The breakfast delayed her and she started later than she had intended. She took the road that led away from the dam, in the opposite direction to Appleworth. It climbed steeply away from the lake into the hills. She saw no other cars. She had a map but as she drove she remembered the times when she had come with Ursula to visit Kathleen Prime, and she only missed a turn once. The distance was shorter than she remembered – five miles, perhaps – and then she came down into the hamlet, for which there was no place sign and whose name she could not recall. There was a line of grey single-storey cottages and a pub, patronised, she supposed, by the residents of the cottages, serious walkers and people from Appleworth looking for adventure. She remembered the place quite vividly. Nothing had changed since she was last there. A plump woman in an apron was shaking a door mat in the garden of one of the cottages and stared at her as she drove slowly past.

Beyond the pub was a NO THROUGH ROAD sign and the lane was narrower. There was grass growing in the middle of the road and she worried that she might not get through. Perhaps she should have brought her aunt’s Land Rover. On either side of the lane the hill rose steeply. Through the open window she heard lambs’ cries. George would have been looking out for ring ouzel and the first wheatear. She drove past a farm and had to brake as the dogs chased out in front of her and then she was at Monk’s Wood.

After the bare hill and the severe blocks of Forestry Commission plantation, it seemed almost miraculous. In the lee of the hill sheltered from the north wind there were several acres of mixed deciduous woodland. The leaves were in bud. There was hawthorn blossom, wood anemone, primrose. It was too early for the bluebells, which Molly remembered from earlier visits. The wood was surrounded by a crumbling stone wall which showed some signs of repair and on each side of the lane was a gate post, though the gate that must once have marked the boundary to Monk’s Wood land had long since disappeared. Molly drove on through the trees to the house, a Victorian construction of steep gables and high chimneys which had mellowed to become pleasing.

On the lawn in front of the house stood a young woman with long red hair. She turned and Molly saw that she was holding a baby. The image had a dream-like quality because Alex had stood in exactly the same way to say goodbye to them on Molly’s last visit to Kathleen Prime. But that had been twenty years ago and by now Alex would be a middle-aged woman.