The Borrowed Life of Frederick Fife

by Anna Johnston

Surely if he asked around, he could find somewhere a tad cozier that didn’t smell like urinal cakes and lost dreams.

glorious bursts of raspberry and coconut waltzed on his tongue.

early-onset dementia, the very cruelest of diseases that stole the mind and soul without mercifully taking the body as well.

Grief was love with nowhere to go.

work. It was happening so often that Hannah couldn’t remember her mum’s eyes without those big bags under them. Why did they call them bags? Did they carry the tiredness? They weren’t doing a great job.

Love is . . . about picking someone up and never, ever putting them down again, no matter how heavy things become.”