Helen Harris always enjoyed her afternoon tea with Martha Evert, and as she knocked on the door carrying a treat of two chocolate muffins, she looked forward to an hour or two of catching up with her

SARAH DITUM

best for FICTION

Mae pulled her car in close to the curb, directly opposite the small two-bedroom bungalow belonging to her grandmother. She paused for a moment. Mae made a conscious effort to visit at least once a we

MARION looked at the packs of crisps stacked on the supermarket shelf and sighed. No, there was no point in getting the multipack. She and Kenny would never get through that. And it wasn’t as if the H

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