I can’t believe how people can be so selfish. I open my mouth to tell him what I think of him, when Gandalf barks at the door. The yellow headlights of a car sweep into the room and Stig jumps up and grabs his bag. He stares at me accusingly, his body tense, alert.

I shrug like it’s no big deal, but inside I’m jumping with nerves. I’m not exactly expecting company either, and the last thing I want is for Mum to know I’m here.

5

Stig glares at the door, then back to me. Anyone would think the police were after him. Anxiety coils in my stomach … When I touched his coat there was so much jealousy and anger. Maybe he’s hurt someone and he’s on the run.

I peek through the yellow checked curtains to see Olav’s Volvo parked outside. ‘It’s OK, it’s just a neighbour,’ I whisper.

A knock sounds at the door and Stig’s face turns white. His eyeliner is smudged and there are wood chips in his hair. Not that I’m much better. I haven’t washed or brushed my hair since yesterday morning. With my ugly eye, I must look a fright.

A woman’s red face peers through a gap in the curtains, making us both startle. ‘Marta? It is Yrsa!’ A shower of taps assaults the window. Stig hurries to the back of the living room, and for a moment I wonder if he’s going to crouch behind Mormor’s flowery sofa.

‘What will you tell her?’ he hisses.

‘Don’t worry, it’ll be OK,’ I mutter.

More pounding, loud enough to wake the dead. The door shakes as someone tries it from outside. I rush and slide back the bolt. A tired and tense-looking Olav and a huge woman in a sheepskin coat stand on the porch. Yrsa, I presume. Several inches taller and a foot wider than Olav, she makes a formidable figure. Her cheeks are covered with a mass of red thread veins; it looks as if she’s been butchering meat and hasn’t stopped to wipe her face. What’s so urgent they had to come this early?

Yrsa’s brown eyes glitter as she raises a gloved hand to her eye and looks down at mine. Her voice is a deep rumble. ‘The tree do that?’

I swallow and give a tiny nod.

Yrsa frowns at me as if I’m far too old to be climbing trees. ‘How?’

I shrug and look away. The doctor said it’s not uncommon for the mind to delete the moments before a major injury occurs and my memories will come back when they’re ready, but I hate not being able to remember. I haven’t climbed the tree since I was kid … the truth is I don’t even know what I was doing up there.