‘Fate is an artful dodger. Whatever you believe of gods and destiny and all that crap, fate steps out to slip signals, pull points, shift tracks to take you on a route so bizarre, it makes you stare at the stars and scuff your feet.’
Was she to blame? Jack needed help, but then so did she. Going up the hill to find the well, looking down into its depths was his idea. His mother’s wrath and jealousy, his weakness when blood was spilt instead of water; could it ever make for a happy ending? If only she’d used those skates, just that once, to get away from Jack; leave him to his bucket and fish.