Drifting back

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

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

Are you sure, love? Why not go on a nice holiday with a friend instead?” “Honestly, Mum,” Lucy said, a touch impatiently. “I’m thirty, not a teenager! I want to travel, be on my own for a while. Since

SARAH DITUM

BONFIRE Night. Roslyn inhaled deeply, relishing the scents drifting on the air. No other time smelled quite like it. Woodsmoke predominated, but sweetened by the competing aromas of toffee apples and

SINCE my mum died, it seems the family have been together more than ever. There were well over 140 mourners at the funeral, then we had the Australians here last weekend and today it’s my nephew’s wed