Clive stares at his friend. Lately he’d like nothing more than to punch him in the face. Always so defensive, always so quick to turn things into an argument. Working with Tom these days is like trying to be a bloody contortionist, twisting himself into knots over every little setback that arises with this never-ending build just to get Tom to do what is required. Clive sucks air in through his nostrils and chooses his words carefully.

‘The construction team have concerns,’ he says.

‘What about?’ Tom gives him a flat stare. ‘I’ve paid them upfront. What the hell do they have to be concerned about?’

This is news to Clive. He swallows hard. Paid them upfront. Tom will sink this business if he continues running it like a toddler.

‘They’re concerned about some rumours that have grown out of the situation with the first house,’ Clive says in measured tones. ‘The river …’

‘Don’t talk to me about the bloody river,’ Tom snaps. His decision to redirect that river almost ruined him. And after all that effort, the river is back now, burbling away through the trees as it has done since the last Ice Age.

Clive looks over Tom’s face – the man looks haggard. His face is drawn. He’s not eating. His eyes are sunken behind his glasses, all the light gone. His hair has more flashes of white than ever before.

‘Clive,’ Tom says flatly. All the friendliness has gone from his voice. Clive wonders if Tom’s next move is to suggest he go home, step down from the company. ‘What rumours?’

Clive feels bad, shifts from foot to foot. He hates saying it aloud. ‘They’re a suspicious bunch, this lot. Some of the men say the site is haunted.’

Tom grins. Hilarious. He leans back in his chair and folds his arms. Haunted? Magic.

‘Go on,’ he says brightly, suddenly warmed by having to prod Clive to tell him this kind of news.

‘They’re scared, Tom. That moose has been on the site six times now.’

‘Elk,’ Tom corrects. ‘Moose is the American term.’

‘Will you just listen? It keeps wrecking things. It’s a big animal.’

‘I know,’ Tom groans. This was the other outcome of the river fiasco: apparently every animal in Norway drank out of that damn river, and when he redirected it they all got confused. Or pissed off. The latter is more likely, given that the moose/elk keeps coming to the site and wrecking things. ‘We’ll get pest control out again.’

Clive double-takes. ‘Pest control? Tom, it’s a moose. Pest control won’t touch it. Anyway, it’s not just that. The build itself is no picnic. Things keep going missing.’

Tom frowns. ‘What do you mean, missing? Is someone stealing the equipment?’

‘We’re not sure. A couple of things have ended up in the fjord.’ He fixes Tom in a stare. ‘No one knows how they got there.’