I push myself up, my cheeks hot with embarrassment. ‘Because I’m half blind? I can manage, thanks.’

‘You’re not seeing things clearly!’ he yells.

I point to my left eye. ‘I wonder why?’

Stig huffs and flaps his arms. ‘All the comments you keep making about your eye. Don’t think I haven’t noticed! I don’t know why you have to make such a big deal of it.’

I step back, hurt and shocked. ‘What?’

‘Yes, your left eye looks weird and you have a scar, but it’s not that interesting!’

I open my mouth then close it again, too upset to answer. I had hoped that because of the goth thing he might like girls who are extreme-looking. He might like me because I look different.

His voice softens. ‘Actually, your eye is the least interesting thing about you.’

I pause, feeling deflated, but also wondering if there might be a compliment in there somewhere. Stig takes advantage of my hesitation and pushes past me. He stands by the front door, barring my way.

‘What were you going to say to me just now?’ he asks.

‘Nothing.’

He folds his arms across his chest.

I shove on my boots, then grab my hat and scarf, not looking at him. ‘It can wait.’

He gently touches the collar of my coat. ‘Please don’t go. Your mum will be here soon. It’s safer inside.’

I sigh, unable to meet his gaze. I felt so close to him last night. So close I was sure he was going to kiss me. I think about the hordes of people snatching at the tree, all haunted by regret, tormented by the things they wish they’d done differently. I can’t face the thought of him rejecting me again, but if I don’t tell him how I feel, will I always regret it? It was so easy for Skuld to chop away a life with her shears – if the creature is out there, maybe it will be my thread she cuts next.

Stig strokes my cheek and I put my hand over his, meaning to pull it away. As soon as I touch his skin, my chest tightens. I don’t want to spend my life hiding away, not getting close. Afraid to be hurt.

Stig swallows hard. ‘I couldn’t bear it if –’

I stand on tiptoes and kiss him, full on the lips.

He pulls away like he’s been slapped.

Anger and shame burn inside me.

‘Martha?’

‘I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to …’ I splutter. ‘It won’t happen again, OK!’

Dizzy with hurt, I push past him and reach for the door.

‘I like you, Martha. I do! It’s just –’

‘You don’t have to explain!’