A Rose for Major Flint. Louise Allen

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      Of course! I can write, I can put down all of the memories and then I can sort them out, like a puzzle. When Maggie had finished Rose gestured towards the pen and paper. Excitement and hope fizzed inside her. She’d been lost in a maze and now, finally she could glimpse how to get out.

      ‘You can write?’ Maggie pushed them over to her. ‘You’ve found your memory?’

      Yes and no. She waggled one hand. So-so.

      The other woman seemed to understand. ‘Look, there’s more paper on that shelf. You take the things upstairs where you can be quiet, lovie. Your man won’t be back today.’

       My man? No, he’s not. I doubt he is anyone’s man but his own.