The setting for The Nesting grew out of an abiding love of nature and wilderness. I hadn’t been to Norway before I began writing The Nesting, but it had long intrigued me, and I was very clear on the story’s setting serving as a character in its own right – a place that was untouched by humans and therefore untrammelled and wild, as beautiful as it was intimidating. I knew the house in the story was going to be built in dense woodland, but I wasn’t sure of which country it should be based in. I put a call out on my Facebook page, asking for suggestions. Someone mentioned the Faroe Islands, and my mind turned again to Scandinavia. My instincts said Norway was the place.

I knew I would have to visit Norway to carry out research. The more I write, the more of a perfectionist I seem to become – if the story requires knowledge of environmental architecture, as this one does, I’ll go to great lengths to ensure I’m well up to speed on that subject before attempting to write about it. Even if I only use a fraction of what I learn, I need to ensure that I’m writing from a place of authenticity.

I applied to Arts Council England for funding to carry out some research trips, and luckily they approved the application just three weeks later. Within weeks, I was in Oslo, meeting John Arnes Bjerne, a director at the Nordic Office of Architecture to talk through my ideas for Tom’s house and find out if any of them made sense, or if they were even possible, and to learn more about architectural practices specific to Norway. I couldn’t risk the reader questioning why Tom chose Norway as a location for his house, especially given how difficult the build becomes. I needed the story to be immersive and seamless – something my reader would wholeheartedly buy into and enjoy reading without questions about logistics and authenticity rupturing their experience of the story.

I would visit Norway a total of four times: a fortnight on a boat touring the Norwegian coast, a week in Ålesund, which is the nearest city to the place where Tom builds his house, and another trip to Oslo.

My boat trip took me all the way from Bergen to the Russian border and back. It was the depths of winter, and the sun barely came up at all – each midday we got a smattering of light, the kind you get at dusk, before heading back into darkness.