"Just off to do some A-Level revision," my daughter said, as she threw a pair of sparkly silver heels into the boot. 

I wasn't convinced, but I let it go.  My Caroline, 17, was such an angel in every other way. 

Bubbly, kind and beautiful.  As soon as she was born on 25th August 1990, I was smitten.  Especially when doctors found a hole in her heart. 

"We'll need to operate to close the hole as soon as possible," they said. 

And at just 5 months, our tiny girl had open-heart surgery.  Then two weeks later, she had a pacemaker fitted. 

"She'll need yearly check-ups," docs said.  "But otherwise, she can lead a normal, happy life." 

And, boy did she do that!  Over the next few years, Caroline really did blossom into the most amazing little girl. 

She was s right princess, too.  Give her anything pink and glittery, and she was the happiest person in the world.  FairyCaz, her friends nicknamed her!  But despite her fluffy exterior, she was made of sterner stuff.   

Scuba diving, swimming, every scary fun-fair ride - you name it, Caroline did it! 

At 15, she decided she wanted to be a journalist.  "It's a tough job," I warned.  But she wasn't deterred by that.  She found work experience on a fashion magazine, worked hard at college and got acceped to start an English degree at Newcastle University, in the autumn of 2008. 

So that Friday night, 6th June 2008, I didn't care that she'd told one little fib. 

"She deserves a break," I figured, as she drove me and her dad, Alastair, 53, to the annual rugby club dinner in Bishop's Stortford, on the way to her friend's house. 

"Drive careful," I called out, as she pulled away.  If only that was all I had to worry about..  Because six hours later, at 1am, my mobile rang. 

It was Caroline's number, but it wasn't her voice - it was her friend Gaby's.  Slow, trembling. 

"Caroline collapsed on the dance floor."  Gaby explained a group of friends had gone to a nightclub in Harlow, Essex. 

A bouncer had resuscitated her and she'd been rushed to Princess Alexandra Hospital in Harlow. 

"But, you'd better get here quickly," she urged.  Frantically, Alastair and I clambered into a friend's car, and raced to be by her side. When we go there, we couldn't see her.  

"She had a heart attack.  We're trying to stabilise her," the doctors explained.  "We'll let you know more soon."  But when I walked into the waiting room, saw all Caroline's friends, I knew that news wasn't going to be good.  You could've heard a pin drop. 

"Don't worry," one finally whispered.  "Caz is a fighter." 

Why would she have to fight?  How bad was my little girl? 

Half an hour later, I found out. 

"Her brain was starved of oxygen before her resuscitation," doctors told us, leading us in to her room.  "We'll keep her on life support.  But ..."

Pale, covered in tubes, her make-up smeared down her face.  No way was our Caroline still there. 

"She's already gone," I sobbed. 

The next five days, though, I never left her side. 

"Come on baby," I urged, clutching her limp hand.

All our family came, and a constant stream of her friends. 

I'd only let them see her if they promised not to cry. 

"Stay positive," I ordered.  "In case she can hear you." 

I made them talk about Caroline's favourite things instead - shopping, Hollyoaks, all things pink? It wasn't making any difference though.

And, on Wednesday morning.... "It's time to turn off the life-support machine," the doctors said gently. 

So at 6pm, on 11 June, with Alastair, her brother Ross, now 18, and me by her side, Caroline's life-support was switched off. 

We cradled her all night, telling her how much we loved her.  And, at 8.25am the next morning, she passed away, aged just 17. 

"I can't even begin to describe the pain of those next few weeks. 
 

Then on 25th June, holding her funeral in the packed local church.  We found a pink coffin, covered in fairies, and played Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond.  It was a beautiful day.  "But one that shouldn't be happening," I wept. 

One of the hardest things was not knowing why.  Yes, she'd had problems with her heart.  But six weeks earlier, her checkup had given her the all-clear. 

What happened?  Sudden death syndrome, a post-mortem revealed.  A condition where an apparently healthy young person suddenly drops dead.  It was so unfair.  But there was no point being angry.  All we could do instead was help - raise money for a heart-screening programme for young people in Hertfordshire and Essex, to help detect heart defects. 

So that September we organised a charity 5k run.  Everyone dressed in pink and wore fairy wings - even the boys!  We raised thousands.  But it turned out, things were only just getting started! 

Over the next few years, we organised more charity events.  And of course - Cazfest.  A day of live music, on the anniversary of her death.  The first year, at Jobbers Wood, Bishop's Stortford, 1,000 people turned up.  The following year, there were 3,000.  And this year, we're expecting the Sugababes headlining!  But, of course, there's only one real star of the day.  Our darling Caroline.  Not a minute goes by where we don't all think of her.  Her smile, her giggle, that gentle soul.  A fairy whose wings will fly forever. 

For more info on Caroline, and Cazfest 2011, see www.cazfest.com

What is SADS? 

Sudden arrhythmic death syndrome (SADS) is an umbrella terms for the many different causes of cardiac arrest in young people. 

Sometimes there are no warning signs, but some people can experience dizziness or fainting spells. 

The frequency of the condition isn't fully known because many sudden deaths are put down to accidents - but it's thought there are up to 12 deaths a day in the UK. 

The charity CRY (Cardiac Risk in the Young) provides information on SADS, gives money to research, and offers subsidised heart screening for the under 35s. 

www.c-r-y.org.uk