly one died not long ago. As all three cats sleep with me, they are very important in my bedside life Photograph: Anders Gramer/Guardian
I keep a notebook on my bedside table in case I wake in the night with a dream. The photograph is of Paula [Allende's daughter, who died aged 28]. The cross was given to me by Pia Leiva, a close friend. We couldn't be more different. She likes Pinochet and is Catholic. The Book Of Negroes is here because I'm working on a novel about slavery; I had awful dreams while researching it. The more you know, the more desperate you become about the human condition. Photograph: Robert Gumpet/Guardian
My bedside table is a shrine to insomnia, the force that rules my nocturnal life. The lavender oil supposedly aids sleep: you put drops on the pillow. I tried rosemary oil for a while, but my husband said the bed smelled like a roast dinner. The books are for when I wake up in the night - carefully selected for their soothing familiarity. The notebook and pens represent the upside of insomnia. I get a great deal of thinking done in the middle of the night. Photograph: Martin Hunter/Guardian
On my antique bedside table are keys, wallet, spectacles, alarm clock and a torch for midnight trips to the boys' room. I also have a selection of watches. They are symbols of the fact that I like to be organised. Sometimes I go to bed with a problem, such as a difficult plot, but when I wake the solutions are there - how to introduce a character; how to get rid of one in a grisly way. The turtle is a sign of longevity - I hope to live for ever. Photograph: Melanie Cleary/Guardian
