‘I said, “I am married! I married twelve years ago. I have six children.”’

He simply stared at her. ‘That’s not possible,’ he said.

‘Why not?’

‘Because… where are they? Where’s your husband?’

‘In the Philippines, of course. My children are in the Philippines, and my husband is working overseas.’

‘In Scotland?’

‘No.’

‘Where?’

She laughed.

‘Listen,’ she said. ‘Let’s get to the house, okay? We sit down, out of the wind. We have some food, and… oh my God, you will wish you had not asked me about my family.’

‘About what?’

‘What?’

Another gust had snatched his words away.

‘What shouldn’t I have asked about?’ he cried.

‘About my children, Michael!’ she yelled. ‘I will show you photographs, and then I will start crying. It happens every day – three times a day.’

Another gust of wind hit, and Michael steadied her. There was rain now, very fine but also very constant. She got her camera out, and this time took a photograph of him. Then she turned and plodded on. It occurred to Michael that if Maria had made this trip alone, she would be getting nervous now – or he supposed she would, because he knew he would be. If he was out here on this exposed, blank hillside all alone he would be thinking only of the disasters that might befall, and how he should give up and turn back.

He would be worrying about getting lost.

Maria’s presence meant he wasn’t scared at all, and he wasn’t thinking of the future: he was experiencing the moment, in all its misty wetness, measuring his footsteps to a destination that must be getting closer. Before long, he could see that the house was smaller than he’d thought – and it wasn’t even a house. They reached it, and it was a carefully, beautifully built cube of rough stone, with a tin roof. It had one large wooden door which was padlocked shut – but it afforded them all the protection they needed, for they could sit against the most sheltered wall.

They didn’t speak for a while, because they had serious business to attend to: the packed lunches needed to be unwrapped, and there was tea to be poured. Maria had a thermos flask in her bag, and there was a flat space to rest it. She handed Michael her lunch-bag, and he unwrapped her sandwiches: she had chosen cheese. He unwrapped his own, and he had chosen ham. Like her, he had a bag of crisps, so he opened both packets. She poured tea into the flask’s plastic lid.

‘You like sweet tea?’ she said.

‘No,’ he replied. ‘I never have sugar.’

‘Oh, dear.’

‘What?’

‘I’m afraid I put sugar in already. In the hotel.’

‘That’s fine.’

‘I didn’t think about you.’

‘But it’ll do me good. I think we both need the energy.’

‘That’s true. Are we halfway yet?’