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for FICTION
BY CHRISTINA COLLINS
‘What do I want an air
D inah was not a Christmas cook. Her ...
Alan, don’t you think it’s time you got cleaned up? Grantham’s coming to tea.” Helen looked at her sixteen-year-old son’s filthy overalls and grease-streaked arms. “I wish you wouldn’t get quite so di
HELLO, little one!” Penny Dauntless greeted a robin-redbreast, who cocked his head as she pushed along her trolley of post on the daily round. “How often is there such a perfect mid-December morning?”
GINNY glanced nervously at the tree and the gifts beneath it. She hoped she’d done the right thing. “It’ll be fine, love,” John said, putting an arm round her shoulder. “They’re our grandkids. They’ll
THIS year, Vanessa was going to have a different kind of festive season. She usually hosted Christmas for her family at her house, even after her husband passed away a few years ago. Every second year
OK? Ready?” “Yep.” Fi smiled at Brand. She then picked up the bags full of presents, hoping her face had been convincing. There had been a time when she’d loved these family gatherings at Christmas bu