Once the dishes are done, Agnes disappears up to the chapel. Anna can hear her gathering up her equipment: the tripod, the reflective umbrella with the flash, the screens, the bags containing different lenses. She knows how expensive everything is, remembers the arguments with Håkan.

You do realise you’re buying her love? You’re putting me in an impossible position. And how the hell can you afford it?

That all seems so unimportant now.

After a while she goes upstairs. Waits for a moment, half expecting Agnes to snap at her, say she wants to be left in peace. When that doesn’t happen, she wanders slowly over to the big window. Once again it’s hard to tear her eyes away from the view, even though it’s completely different from the previous day. The fog rests on the trees like a lid, their tops no more than grey silhouettes. She can see a series of red lights in the distance, and eventually realises that they are the markers on the wind turbines out on the plain – prehistoric beasts made of metal, flashing in time with one another.

Agnes has rigged up her camera in front of the painting.

‘Mum, could you fetch the other lamp?’

Anna tries not to show how pleased she is to be included.

Baby steps, she thinks. She tries to get Håkan mentally on board, but right now he’s keeping quiet. Which is a good thing. And yet she misses his voice.

She hands Agnes the lamp, watches as her daughter fixes it in place with well-practised hands. She gazes at the mural again. The same dark sky, the rocks, the silent, brooding forest. The rain, disturbing the surface of the water and distorting the reflection.

‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ Agnes says. ‘The colours, the atmosphere, the rain – everything. I keep getting the feeling that the water is hiding a secret, that there’s something below the surface. It will be exciting to see if it actually is based on the quarry – to see the place for real.’

‘Mm.’ Anna tilts her head on one side, studies the shifting images on the dark surface.

‘I’ve googled Karl-Jo’s work,’ Agnes goes on. ‘I haven’t found anything like this, so it looks as if no one’s ever photographed it. I might be the first, in which case I can include the pictures in my portfolio.’ She starts adjusting the lamps again, small, skilful movements. The positive atmosphere from lunch is still there, making Anna feel warm inside. We can get through this, she thinks. Everything’s going to be OK. Håkan still doesn’t say a word.

*