Emily Taylor

Hey love, you have to hear what went down at our dinner the other night. My motherinlaw, Emma Thompson

Rain drummed against the sill of the cramped twobed flat in a tower block overlooking the Thames.

Listen carefully, the housemate continued. Either your daughter gives me the car or she moves out!

Grandfather Arthur Whitmore, his coat too long for his thin frame, shuffled through the drifts of the

Hey love, Ive got a story for you. Its about that bloke Jonathan Clarke you know, the guy whos always

Emily lives a life that could be described as on autopilot. She walks the drab, weary streets of a Midlands

Ordinary folk It was noisy outside, as it always is in latespring London, when the city finally feels

Id been watching the morning rush from my desk at The Gazette, and I knew Blythe was in a panic.

Do they have no relatives? Why did you bring them here? Youre such a pity Pity? What about us?

When I think back to those days, I recall my mother, dear Agnes, tending the potted begonias on the windowsill