‘Callum,’ he whispered quietly, and then louder. The boy roused and shielded his eyes from light pouring in from the hallway. His son shot daggers at him and Joe smiled his best convincing grin. He went to Connor’s bed and did the same, getting the same response.

‘Come on, guys, this will be amazing, I can see the sky is clear and we don’t want to miss it.’

Callum swung his legs over the side of the bed and pulled on his trousers, followed by a sweater and a snood. He stretched and leant over to poke his brother.

‘Come on, Connor,’ he said to his brother, who finally did the same, and in under a minute, both boys were ready and upright.

‘Where’s Mum?’

‘She’s coming. Bags are packed, let’s go.’

Callum and Connor went out into the hall and towards the kitchen, grabbing protein bars on the way, with Joe following them before going outside to get the car started. It wasn’t a long drive to the stone circle, and they’d be there in ten minutes. As part of his contract with English Heritage, Joe was given a house deep in the Lakes, on farmland, in the middle of nowhere, between Keswick and Penrith. There was no noise in the yard; not a neighbour’s dog or cockerel stirred. Joe threw coats at the boys, who’d followed him outside, and they took them happily, shocked by the temperature.

‘Why is it so cold?’ asked Connor. It was only September after all.

‘Summer’s over. It’s winter’s turn now. Death cometh to the land and feasts upon the remnants of life…’ Joe did his best impression of a menacing stranger, preaching Pagan babble. The boys rolled their eyes. Joe winked at them and went to the car, getting in and starting the engine, flicking on every heating switch there was. The boys bundled into the back and Annie came out of the cottage.

‘Keys?’ she asked. Joe nodded. She closed the cottage door and got in the car.

‘Right, let’s go!’ He swung the car out of the yard, along the dark track towards the main road. Joe scoured the sky and was happy: it had yet to show signs of the blackness turning to charcoal and then to grey and purple. They were still ahead of time.

The dual carriageway was deserted. Joe could have driven blindfolded. This was his backyard. A small sign, covered almost completely by bushes, said ‘Castlerigg Stone Circle’, and they turned off another road, which was even narrower. They went uphill and Joe looked to his left.

‘Almost there.’ His wife said nothing. The boys grunted acknowledgement, accustomed to their father’s enthusiasm for outings at odd hours.