Before, Stig said Nina had woken up from the coma and is fine. Why tell me that if she hadn’t? What else is he lying about? As much as I hate to admit it, Mum is right. I don’t really know him.

A tap at the door makes me jump. What if it’s Stig? I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. Maybe I shouldn’t say anything; I don’t want him to think I don’t trust him.

My voice sounds unsure. ‘Come in.’

It’s Mum. She closes the door behind her. ‘You OK?’

I nod, and she sits on the bed and gestures to the pile of journals and material. ‘I take it this lot was in the chest?’

‘Uh-huh.’

She points to the roll of material. ‘What’s that?’

I open it out. ‘Our family tree.’

Her eyes widen as she studies it. ‘The numbers though, they can’t be birthdates. Mormor’s birthday is in April.’

I glance at her face, wondering how much to tell her. ‘I think it might be when our ancestors met the Norns; when they were first able to read clothing.’

Mum touches one of the embroidered names and snatches back her hand.

Excitement rises inside me. ‘Did you feel something?’

‘I … I don’t know. It was like someone calling to me through the thread.’

She seems scared, and I wish she wasn’t. I’d love to be able to share the experience with someone, with her. ‘It’s weird at first, but you get used to it, honestly. Try touching it again. See what else you feel.’

‘No.’ She rubs her head, then adds, ‘I thought it was just clothes, not fabric.’

‘It is only clothes. It doesn’t happen with ordinary material, but I think …’ I chew my thumbnail. She probably doesn’t want to hear about ghosts; that bit can wait for later. ‘I think our ancestors can speak to us through their work. It’s like they’ve stitched their intent into the fabric and we’re following the thread back to them.’

Mum looks at me warily. I sit next to her and go to touch her arm, but she flinches. My hurt must be written across my face, because she instantly softens. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.’

Swallowing my disappointment, I look at the embroidered tree and wish things were easier between us. Mormor always seemed to understand. She knew without words, but then she could read my thoughts and emotions from my clothing. If I had known, I might have felt differently about wanting to hug her. I decide not to take Mum’s reaction personally. ‘Have you noticed there’s a gap under Mormor’s name?’ I ask.