Nursing her bruised behind, Kelty pounded along the lane till she arrived at her family home, a stone house with an old oak door and a brass knocker in the shape of a stag's head. It usually made Kelty imagine a tiny hunter taking a tiny metal deer as a trophy and mounting its tiny head and antlers for display.

On another day, the thought would have elicited giggles.

But this wasn't "on another day" and Kelty only had barely contained tears. Tears that threatened to spring out at any moment like some messy wet jack in a box.

She flopped upon her bed and buried her face in the quilt her Nan had made.