Gandalf sits at my feet and whimpers. The sight of Mormor’s clothes fills me with sadness too. The wardrobe smells of her: the rose perfume she wore, mixed with herbs and sunshine. I look at her bunad. When I was a child, I begged her to let me wear it. If I touch it now, maybe it will make me feel close to her.

I reach my hand towards the costume, when a ball of red yarn drops to the floor. The air goes from my lungs. I watch in wonder as it slowly unravels towards my feet. Too scared to move, I freeze, waiting. When nothing else happens, I bend to retrieve it. The other end is caught in something under the spinning wheel: a wooden chest.

Luckily the spinning wheel isn’t heavy. Stig watches wide-eyed as I place it on the rug and then peer back inside the wardrobe. The lid of the chest is carved with the pattern of a tree, its branches and roots intertwined and touching so that it makes a perfect circle. If it weren’t for the leaves, you could turn it upside down and it would look the same. Between the roots sit three women. Their arms are raised and they’re passing a cord between them. The one on the right holds a pair of shears in her lap.

I don’t think I’ve seen the image before, yet it seems vaguely familiar. The lid of the chest won’t budge. There’s not enough room in the wardrobe for it to open; I’ll have to lift it out. I wrap my arms around it and pull, but it barely shifts.

‘Stig, can you help me?’

He walks slowly into the room.

Grabbing the box by one corner, I try to slide it out but clumsily drop it.

‘Nei, stoppe! What are you doing?’ He points to the spinning wheel. ‘Put it back!’

‘It’s OK. Something in the wardrobe must have fallen on it and made it move. I just need to get this chest out.’

He doesn’t look convinced.

‘We can do it together,’ I offer.

Stig shakes his head. ‘Not enough room. I can –’ He heaves, then stops and tries again. Finally he manages to lift it. ‘‘Helvete, det er tungt!’’

‘What?’

‘I said, it’s heavy!’ Stig groans and the chest drops with a bang.

‘Thanks.’

He looks at me expectantly, as if he’s waiting for me to open it.

‘I’m OK now, thanks. I’ll probably just go to bed.’

Stig looks at the box suspiciously, then reluctantly leaves the room.

The lid is heavy and creaks as I lift it. Like Stig, Gandalf seems keen to know what’s inside. I nudge his head away and he licks my face. ‘I know, boy, I want to see too.’