“How did you and Dad meet?” said Alice. Alice was always asking questions. “Your father and I actually met on a street corner,” said Suzanne, as she laughed. “Come, sit here, let me tell you the story. I remember this story very well. “I was headed to my first job interview fresh out of Hofstra. I was a petite little thing in those days.”

“You’re getting too choosy in your old age, that’s your trouble.” Barbara gazed out of the window; she had taken umbrage at her daughter’s remark. Right, so choosy she could be, and why not, but old? Never! After all, she was only seventy, in her head coming on forty. She had her own teeth; or most of them; trendy in her appearance, and thanks to the bottle in her bathroom cabinet, no grey hair.

That day in 1617 started the same way as every other day Catherine had spent as scullery maid at Hoghton Tower in Lancashire. But as she hurried downstairs to begin her early morning chores Catherine remembered that today was different after all. It was her sixteenth birthday and the housekeeper, Mrs Baines, had promised that if Catherine worked hard and behaved herself she would be promoted to the position of housemaid. That would mean no more nights staying awake, ensuring that all the fires in the house stayed lit. It would also mean that instead of just one half-day off a month she would have half a day every fortnight.

Everything in my life had become a merry-go-round of nothingness.  No girlfriend, no car, no home.  Living with my mum once again at the age of twenty-nine was not how I pictured my life.  The only thing that saved me from total depression was my degree in Architecture.  It was the one thing that allowed me to keep following my dreams despite all the setbacks that have plagued me for the last three years, leading me to this point.   I hated my job.  Yes, I was working in my chosen field, but I was under-utilised and had no control over any project that I worked on.  I was merely a pencil-pusher, drawing the visions of somebody else’s design. 

Jennifer arrived early on Saturday evening to meet John Miller, an almost-blind-date arranged by her sister. She sat on a bench by the fountain in St. Francis’ Square, draped her slender arms along the wooden backrest, and tilted her head to catch the glow of the setting sun. John Miller’s family lived in Adelaide but he had gained his degrees in economics and geography at Melbourne University. It was there that Jennifer’s brother-in-law had been friendly with the man who was soon to commence working for the town’s most prestigious brokerage house. Jennifer had seen a photograph of a group of students that included John before being asked if she fancied the idea of a date with him.

Betty stared at the computer screen and sighed. She inhaled deeply and could almost smell the fragrant English countryside, or at least what she imagined the scent would be like. “What’s wrong?” Christina asked. She opened the microwave oven and pulled out a steaming cup of hot water, then plopped a tea bag into it. Betty frowned. “That’s not the proper way to have tea.” “Why not? I’ve seen you do it before.” “Maybe so, but it’s still not the proper way.” Christina glanced at the computer screen. “I should have known. Are you dreaming about England again?”

He was outside again, tending to his precious peach tree. Violet watched him from the upstairs bedroom window, he was oblivious to everything, including her. No, especially her. Absently she continued folding the shirt she held in her arms, and wondered how they were going to get through the two weeks of their approaching summer holiday without the routines and distractions into which he seemed to escape from her every moment he could here at home.

“You, Heather, are the original hopeless romantic.” My sister’s words ran through my mind as I checked my appearance in a handbag mirror on the final stage of my journey. I’m not normally vain, but today I wanted to look my best. Luckily the other passengers had disembarked at a previous station, so that I had the compartment to myself, as the train puffed towards Westmorland and the scenery became more hilly with each passing mile. I was used to hills, of course, coming as I did from a Lancashire town surrounded by moors. But, much as I loved them, they couldn’t compare to proper mountains, especially on a day like this, with a clear blue sky. At least my sister wouldn’t be able to joke about me having my head in the clouds.

Elle Meadows limped back towards the warmth of the farmhouse, clutching the piece of pink ribbon and trying not to cry. Was she being unreasonably selfish to hope for one small touch of luxury or comfort in her life? Normally she didn't mind the hard work, the dirt or the early mornings; she liked working on the farm. The sight of their cows grazing happily, a new litter of piglets being brought into the world or the hens roosting safely for the night always made her smile. She loved the scent of freshly made hay, fresh warm milk and the wood smoke from the range in the kitchen. Today though she felt that if she were to see one more muddy animal or smell the sweaty aroma from its damp back then she'd be ready to head for the city and apply for an office job.

With a grin, Alistair lightly punched Rose on the shoulder, as if he were her brother - except that he wasn’t. Quite simply, they were the best of friends. Rose tired of explaining this to her housemates, Cheryl and Susie, who regularly winked and nudged, convinced that the Scotsman and English girl made the perfect couple. ‘Glad you chose to study French, then?’ said Alistair, as Rose gave another sigh. They’d just left the university buildings and were heading towards the library. ‘Did you keep up with everything, in that lecture?’

“I’m not going!” Jenny said turning away from Cole, her red hair swirling around her shoulders. She liked him a lot but was not quite sure of her true feelings toward him; his English mannerisms clashed with her outback upbringing. How they managed to get along together was a mystery to her. “I am only thinking of your safety,” Cole said quietly. Jenny turned, “Are you?” “Yes, I am. At least your Mother and Father agreed it was safer to leave the farm. You know the weather bureau doesn't issue storm and flood warnings for nothing.” His voice trailed away.

Dear G… We have not set eyes on each other for over sixty years. Yet, I have never forgotten you, and indeed, still feel love for you. All those years ago, I was really ‘in love’ with you. What was it that night, coming from the cinema, having had little conversation that prompted you to say ‘Perhaps we should stop seeing each other?’ Although, in my heart I did not want our relationship to end, I found myself saying ‘Maybe we should.’

Monday 24th June The day Mother told us she was getting married again, I was very upset, especially when it meant gaining another sister, but it’s actually worked out rather well. In our old house, I had to share a bedroom with Gloria. We don’t exactly see eye to eye, so that wasn’t much fun. My step father already had a daughter, Lucinda her name is, so when we moved in with them, I assumed she’d be keeping her room. After all, this has been her home for twenty years, AND she was here first, but Mother had other ideas.

“Granddad, it’s my swing!” Luke’s dark eyes flashed up at me and his bottom lip protruded obstinately. Sturdy legs apart, my four year old grandson waited for me to resolve his problem. Glancing over his head I saw the swing swaying to and fro beneath the old apple tree. Hands circling both ropes and feet kicking the ground defiantly, Susie stared at us. “She’s on my swing!” Luke repeated and I sighed, preparing to convince my precious grandchild that sharing was a good thing.

Jemima ran her manicured hand through her fine, blonde hair and asked, “Will you marry me?” Andy almost dropped his script. He blinked and wondered if he'd heard her correctly. She moved along the sofa so she sat with her thigh touching his, took his hand in hers, looked into his eyes and whispered the words again, “Will you marry me?”

It was meant to be the holiday of a lifetime, a trip with friends and time together to bring back the old magic we’d once shared, my husband Mark won me over with his words. It wasn’t that we were unhappy, but after twenty years of marriage, we’d lost the old spark, and life had got in the way, as it does in many marriages, with the challenge of bringing up children and balancing a career. And so I said yes to the dive trip. It was our first morning, and I woke to the chorus of birds outside our room. Mark was draped around me and sweet memories of our lovemaking lingered. The holiday looked to be full of the magic he’d promised… that was until I stepped onto the dive boat.

I catch her staring at me across the room. It’s a look of intensity, a slight frown creasing her forehead. ‘So you’re the latest, are you?’ I think and move across the room towards her. “I’m Jane, I don’t think we’ve met,” I say, offering my hand. Beneath my social smile I’m thinking ‘but I know what you’re about.’ She takes my hand and her limp-lettuce handshake gratifies; she’s not as confident as she looks, with her geometric hair cut and designer dress. “Yes, I recognised you from the photos in the shop. I’m Anna,” she says. “John invited me. I met him at the museum, at a talk about his pottery. I’m very interested in ceramics.”

I know her name because I’ve heard people call out to her. I’ve seen her out in the village with her mother, or girlfriends. Curiously, I have never seen her with a boyfriend. She must be saving herself for me. She’s sexy, beautiful and around five-feet-seven-inches tall. Her blue-black silken hair drops to her shoulders and curls under itself. It is not an exaggeration to say her hair is like that of models who flick their locks from side to side in shampoo commercials.

She was just suddenly there, and it was very strange, but immediately she gave me the feeling she had always been there, that I had always been vaguely aware of her there. I suspected this was not so. She was shaking her arms, looking at them, and at her feet, taking little steps, one at a time. When she saw me staring she smiled and said “They’re so percussive.” I smiled back and would have walked past her then, but she kept smiling at me and obviously she wanted my attention. Good, I thought.

“We need to find Cara a nice man,” Amy whispered at the dress fitting. “We've been trying for years, what makes you think we can do it now?” I asked. “She's seen how happy we both are and I think she's ready to settle down.” Cara swished back the curtain. “What do you think, Lucy?” “You look beautiful, but I knew you would.,” I told her. It was true, she'd been a beautiful bridesmaid at Amy's wedding and would do the same for me next month. We'd made a pact to be bridesmaids at each other's weddings. Technically Amy will be my matron of honour, but you don't think of things like that when you're nine.

Karen was here today. You should have seen her; more beautiful than ever. I guess she came to keep an eye on me and see how the old man’s going. She’s always been good like that. We discussed the usual things over a bottle of Pinot Noir; shopping, my health, how Steve’s getting on at work, the girls. It was little Jannie’s birthday last week. I think I told you about the party ... her in that bunny rabbit costume. She looked so cute. Hard to believe she’s three already.

‘I’m sorry, Mia,’ said Oliver, scratching his left ear anxiously in the way that annoyed her. ‘Mum wants me to take her to Glyndebourne on Tuesday. That means I won’t be able to come to Cornwall with you after all.’ Somehow Mia had sensed this would happen. Eunice Caulfield kept her son on a short piece of string, which she liked to pull on a regular basis. Hardly a week went by without some sort of demand. Mia was determined to keep her cool. The ominous silence seemed to make Oliver even more anxious.

Kathy stood in the small courtyard in Kufstein and gazed up at the fortress towering starkly white above her. Her heart contracted as she heard the sigh of wind bellowing through the thousands of organ pipes on the Heroes Organ in the massive round tower; the music filtering gently through the eaves and wafting softly to the waiting crowd below. Gradually the noise eased to a crescendo, swooping triumphantly through the narrow streets and soaring to the snow clad mountains. “A prayer for peace,” Kathy whispered to herself and her eyes filled with tears as she thought of the first time that prayer had been played at the end of the war, and was now played daily in remembrance.

Panting and sweating, I propelled my bike up the hill. Rob was already at the top, leaning against a wall, looking at his watch. There were ominous grey clouds in the sky and the howling wind was against me. I finally reached the top and Rob frowned. “You’re slow today, Lisa, you’re usually quicker than this.” “I’m exhausted, that hill was a killer.” “Well, we can only have five minutes break or we won’t make the campsite in Brisedale before dark.” With that Rob turned away and studied the map for the umpteenth time.

"Take some gentle exercise", the doctor had recommended earnestly, "short walks." To match his short sentences and sessions no doubt. Martin looked down on the valley and took a deep, refreshing lungful of air. "Lush," he sighed, appreciating the sheer virginal energy of new-grown grass. "I beg your pardon?” He'd thought himself alone in the country park, and had been merrily chattering to various birds identified, complimenting them on their song, plumage and coquettish antics. He blushed like a robin in autumn at the thought of what the owner of the sensually throaty voice might have overheard.