“Lily?”

Nothing.

I stood.

When I rounded the garden shed, Carla was standing over my daughter.

In one hand she held one of Dad’s long steel barbecue skewers.

The heavy kind with two prongs at the end.

Lily was backed against the metal shed.

Her face had gone white.

“What are you doing?”

Carla turned.

“She was digging through my handbag.”

“I wasn’t.”

Lily’s voice barely existed.

“I was looking for Grandma’s bucket.”