In the afternoon they go for a walk with Milo, crossing the yard and turning right into the forest along the narrow path just before the outbuilding. The ground is covered in fallen leaves, a soft, fiery carpet that, combined with the fog, swallows the sound of their footsteps. It even muffles Milo’s excited barking as he races around among the tree trunks chasing smells and impressions accessible only to dogs.

Agnes has brought her camera, of course. She snaps away at Milo, at the trees, at the red, orange and yellow leaf canopy above them. She has to stop every few minutes to wipe the lens; a light rain is falling, so fine it’s almost invisible.

The path leads them to a shallow brook. Milo drinks the clear water, eagerly making his way downstream. Agnes follows him along the bank, shooting an extended series of images.

‘Milo! Look at me, Milo!’

Anna stumbles, plunges one foot into a deep puddle beside the brook and frightens the life out of a frog. She shivers, decides that she needs a pair of Wellingtons.

‘Where do you think the stream leads?’

Agnes’s cheeks are rosy, her eyes alert. Anna would give anything to see her like this every day.

‘Towards the bottom of the ridge.’ She points in the direction where she thinks the slope must be. ‘It’ll flow into a river somewhere down below.’

‘Or perhaps it’s heading for the quarry.’

‘Possibly – you didn’t find anything on Google Maps?’

Agnes shakes her head. ‘I couldn’t find any quarry marked.’

‘Isn’t that a bit weird?’

‘Maybe.’ Agnes looks thoughtful. ‘Shall we follow it for a bit?’

Anna glances down at her shoe. Her sock is soaked through, and the water has found its way up her trouser leg. However, Agnes is talking to her; at long last she is engaged in something other than her phone and the dog. Plus, Anna is also curious about the mysterious quarry, the site of past disaster.

‘OK, why not.’