‘It’s a she. She’s a patient and we talk, and I meet her granddaughter. She is very old – very sick – and she is saying all the time, “You must go to this place, and that place. England is so beautiful,” she says, “and you must, must, must go to Higher Lee.”’

‘Why?’

‘She came with her husband, years ago. It’s very beautiful, I guess.’

‘And you came all the way up here because she… What? She organised it?’

‘Yes.’

‘She paid for the hotel?’

‘She did that, with her granddaughter. I said I could not take any cash, but if they made it possible then I would love to go. They made the booking.’

‘Is she dying, do you think?’

Maria looked at him.

‘It’s a hospice, Michael,’ she said. ‘They are all dying, yes – and this is not my camera. The granddaughter lent it to me, and so I am looking at all this scenery for her. My eyes will be her eyes, if you understand me? That’s what she said.’

‘I do understand.’

‘Good.’

She frowned.

‘I could not go back and say, “Yes, a very nice hotel, thank you – but I got lost!” She would never forgive me.’

‘How old is she?’

‘I think eighty-five. I must hurry back, or she will be gone! I’m joking.’

Michael sipped the sweet tea again and returned the cup. He took another bite of his sandwich, and she did the same. He had an image of the old woman now, in her hospital bed, and he felt only admiration.

‘Look,’ said Maria. ‘Look at that…’

The wind had died suddenly and the mist rolled back. They could see into a long valley, and at its far end – even as they watched – the sun managed to break through. What was strange, though – and impossible – was that when they looked the other way, the weather was so different. The clouds were dark grey turning to black, and the rain was visible like a soft curving curtain. Maria held her camera up, and Michael noticed that this time she was filming: she panned from left to right, taking in the extremes. The next moment, the valley disappeared.

They finished the sandwiches and wrapped the remaining two up in film. Maria had the rest of Michael’s crisps, and they drained the cup of tea. There were two biscuits: Michael had taken them from the jar in his room, feeling slightly guilty.

‘Shall we save them for later?’ he said – for Maria was looking at them, too.

‘I think we should. How much further is it?’

‘About an hour?’

‘One hour to the ridge. Then up to the top. Then all the way back, and home – if we’re alive.’

‘Are you ready?’

‘Of course.’

‘Come on.’

She patted his pocket.

‘You should put on your waterproof trousers,’ she said.

‘You’re right.’