Europe
Asia
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Americas
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No-one could understand Josh but me . . .
BY LYNDA FRANKLIN
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
CAMILLE gulped down her cup of coffee, snatched up her keys and hurriedly hauled back the living room curtains. It wasn’t like her to oversleep, and of course it had to be this morning, when she had a
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
WHEN Flyn comes home and announces there’s going to be a match, Hannah feels football fever sweep through their house. This will be Sunnybrook’s first ever football match. Away. Against another school
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
TOM! What are you doing here?” I stopped gazing at the empty space in the centre of the table, to throw myself into my fiancé’s arms. “You’re not supposed to be here until tonight,” I told him. “I dec