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

Angela was in a far-from-festive fix – but her luck changed after an encounter with someone special

I WAS dressed in my bright pink pyjamas decorated with cartoon sloths. In my defence, they are extremely comfortable. I was holding a hair curling tong like a microphone and belting out “Baby One More

COME on, Jo. You haven’t been out with us for ages,” Gemma chided me, when she phoned. “It’s not good for you sitting about in that poky flat all on your own.” “I’m not on my own. I have Simon,” I cor

G av drove home, glancing up at the ...

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