Mum cried whenever she could bring herself to look at me. No matter how often she asked me how I was feeling, I knew I mustn’t make things any harder for her. I couldn’t hide my face, but I could at least hide my feelings. I could at least pretend to be OK.

I glance at Stig. ‘I don’t know about that. We all lie sometimes, especially if it’s to protect the people we care about. Anyway, you’re not pretending with me now, are you?’

Stig smiles and the crease in his bottom lip deepens. ‘No, I feel different when I’m with you.’

My heart pirouettes and does a tiny somersault. ‘Different how?’

‘Well, yesterday when I woke up I didn’t want to die. I wanted to make you pancakes.’

I laugh softly. ‘They were pretty good pancakes.’

Stig grins. ‘I’m glad I was here to make them for you.’

He licks his lips and I realise I’ve been gazing at his mouth. Our heads are so close they’re almost touching.

‘Martha, do you think some things are meant to be?’

‘Maybe.’

He looks at me intently. ‘It has to mean something, us finding each other, doesn’t it?’

I try to think of something to say, but I can’t. A movement at the corner of my eye makes me glance at the door. The shadows there are empty, but I can sense the girl still in the room. I can feel her drawing closer, listening.

Stig picks wax from his fingers. ‘I don’t know if I believe in God, but I have thought a lot about fate. If I hadn’t phoned Dad that night, he would still be alive. Or do you think it was his time?’

I sigh, wishing I had the answers. Although I can’t know for sure, instinct tells me that the pattern of our lives is laid down before we are even born. I think back to something Mormor told me once. We were in the shed, setting up her old loom. She pointed to the vertical lines of yarn fixed to the wooden frame. ‘There are circumstances in our life that cannot be changed: when and where we are born, who our parents are.’ She tugged hard at the yarn. ‘This is the warp. It’s fixed, see?’ I nodded, and she placed my hand on the lines running across the frame from side to side. ‘This is the weft – the yarn that goes over and under the warp. This part we can change.’ I looked at her, confused, and she hugged me close. ‘A person who has a poor start in life can still weave a good tapestry, if they make the right choices.’ She whispered, ‘Strengthen what’s there, my child, and no one will notice the holes.’