It actually felt nice being on all fours, relief for her aching back and arms. So much so that she spent a few moments arching and bending her spine, before starting to shimmy forwards, commando style, wary of thorns and of coming nose to nose with a fox, but also quite enjoying herself. A few feet in, the tunnel curved round a particularly gnarled and knotted section of undergrowth, and then opened quite suddenly onto a space wide and high enough to sit in. She scrambled inside, incredulous. It was a green cave. Like something out of a fairy tale, except clearly beaten out of the undergrowth by real hands. Opposite her was an entrance to another tunnel, going deeper into the garden.

Esther sat back on her heels, allowing these observations to sink in. Somewhere in the air outside, a bird chirruped, thickening the silence that followed. Her hair, fixed for convenience into a ponytail, had flopped annoyingly out of hold. Esther took a few moments to retie it, scraping every strand back into the toggle as tightly as it would go, fighting the strong temptation to retreat the way she had come. But this was her garden, she reminded herself fiercely, feeling for the hard comforting rectangle of her phone in her fleece pocket before crawling forwards to the next tunnel.

When, after a few feet, it widened suddenly, into another cleared section, she froze. For this was not a cave so much as a shoulder-high space, beaten back this time to accommodate access to the front of the potting shed. The upturned boat revealed itself to be a solid roof, melded into the knitted canopy of ivied brambles surrounding it. The latched door, its handle gone, was pushed to, but ajar. Set into its top half was a small square dusty window. The stillness now was absolute. Even the birds had fallen quiet. Esther crept towards the door to peer inside, hearing only the pumping of her heart in her ears. The pane was dirty, but she could make out a large trug basket beside a pile of old black plastic sheeting and blankets. Near it, on the ground, was an upturned plastic lid containing what looked like the crusty remains of food. Propped against the wall behind was an assortment of ancient implements, including a rusted hand scythe, a broken tennis racket, a fishing rod, and a croquet mallet. The entire ceiling was ragged with cobwebs, thick as knitting. Glinting in the dim light on a narrow shelf above the sports equipment were several candle stumps and some tins; one of which, Esther noticed, was cat food. Right by the door, under her nose, a stack of bricks served as a fourth leg for a broken chair; beside that, on top of an upturned white metal bucket, was a small flowerpot stuffed with cigarette stubs.