Olav walks past an old guesthouse with what looks like a ‘for sale’ sign, then enters a small gravel car park. Beyond it is a line of A-shaped wooden frames, taller than a house. In summer there would be hundreds of stockfish hanging down like fruit, drying in the sun. Now they’re dark and empty, a gallows with no one to hang.

The throaty caw of a raven makes me jump. It swoops past my head, then lands on a wooden post. I step back, a little nervous. Most wild creatures don’t get that close. But then I remember how Mormor used to feed a raven from her hand on the porch each morning … and these ones are probably just tame thanks to the tourists giving them titbits. The raven plumps its grey-feathered chest and fixes me with a beady stare before cawing again.

Olav gestures to an old blue Volvo, the only vehicle in the car park. I shout, ‘Takk,’ but the wind whips away my words. He throws my bag onto the back seat and holds open the door, but I hesitate. Mum has warned me so many times never to get in a car with someone I don’t know. But then Mormor has always seemed friendly with him and his wife, and it’s got to be safer than walking in the dark on my own. I glance at the deserted car park and climb inside, happy to escape the sting of the wind.

Olav starts the engine and turns a dial to de-mist the windscreen. He sneaks a look at my eye, then coughs awkwardly. Even if he could speak English, I doubt he’d know what to say.

‘Bo hos mæ?’ He jabs a thumb to his chest. ‘Hjemme til han Olav?’

I shake my head, then rub my hands together. Even with my gloves, they are numb from the cold.

He tries again. ‘Olav’s hus?’

Finally I understand. Why does he want to take me to his place? Unease ripples through me. I reach for the door handle – maybe I should get out.

Olav looks alarmed. ‘Med Yrsa! Wife Yrsa!’

I smile with relief, but as much as I’m grateful for the lift, I haven’t come all this way to see him or his wife.

‘Mormor house. I want to see Mormor.’

Olav grips the wheel with both hands and gives me a serious look. Maybe he’s worried about me travelling on my own. He starts to say something in Norwegian, but gives up when I shrug and smile apologetically.

He drives in silence, seemingly lost in thought. When he takes the road to Mormor’s cabin, I sit a little taller. She’ll be so surprised, I can’t wait to see her. She’ll throw an extra log on the stove and brew some coffee and I’ll give her the cookies. After that I’ll explain why I had to come.