I hadn’t thought about it properly before, but now I realise she was talking about fate. Half of who we are is given to us and can’t be changed, but the rest depends on our actions. Something tells me Stig had nothing to do with his dad’s death – he died because of the choices he made.

‘It was just his time,’ I say, even though I don’t really believe that. It wasn’t fate that made his dad crash his car, but if the idea offers Stig some comfort …

He glances at me hopefully. There is pain and longing in his eyes, as if he desperately wants to believe me. He drops his gaze and picks at the candle, and I rest my hand on his arm. Something deep inside the material assures me I am right. It’s not the usual fleeting image or feeling I get; it’s like a truth dyed into the fibres of the wool that’s always been there but I’ve never noticed before.

I open my mouth and a cage of conviction closes around my heart, the truth inescapable inside. The Norns may have cut the cord, but his dad died because he’d been drinking. It was nothing to do with Stig. ‘I know you feel guilty, but it wasn’t your fault.’

Stig bites his lip and looks away.

I squeeze his arm and then tug at his jumper. ‘I can feel it, here.’

Stig lets out a shaky breath as if he finally believes me. ‘I’m glad I met you,’ he whispers. He shifts forward on the sofa and lowers his face towards me, and I can smell the alcohol on his breath. My pulse quickens as I close my eyes, waiting for his lips to touch mine. Instead he kisses the top of my head.

He rests back on the sofa, seemingly exhausted, while I sit in a daze, waiting for a moment that doesn’t come. I was sure he was going to kiss me. You kiss a child on the head; is that how he sees me? I don’t understand. We seem to connect in every way. My thoughts become hard-edged. It’s because of my face. It has to be.

‘I’m going to the bathroom,’ I mutter.

I stand and light an oil lamp, then carry it to the bathroom and place it on the sink. After I use the toilet, I wash my hands and splash freezing water on my face. The flickering light of the lamp makes me look different, harsher somehow – but not different enough.