In her footsteps

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

THERE we go. I’ll print out a couple of photos to pop in with this for Patricia and it will be ready to post.” Sheila slid her letter into the envelope. Ashley, who was lounging on the couch stroking

SARAH DITUM

I WAS lonely. Papa was a preacher and we lived and travelled in a painted wooden wagon, pulled by Jessie, a large and docile shire horse. We had few possessions; there was no room for what Papa called

ISOBEL had known that living in her old childhood home would bring back memories. However, she never expected so many, or for them to be so vivid. Sometimes, in the last minutes before waking, she ima

We loved holidays so much we decided we’d never come home