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Libby was excited to go round to Fiona’s for supper . . .
BY BETH WATSO
Apart from the For Sale board, the house didn’t look any different from the last time I was here. Six months ago now. The day of my father’s funeral. A memory of how fragile my mother appeared that da
A VISIT to the local coffee shop following their Pilates class had become a welcome routine for the three retired friends. One morning Lyn ordered her favourite flat white, insisting she wanted nothin
COME on, Auntie Jo – your turn!” Seven-year-old Sophie pushed the little cubes of wood across the table towards her aunt. Jo glanced at the clock and sighed. Still another 10 minutes before her niece
NATALIE had done it again: spoken without thinking. Honestly, she sometimes thought she consisted of two people. There was the sensible Natalie who recycled her cardboard, and an inner, loose-lipped N
IT’S time to go to the police again,” Mark said. “That’s what I think.” “We all think that,” Lydia snapped. “We have all got that far, Mark.” The Denzell children glared at each other, then sighed and
Sylvia was bored to tears. She almost wished she’d gone with the others to the garden centre. But she’d had it with garden centres, and what was the point when the gardens here were looked after by pr