Even though I’m unable to see the tree, I know it’s there – why do I feel like it’s watching me? I yank the curtain shut. There’s something rotten about that tree. I can feel it emanating in waves.

I tear off a piece of kitchen roll and wrap it around my finger, pressing hard against the throb of pain. Blood oozes and spreads across the tissue, making it more red than white. Mormor must keep plasters around here somewhere. I open a drawer to find a stack of papers and riffle through them. Bills and shopping lists. No plasters, and no envelope with my name on it either.

I pull open another drawer and start to rummage, when Stig strides into the room dripping water.

‘Vannet er iskaldt!’

‘Sorry, what?’

He’s wearing a towel around his middle. His wet hair hangs over his shoulders and his smooth chest is covered with a film of tiny bubbles. I turn away, then glance back at his muscular legs. I may be half blind, but even I don’t need Kelly to tell me he’s hot.

Stig seems unconcerned by the fact he’s almost naked, which only makes it more awkward. Resisting the temptation to look at him, I stare at my throbbing finger.

‘Helvete! What happened to you?’

‘Oh, nothing. Just slipped with the knife.’

Stig gestures to a chair and I dutifully sit while he searches the dresser.

‘I think I saw … Wait, I remember.’ He pulls out a green box from behind a row of cookery books and I tut. Of course, I should have asked him to begin with.

Stig reaches for my hand and heat floods every part of my body; this must be how it feels to blush down to your toes. I pull away, but he grabs my finger and inspects the damage, informing me of what I already know – it’s a deep cut – before smoothing on a plaster.

‘You OK? Maybe you should lie down.’

I stand and turn back to the chopping board, doing my best not to look at his bare chest. ‘See. Perfectly fine,’ I say, snatching up the knife and stabbing an unsuspecting potato.

I don’t know whether I’m irritated with him for wandering around half naked, or with myself for being bothered by it. As I bring the knife down, I can feel his eyes on the back of my head.

I risk a glance over my shoulder. ‘Anyway, what’s up with you? Did you forget the words to the song?’

Stig gives an awkward laugh. ‘Oh, you heard that? Sorry, I didn’t mean to be, er …’ He frowns as if he’s trying to think of the word. ‘Insensitive.’

‘It’s OK,’ I mumble. I liked hearing him sing. Though his voice sounded dreadful, it made the cabin feel less empty.

‘I got out because the water turned cold.’