The logging road

Mary Pargeter was starting to feel her age. When did she first attend the annual Christmas tree lighting ceremony at Greenwood House? A quarter of a century, and she was retired even then. Had she loc

TOMMY was cold. He couldn’t remember a time he hadn’t felt cold. His fingers hurt the most. He folded them inside his woollen jumper and squeezed them tightly. Sometimes it eased the tingling pain. So

RUTH climbed the narrow path to Windlow Hill. She had a canvas bag in one hand and her mother’s old cardigan tucked under the other. Below, the village looked almost as it had in her childhood – white

IT was two days until Christmas and the afternoon sky was blue and crisp as Lydia’s car pulled up in front of the magnificent Bristol Hotel. Why was it called the Bristol? she wondered. It was nowhere

HER phone pinged with the e-mail while she was lying on the beach. The Greek sun blazed down from – well, being a writer, it was second nature for Amy to think about how she would describe the blue sk

JOHANN KERNER saw the woman coming out of the darkness. She looked ancient and she moved as slowly as a snail, her back bent. She was the most likely source of information he had seen on his travels.