I am suddenly smothered by the urge to read all of Keegan's work, I have been aware of her for so long but just never quite got around to reading her. Her prose is absolutely gorgeous, precise and moving, both child-like and mature from the perspective of the young protagonist, and felt entirely intentional in such a short story. The vivid pastoral imagery, entwined with the child's feelings of longing and acceptance were truly gorgeous.

The sun, at a slant now, throws a rippled version of how we look back at us. For a moment, I am afraid. I wait until I see myself not as I was when I arrived, looking like a gypsy child, but as I am now, clean, in different clothes, with the woman behind me. I dip the ladle and bring it to my lips. This water is cool and clean as anything I have ever tasted: it tastes of my father leaving, of him never having been there, of having nothing after he was gone.