When Julie Bray, 63, popped into the supermarket, it changed everything…

Sarah looked down at her shopping list again, frowning. Why on earth had she been so pig-headed? Her parents had offered to do Christmas. So had John’s. But no. She’d insisted: since this was their fi

I’M sitting at the window and Max is in the aisle seat. There is a spare seat between us, which is as well, as the air crackles with bad feeling. I don’t want to be flying. I’d prefer Christmas at hom

Tara stared blankly at the Christmas tree. The fir was a last-minute purchase from the garden centre. She hadn’t decided whether to decorate it. In the armchair opposite hers, where Hugh would normall

Austenland – is there such a place? If so, it’s to be found in drawing rooms and parlours, not in sweeping vistas. So it’s appropriate that the Hampshire village of Chawton, Jane Austen’s home for the

An old man lives at the bottom of my garden. His name is Robert Barkus, or Bakehouse, or Bagust. Nobody is quite sure. But I often sense him around when I’m gardening, and I’ve found out a fair bit ab