Anger twists inside me. ‘You said you can explain. So explain.’

He casts his eyes to the floor and chooses his words carefully, as if afraid to get them wrong – though his English is perfect, with only a trace of a Norwegian accent. ‘I’m sorry. I needed somewhere to sleep and the place was empty. I thought it would be OK.’ He points to the door. ‘I stayed in the other room. I didn’t know someone would come.’

‘You didn’t know and you didn’t care! Get out!’

I glance at the window as lightning flashes. The twisted tree jumps out of the night, its gnarled branches swaying wildly in the wind. For a horrible moment, I imagine it might come alive and march up to the cabin. Rain beats on the glass, a hundred tiny fists pounding to get in.

Looking at Mormor’s things is more than I can bear. I turn back, but the boy has gone, like he was never there. As I step into the living room, a rush of icy air hits me. The boy is at the front door, silhouetted in moonlight. His black leather trench coat flaps about his ankles. Next to his feet is a bulging duffle bag, the sleeve of a white shirt hanging out the side. I presume his bag doesn’t have Mormor’s valuables inside, but how do I know?

He hoists it to his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry.’

Ignoring him, I step into the kitchen and rest my back against the counter. Once I hear the door click shut, I switch on the light and survey the dirty dishes. The boy didn’t just help himself to Mormor’s spare room, he raided her larder too. And he’s been here for more than a couple of nights, unless he had his mates over. My fingernails dig into my palms. How dare he!

Exhausted, I slump into a chair and bury my face in my hands. Mormor should be sitting opposite me. We should be laughing and remembering good times. I wrote so many letters, asking her the same questions. Now all I have is an empty chair. Tears slide down my nose and plop onto the table. My head pounds with the injustice of it.

A moth flits around my head. I watch it in a daze, unable to move. Maybe the boy is wrong. Maybe he misunderstood and it was someone else’s funeral. Maybe Mormor is visiting a friend. My shoulders sag. Mormor is dead. The truth of it is like a stone in my belly.