Spark to a flame

THE buildings on either side of the street seemed to bend in upon Meg Talbot. Their upper windows were looming as she picked her way through the slime and detritus. She could hardly see the September

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

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

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

Bob Cooper of Macclesfield, Cheshire remembers: From an early age, I have always loved reading and writing. My best subject at school was English to the detriment of maths, and I managed to become top

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