Harlan Covington

The operating theatre was a blursharp crack, darkness, then more darkness. At last the gloom began to

I was perched in my little cottage clinic, listening to the floorboards groantap, tap, tap, tapas if

Stay still, dont say a word, youre in danger. The ragclad young woman with tangled hair and mudsplattered

Arthur finally hit the big sevenzero, having raised three children. His wife, Margaret, had passed away

I still recall that cold winter wedding in the great hall of the Savoy, a night when I, Eleanor Finch

Every evening for the past fifteen years, precisely at six oclock, Margaret Shaw places a steaming plate

Im a exhausted single mum working as a cleaner. On my way home I spot a newborn abandoned on a cold bus stop.

I promise to love your son as if he were my own. Rest in peace Harry Hart was a man who seemed to have it all.

Eleanor Finch sat in her drafty cottage, the air thick with damp and neglect. No one had tended the place

He staggered through the midnight streets of London, his steps unsteady after a generous nightcap.