‘he’s a widower’

Before the invention of networking, people simply met, social-climbed or licked arse. Now it’s more hygienic. Now we have networking conferences in Blackpool. I don’t know which is more depressing. I

IT was what Wendy’s mum would have called a “mulling things over” day. As Wendy gazed out of the café window, puffy clouds sailed in a sky of stone-washed denim. It was the sort of day she and Ray had

MUM?” Becky said. “When did you know Dad was the man for you?” “What? Pretty early, I think,” Frances replied, taken aback. “It’s so far in the past, I can’t remember.” “It’s important. Try and think

STARING out of her window at the small garden, Gemma sighed. It was nothing like the large rambling garden she’d had at her old house and there were times when she really missed it. If she were honest

I remember the conversation where we ended our marriage. It was a typical grey, drizzly January day as we sat at opposite ends of our big sofa in our big house, separated by the elephant I had finally

PAM glanced up at the clock on the far wall of the classroom. Just half an hour to go until the summer holidays began. Six blissful pupil-free weeks, to be spent mostly gardening and binge watching pe