I smile awkwardly and pull a strand of hair from my mouth. He says something, but the wind yanks my hood over my head and I can’t hear. ‘Sorry, what?’

He points at my face. ‘Ditt øye?’ I don’t know if Mormor told him about the accident. She never came to the hospital – not that I’m surprised; I don’t think she’s ever left the island, and we flew straight home to London afterwards. I haven’t seen or spoken to her since.

I shrug, feeling glad when Olav leaves it at that. We stand in silence, watching the twinkling lights of the shoreline get smaller as the ferry pulls away.

He strokes his beard, then peers around me as if expecting to see someone. ‘Why no …?’ When I don’t answer, he rubs a thumb across his lip. ‘Ja.’ He says it the way all Norwegians do, on the in-breath. I wish I could help, but my Norwegian is worse than his English. He frowns and asks something about Mormor, but falls silent when I don’t understand.

Holding the rail with both hands, I lean over and lick the salt-tang of the sea from my lips. The ferry pitches from side to side as it bounces through the waves. I like the feeling. The faster we go, the sooner I’ll get to Skjebne.

Olav raises a finger to indicate he’ll be back. He points to the metal case at my feet and I nod to say I’ll look after it. There are a few couples on deck but no one close by. I gaze in wonder at the glorious full moon and sparkling sea. The night is so wild and free and full of possibility I want to drink it in.

A seagull cries overhead and I think about the last time I saw Mormor. She took me out to the tree the day before the accident, then gave me her gloves to hold and told me to listen. I tried, but all I could hear was the lonely cry of a gull.

‘Keep trying, my child, and one day you will hear,’ she said. When I asked what I would hear, she wouldn’t tell me. She had done the same thing when I was younger. Took me to the tree, put her shawl around me and told me to listen.