Shelly is trapped. The door behind her rarely open. Though her prison is comfortable, she yearns to venture further. Looking through a double glazed window which is permanently locked, she longs to join four women chatting on the pavement, below her.

Shelly knows the carnival procession is due. In her mind's eye, she can see locals in fancy dress posing on floats decked with colours. On leaving Plovers Field, the procession will weave its way through town cheered on by a crowd of enthusiastic onlookers.

She can see painted faces. Imagines pop music blasting from speakers. And as she recalls past Carnival Days, she notices, below her, one woman tug the arm of another. And they're off in a flurry, all four dashing down to the bottom of the street to join a throng of eager spectators.

Now Shelly visualises the procession's progress along the two mile route until it reaches the grounds of the Rugby Club. There, she remembers, the clamour of brass bands, the smell of Hot Dogs and waves of people surging towards her.

And as she remembers, a familiar terror strikes; a terror that has kept her indoors for over a decade. Doubling up, gasping, she falls down onto her knees while her heart thumps its threat deep inside her.