I nod, but Yrsa doesn’t strike me as the nervous type. And they must be properly worried or why go to the trouble of buying a gun? I should tell Stig that I saw something outside the window earlier. I open my mouth, but he speaks first.

‘I’m glad you turned up. I was getting bored of boiled potatoes.’

My spoon clatters to my plate.

Stig swallows hard. ‘I’m sorry, that was a stupid thing to say.’

Suddenly it’s like the first time we sat opposite each other, after I brought him in from the woodshed. What am I doing playing house with the boy who broke into Mormor’s cabin? Cooking him a meal and using her best tablecloth and drinking her wine! I shovel casserole into my mouth. It burns, but not enough to melt the ice in my belly.

Stig lays his palms on the table. ‘You have been so kind to me and I never said thank you.’ His face is flushed from the wine. ‘Seriously, you didn’t have to lie for me. I want you to know that I appreciate it. Really.’

I nod and feel the tightness in my shoulders relax a little. I hadn’t realised until now, but I’ve been waiting for him to say those words. Stig holds my gaze. ‘I would have frozen to death if it weren’t for you.’

My heart melts the tiniest bit. I guess things must be bad at home if he’d rather sleep in the woodshed than go back. ‘Like a penguin lost in the snow?’ I ask.

Stig laughs. ‘Yeah. As cold as a penguin with no one to love me.’

I feel my cheeks burn and look away. Next to the sink is a pile of dirty pots and pans. ‘You can make it up to me by doing the dishes,’ I offer.

Stig grins. ‘Sure, sure.’

‘And make breakfast tomorrow.’

‘No problem. For you, Miss Martha, extra-special pancakes!’

I take a sip of wine, enjoying the smoothness as it slips down my throat. We eat in comfortable silence; the only sound the hiss and crackle of the fire. When we’re finished, Stig looks at me, his eyes startlingly blue. ‘Takk for maten.’ He holds out a hand for my plate. ‘It means, thanks for the food.’

‘Takk for maten,’ I repeat, liking the taste of the Norwegian words on my tongue.

Stig looks pleased. ‘Det var deilig. It was lovely,’ he adds.

Gandalf whines at the front door and I feel my body tense. Stig puts our plates by the sink. ‘We could walk him on a lead if you like.’

‘OK.’

A lead sounds better than Gandalf running off into the night, but I’d be happier if we didn’t have to leave the cabin. Still, I guess he has to be walked.