I pick up my spoon and feel a pang of regret. At the time, it didn’t seem worth learning a new language when we only came out for summer holidays.

‘Mormor wanted to teach me, but no. I wish I did.’

‘I can teach you a few words, if you like.’

‘OK.’ I try the casserole, which tastes just how I remember: rich and meaty mutton with cabbage and peppercorns, and a dash of cumin for warmth.

‘So, where did you learn to juggle?’ I ask.

‘My ex-girlfriend was an acrobat.’ A shadow of sadness passes over his face. He opens the bottle of red wine on the table and his expression changes as quickly as it came. ‘Nina went to the same school as me, but her parents worked for a circus in Oslo. I watched them train sometimes – trapeze, high wire, contortion, that kind of thing.’

I nod along. ‘Sounds cool.’ But how would I know? I’ve spent months making jewellery in my bedroom with only a handsaw and metal for company.

Stig pours me a glass of wine, then fills his own and raises it. ‘To making the best of things.’

My fingers caress the stem of the glass. Red wine always goes straight to my head, but I guess a little won’t hurt. I raise my glass and clink it to his.

‘Skål!’ Stig drains his drink in one gulp.

I narrow my eyes, wondering if he’s trying to get drunk. The thought of his coat nags at me. Maybe someone with an alcohol problem would be like two different people – maybe he gets angry when he’s had a drink.

‘Skål,’ I say, and swallow my unease down with the wine.

‘See, you’re learning already,’ he smiles. ‘So, any plans for tomorrow?’

Get through each hour without being overwhelmed by grief or creeped out by a tree – but I’m guessing that’s not the answer he’s looking for.

Stig refills his glass. ‘Maybe we can walk to the sea?’

We could be on holiday, the way he talks. Surely he must have plans to go back to school or whatever he does? I take a sip of wine and consider asking, but what if he thinks I’m trying to get rid of him and takes offence? My only real plan is to turn the cabin upside down. The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that Mormor would have left me a letter.

‘Actually I was planning to sort through Mormor’s things.’

Stig lowers his gaze, abashed. ‘Sure, sure. Of course.’

‘Anyway, Yrsa said we should stay near the cabin.’

‘Oh, that? Northern superstition. Like I said, it’s probably just a stray dog.’