The Home-Coming by Abigail Wyatt
The house is cold, biting, bitten, gnawed at by winter. Upstairs, a woman sobs as a new-born infant howls. At the foot of the stairs, between peeling walls, a grey-faced young man seems to hesitate. His eyes take in the first floor landing and then slide towards the still-open door.
Abigail Wyatt writes for her life near Redruth in Cornwall. She resents having to go to work and lives in fear that she will just run out of time.
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