Scarlett has found home. Her toddler has other ideas.

Scarlett and her husband thought they had happily settled in the 1960s after a time-travel complication forced them into the past for the birth of their daughter. With a toddler, a dog, her parents nearby and a cosy life, the past now feels like home.

Admittedly, home involves terry-towelling nappies, burnt toast and mascara that requires far too much commitment, but nobody's life is perfect.

Then her toddler starts noticing doorways.

Or rather, saying 'door' at unsettling moments. Near stairs. In cafes. In places where the air seems to ripple when no one else is looking.

Scarlett doesn't understand it, which is unfortunate, because her little girl seems to understand it far better than anyone else.

When a smug, mystical old friend insists the family must spend three months in the modern world, Scarlett isn't sure whether to be thrilled or terrified. Disposable nappies and Wi-Fi are tempting, but the future is louder, shinier and faster.

And somewhere among the bright lights, old memories and strange doorways, Scarlett has to decide where ? and when ? home really is.