Helen Harris always enjoyed her afternoon tea with Martha Evert, and as she knocked on the door carrying a treat of two chocolate muffins, she looked forward to an hour or two of catching up with her

COME on, Jo. You haven’t been out with us for ages,” Gemma chided me, when she phoned. “It’s not good for you sitting about in that poky flat all on your own.” “I’m not on my own. I have Simon,” I cor

IRIS walked slowly to the front door of her Victorian villa in Fairley, a sleepy Sussex village. It had begun, she fumed silently – the “invasion” of her home. Of course, she’d been expecting it. Her

MARION looked at the packs of crisps stacked on the supermarket shelf and sighed. No, there was no point in getting the multipack. She and Kenny would never get through that. And it wasn’t as if the H

G av drove home, glancing up at the ...

RIGHT,” Hayden said, when Martin answered his front door. “What’s this I hear about you coming a cropper when no-one’s looking?” Martin rolled an inward eye at this brisk greeting from his elderly nei