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Who had played such a smart trick on Angela?
BY JOANNE DUNCAN
IT was what Wendy’s mum would have called a “mulling things over” day. As Wendy gazed out of the café window, puffy clouds sailed in a sky of stone-washed denim. It was the sort of day she and Ray had
PAM glanced up at the clock on the far wall of the classroom. Just half an hour to go until the summer holidays began. Six blissful pupil-free weeks, to be spent mostly gardening and binge watching pe
CAN you take care of the wedding party rooms this shift, please, Kelly? I know you haven’t been here long, but we have two room attendants still off with flu, so we’re very short staffed. “I don’t kno
BYE, Mum, Dad. See you later!” fifteen-year-old Ailsa called, heading for the door. Her mum stopped her. “Oh no, you don’t. Breakfast first.” “There’s food laid on. Trish told me,” Ailsa said. “You’re
MISS MYRTLE FFORBES took off her knitted bathing suit and eased herself into the scented bathwater. She sighed with bliss. What a fabulous day they’d had at the beach. They’d all swum, even Ena. Granv
It came out of nowhere, and I happened to be with Angela at the time. She’s my sister. Growing up I’d always been the plain one – gawky, angular, with a bump on my nose and wiry red hair it had taken