I wrap my arms around myself; my skin feels withered and dry, my body is a nonentity, no one wants anything from me these days, it’s as if I’ve ceased to exist. I’ve never brought anyone with me to the cabin, no relationship has ever lasted long enough for that. Marthe has cosied up here with boyfriends since she was fifteen years old and always took the biggest bedroom, listless, apathetic boys that Mum and I rolled our eyes at, until she finally settled down with Kristoffer and got Olea into the bargain. And me? What do I have?

It’s so long since I was last touched by someone, anyone. I try to recall what it’s like, hands, skin, their breath at my neck, and as I imagine it, that breath, it all comes back to me, what it’s like to have someone come up behind me, hold me, their breath at my neck, it’s so vivid, so real. To have someone as close to me as it’s possible to be, their breath at my throat, tracing their fingers from between my legs and up towards my breasts. I don’t want to think about it. There’s no point. I stand up and pull on a clean jumper, then perch on the narrow bed, this tiny room, will I ever make it out of here? Things will get better, I tell myself, everything will get better, I’ll freeze my eggs in Sweden, I’ll become something else, there’s something else out there for me, the best is yet to come, I’m not the type to give up. I stand in front of the mirror and see that I’m in good shape, I’ll go for a run in the morning, or out rowing, perhaps even both. 25