‘It was like my feet brought me here, without my knowing why. When I got to the cabin, I felt so bad about my Dad dying, and losing my money, I sat on the doorstep and cried.’

I reach a hand to his, but he tucks his hair behind his ears before our fingers meet.

‘It was strange, but the door was open, like the cabin wanted me to come in.’

It would have been just like Mormor to invite him inside. I take a trembling breath and Stig looks mortified.

‘Sorry, that was the wrong thing to say.’

‘No, it’s not that. So what made you run away?’

He places his cup on the floor. ‘After Dad died, Mum let stupid Erik move in. He was always nagging me to get a haircut and wipe the mess off my face. He talked about Dad like he was some loser – like he was an angry drunk and we were lucky to be rid of him. We’d argue and Mum always took Erik’s side.’

His face is shadowed in anger. ‘One day I found Dad’s coat in the dustbin. It was covered in herring and potato peelings. Mum knew what it meant to me, and she let Erik throw it away. I didn’t have a plan; I just left and found myself here.’

‘And then I showed up.’

‘Yeah!’ Stig laughs. ‘Then you showed up and it was terrifying!’

I lean back and cross my arms. ‘I look that scary, do I?’

He shakes his head and smiles. ‘The way you pointed your phone at me like it was a gun. And the way you yelled. Yes, you were scary!’

His voice becomes serious. ‘I felt so bad telling you about your grandmother.’

I hadn’t thought about it before, but it can’t have been easy for Stig either. I do my best to lighten the mood. ‘And then I threw you out and left you to freeze in the woodshed.’

‘I was lucky you let me stay!’

I gesture to the journals. ‘Lucky? Are you sure about that?’

‘That … not so much. But being with you is nice.’

I rest my head on his shoulder and gaze at the fire. His jumper holds fear and worry but there is contentment too. He enjoys my company and feels at home with me. A feeling of warmth spreads through my chest. I tug at the threads with my mind, wanting to find out more, but the harder I try, the more they evade me. It’s almost as if I want to know too badly. I give up with a sigh. If he does like me as more than just a friend, it is hidden deep.