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

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

WHAT sort of accident?” Declan looked worried. “Is your mother OK?” “Mum’s fine,” Tara said. “It’s Phyllis. “Mel – that’s her daughter – was driving her home and they tried to cross the ford. “With al

YOU can’t just throw it all in a skip, Mum!” Bryony’s voice was muffled by a dust mask as she crouched in the loft space, carefully avoiding bumping her head on the beams. She examined a battered trun

THE noise of the cotton mill was the background to Martha Sharpe’s life. She could separate in her mind each element of the rhythmic sounds that filled the Cheshire valley where she had been born and

TARA clicked off her mobile after phoning the police about the stolen trailer. “Well, they’ve given me a crime number,” she told her mother, who was busy patching holes in horse blankets. “But it’ll p