I don’t bother with the traps. I just wanted to come down here. Memories linger in this shed, trapped in the cobwebs of the rafters and the brine-bleached floor.

A spool of rope sits near the hatchway that opens onto the sea. The rope has sat untouched for so long that a dipper has built a nest of mud and twigs on it. It’s empty now, the hatchlings raised and flown off. I tug the spool and slide it away to see what’s hidden beneath it. Letters, whittled into the wooden floorboards, circled by a crudely carved heart. This is what it says:

Agnet + Kaspar

We used to sneak down here all the time to languish on the bed of loose netting and whisper secrets into one another’s ears. We would curl up on the floor and look out at the open sea while the breeze cooled our skin. Agnet was the first friend I made when we moved here. Father was aghast when he learned that the village of Torgrimsvær had no school. He started one immediately, but it only lasted a fortnight before he threw his hands up and declared the children unteachable. Agnet had been one of the few pupils to attend the school. She sat next to me on the bench that first day, flashing the gap between her front teeth. She had a fossil that she said brought good luck. I showed her the copper I always kept in my pocket for the same reason. We traded charms that day, promising to keep each other’s treasure safe. I kept hers under my pillow until Pip found it and used the fossil to smash snails in the garden. I don’t know if Agnet still has the coin. Perhaps she had to spend it.

Friendship became something more. Skinned knees gave way to flustered first kisses. We traded vows, with no one to witness them, that we would find a cottage somewhere, anywhere, and be happy. Since the age of twelve, I have saved every penny I could earn, swindle, or beg for that glorious day. It hasn’t added up to much, hard currency being hard to come by, but it was a goal. A childish, silly one, it turns out.

Two winters ago, Gunther the Brave lost his wife. Isolde had fallen ill with some wasting ailment and was gone within a month. Gunther mourned for the appropriate time and then began looking for a new wife. Agnet’s father owed the burly fisherman a debt, and when Agnet turned fifteen, Gunther came to collect. She lowered her head, and her pretty tooth-gap was seen no more.