Swings and roundabouts

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

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

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

Mae pulled her car in close to the curb, directly opposite the small two-bedroom bungalow belonging to her grandmother. She paused for a moment. Mae made a conscious effort to visit at least once a we

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

MARIE peered out of the front room window, wondering if people would be on time. And not only that – what if nobody showed? She let the net curtain drop, listening to the kettle whistling in the kitch