Dark clouds have moved in, but there is no fog, and the white, stepped gables of Änglaberga are clearly visible. A vehicle pulls away from the lodge at the end of the tree-lined avenue; it is Bror Klein’s pickup, and Agnes waves to him as they pass.

‘How far is the quarry from here?’

Agnes checks her phone. ‘About a mile.’

Close enough to cycle, Anna thinks. She gazes out over the freshly ploughed fields, tries to picture Simon cycling along.

The rain comes with no warning. As they enter the forest it begins to hammer down; it is almost too much for the windscreen wipers in spite of the shelter from the treetops. She slows down, but doesn’t see an unexpectedly sharp bend and almost comes off the road.

‘Take it easy, Mum!’ Agnes grabs the handle above the window and glares at her.

‘Sorry.’ Anna slows down even more.

‘There!’ Agnes points to a narrow dirt track between two bends. Anna stops, makes sure no other car is approaching before she turns left. The track soon begins to climb. The surface is uneven, and she has to negotiate large potholes. The trees thin out, and the top of the hill is bare. The rain is coming down even harder now; she has no choice but to creep along.

Agnes is leaning forward, trying to see. Anna cautiously negotiates the next bend, but still ends up bouncing in and out of a deep hole. They are on a logging track now, hardly wide enough for one vehicle, with a green strip of vegetation down the middle that is so overgrown she can feel it scraping against the undercarriage.

‘Stop!’ Agnes says, but Anna has already seen the barrier. It is made of galvanised steel and extends right across the track, with a faded yellow sign in the centre. Wind and weather have obliterated its message, apart from one word in capital letters.

DANGER!

They stay in the car for a few minutes until the rain eases. Agnes has put away her phone, and Milo is sitting quietly on her lap. Twenty metres beyond the barrier the rocky landscape gives way to dense coniferous forest, which swallows up both the light and the logging track.

Milo whimpers, places his paws on the dashboard and presses his nose against the windscreen as if he’s spotted something. The rain patters gently on the roof, then stops.

‘Shall we go?’ Anna says, and Agnes nods.

The track on the other side of the barrier slopes gently downwards among the fir trees. The smell here is completely different from a deciduous forest; it carries a darker hint of decay. Combined with the faint light, the atmosphere is distinctly creepy.