Helping hands

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Maggie smoothes down the front of her frock – the same dyed black dress she wore for Pa’s funeral ten years before. As she touches the fabric, she glances down at her hands, now decorated with liver s

“HELP me, Melody! Make it all go away!” Trevor begged, his head in his hands. “I’m sorry, Trevor, but there’s nothing I can do. You have committed to this and you have to see it through.” “I should ne

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THE clamour of seagulls woke Frances. For a moment, she was disorientated. Not so much in place – she knew this bedroom well – as in time. She had the odd feeling that none of the last 30-odd years ha