Neither of them had been to Norrland before. During those long hours on the train heading north the doubt had plagued them both. They had argued and cried and sat in lengthy periods of silence as the forest thickened outside the window and the distance between stations became longer and longer. Silje had sworn that this would be the last time they moved. The man she had met was called Torbjörn and he owned a house and some land in a village called Glimmersträsk. They had met online and talked forever on the phone. Meja had heard his monosyllabic Norrland way of speaking and seen pictures of a man with a moustache and thick neck, and eyes like slits when he smiled. In one photo he was holding an accordion and in another he was leaning over a hole in the ice, holding up a fish with red scales. Torbjörn was a real man, according to Silje. A man who knew how to survive in extreme conditions and who could look after them.

The train station where they eventually got out was nothing more than a hut among the pines, and when they tried the door it was locked. No one else had got out and they stood feeling helpless in the slipstream of the train as it pulled away and vanished among the trees. The ground vibrated for a long time under their feet. Silje lit a cigarette and started to drag the suitcase over the crumbling platform, while Meja stayed where she was, listening to the rustle of the trees and the whine of a million mosquitoes. She felt a scream begin to take shape in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t want to follow Silje, but she didn’t dare stay where she was. On the other side of the track the forest loomed, dark green verging on black, like a curtain against the illuminated sky, and a thousand shadows moved among the branches. She couldn’t see any animals, but the feeling of being watched was as powerful as if she had been standing in the middle of a town square. There was no doubt they saw her, hundreds of pairs of eyes, taking her in.

Silje had already made her way to the neglected car park where a rusty Ford was waiting. A man with his face shadowed by a black cap was leaning against the bonnet. He stood up when he saw them coming, revealing the wad of snus tobacco in his mouth as he smiled. Torbjörn looked bigger in real life, more solid. But there was something awkward and inoffensive about the way he moved, as if he were unaware of his own size.