She counted to ten, unpeeled her fingers from the handlebars and rubbed her hands together. Winter had arrived overnight like the crack of a whip. The previous week's rainfall was still pouring down off the Peaks, current too swift to freeze. She stopped and watched the foam, felt the dull roar of the Rivelin in spate. One of the five rivers of Sheffield. Her favourite, of course. The frost on her window pane had been sign enough. 'Jack's morning', her mother had always called it. It was just the first day to her. A way of marking time, of continuing the cycle. 'A duty' maybe. Her mother's words again. Words she had ignored these last few years. She'd hoped to get further along the valley this morning, but she'd realised the kids would need something when they got in from school and there was nothing but condiments in the cupboards. That had meant a trip to the shops, so she'd set off later than planned....