He beams like a kid at Christmas. ‘Ja, snø – and lots of it!’

I take another bite of pancake and wash it down with coffee. It tastes less bitter this time. Stig must have remembered and mixed the grounds with egg. I do my best to smile, grateful that he’s trying to make things nice for me.

Stig wipes the window. ‘I haven’t been out yet. I was waiting for you to get up.’

I glance at him over the edge of my cup.

‘I wanted for us to share it together,’ he explains.

This time I don’t have to force a smile.

‘More?’ he asks.

What were the words he taught me last night? ‘Takk for maten.’

Stig looks impressed. ‘You remembered!’

He zips up his boots and grabs his coat from the sofa. ‘Come on, let’s go!’

I lower my cup and hesitate. I was hoping to show him the journals and ask him to translate, but I guess it can wait. If I’m honest, part of me wants to forget about the creepy books and drawings and pretend last night didn’t happen.

‘Shouldn’t I get dressed?’

‘You look lovely, Miss Martha.’

‘Are all Norwegians as mad as you?’

Stig laughs and raises an eyebrow.

‘I’m not going out there like this! Wait a minute.’

I dash into the bedroom and pull on six layers of clothing. When I return, Stig is waiting by the front door, his coat buttoned up tight, and his scarf around his neck. He wears a hunting hat with fur along the edge and long flaps over the ears. It makes him look cute and cuddly, despite his leather coat and spiky boots.

I shrug into my coat and a warm feeling spreads through me as Stig lifts the hood over my head. ‘Ready?’ he asks. I nod and he opens the door to endless blue skies and acres of white. The world has been made new overnight. He bows and lets me go first. I’m glad he waited for me, so we could step into it together. I don’t like to admit it, but Mum and Kelly were right – despite everything, it feels good not to be shut away in my room.

The snow squeaks and crunches under our boots as we walk down the steps. My foot slips and I grab the rail and pretend to admire the view as I steady myself. Stig races headlong into a field of white. He throws his arms wide and spins. ‘I love snow!’

His enthusiasm is infectious. I jump into the craters of his footsteps and laugh at Gandalf, who barks and chases his tail. I try a little spin, just to see how it feels. Stig grabs handfuls of snow and throws them into the air and Gandalf tries to catch them.