Every picture shows the same smiling little boy, with white-blond hair and dancing eyes. I recognize Anna in one where a sleeping baby is lying on her chest and she’s staring into the camera lens, with a look of utter contentment radiating from deep within.

A blond lock of hair lies on the desk next to a painting of what looks like a sunflower field, created out of tiny yellow and green handprints. The paper is stiff and crunchy as I lightly pass my fingertips over the palm shapes.

How could so much pain and suffering be cast on one family?

There’s an agonized wail from outside, and I race out of the hut and onto the shingled beach where Anna is standing against the sunset with her arms aloft.

She moves towards the water’s edge as I run to reach her, and the tide rolls over our shoes as I grab her tightly around the waist from behind.

‘Please,’ I say, gently pulling her back into me. ‘Let’s talk.’

She turns to look at me and her face is so twisted that at first, it seems like she might lash out. But she melts into my arms and for a moment, we’re lost in the sound of the waves.

‘What have you taken?’ I ask.

‘I . . . I . . .’ she says, shaking her head.

‘Anna!’ I shout, in a bid to rouse her from her stupor. ‘What have you taken?’

‘N-nothing,’ she says. ‘I haven’t taken anything.’

The breath I’ve been holding in escapes from my lungs like a missile, and I flounder as I guide her back across the pebbles. ‘Come inside,’ I say, not knowing whether the shrine to her son will help or hinder her.

She falls down on the daybed and instinctively picks up the blue blanket square beside her, poking her forefinger through one of its silk loops.

‘Ben would go to bed with this every night,’ she says, holding it against her cheek and inhaling its scent. ‘He would slip his finger through like this and rub the material with his thumb to send him off to sleep.’

Her wistful smile suddenly disappears and her mouth pulls into a thin, tight line as she looks at her watch. ‘This time last year he was still alive,’ she says, her voice cracking as the enormity of the milestone hits her. ‘If I’d known then what I know now, I would have spent the next few hours loving him, smelling him . . .’

I sit down beside her and put an arm around her back. ‘You’ve never told me what actually happened on that day.’

She shakes her head and bites down on her lip.

‘Do you want to talk about it now?’ I ask. ‘Might we be able to honour Ben in the way he deserves?’