Stig picks up the kettle. ‘I’ll make us a drink.’
I give him a tiny smile, thankful he’s busying himself in the kitchen so I can at least straighten the duvet and hide my dirty clothes. Once I’m done, I switch on the electric heater then pull down the table from the wall.
‘Tea or coffee?’ he asks.
‘There’s only tea.’
I sit on one of the benches and watch him slide open a drawer and take out a teaspoon. It was the same in the cabin; he always knew where to find things. How does he do that – just seem to belong wherever he goes? He’s so relaxed in himself that he takes up all the space around him, while mine shrinks.
He puts two steaming mugs on the table then sits opposite me. Most people glance at my blind eye, distracted by the way it faces the wrong direction, but Stig holds my gaze as if he doesn’t notice it. He was that way from the start; I’d forgotten how accepted he made me feel. He leans forward with a smile. ‘So how are you? How’s your mum doing?’
The question catches me off guard. He knows we haven’t always got on well, but that’s not why I feel uncomfortable. And then I realise. I liked the fact that no one here knows me. It meant I could be free of the past, free to be someone else.
‘She didn’t make you return to London and live with your dad then. I’m guessing you signed up to the school on the mainland?’
I wrap my hands around my mug and mutter, ‘I’m starting in a couple of months.’
‘Great. What are you doing?’
‘Norwegian Language with Tourism Studies.’
He grins. ‘Cool. That way you’ll be able to read your ancestors’ journals for yourself, and tourism studies will help when you open the guesthouse.’
I chew the inside of my cheek. I’d forgotten I’d mentioned the idea in front of him. After he left, Mum and I talked about it a lot. How we could sell the house in England and turn the warehouse by the harbour into an artists’ retreat. I even phoned my friend Kelly and told her about it. She said she couldn’t wait to visit and we talked about her coming to the island next summer.
Stig looks at me for a long moment. ‘You know, I still can’t believe you’re here. So are you just earning money before school starts?’
I sip my tea and it tastes funny, the milk sour. ‘Yeah, something like that.’ He’s the one who disappeared, so how come it’s me answering all the questions? I think about asking where he’s been, but I don’t want to appear desperate. If I really mean nothing to him, then why should I give him the satisfaction of opening my heart? Better to let him think I’m not bothered than reveal how much I care. Biting back the urge to ask what’s really on my mind, I find myself saying, ‘What about you? Are you working or studying?’ The fact that I have no idea what he does, never mind where he’s been for the past three weeks, makes me realise how little I actually know about him.
‘Mum wants me to apply to university but I haven’t decided yet.’
‘Oh?’
‘I always thought I’d be a mechanic like Dad.’ His eyes light up as he talks. ‘I used to help him restore vintage motorbikes. There’s something about bringing an old bike back to life and seeing it run again.’ He laughs and adds, ‘I had this crazy idea I’d fix up an old classic, and then go touring around Europe for six months.’
‘So why can’t you?’
He opens his mouth to say something and then closes it again, a coy smile on his lips. When he finally speaks, I have a feeling it’s a different answer to the one that came to mind. ‘Dad’s bike business went bust and that’s when he started drinking and things went wrong between them. I don’t want it to be a painful reminder for Mum. She thinks I like fixing up and riding old bikes in memory of him, but it’s not that. It’s what I enjoy.’
He goes quiet for a while then glances around the room. ‘I like this caravan.’
I purse my lips, presuming he’s trying to be funny. Or is he skirting around the issue, hoping that I’ll break down and ask where he’s been? He can’t have come all this way just to make small talk.
‘It’s cosy. I used to stay here sometimes,’ he adds.
‘How come?’
‘If Nina threw me out, I’d sleep here.’
‘Oh.’ I squirm in my seat, wondering what other revelations he might have. I want to ask why he argued with Nina. I want to know everything there is to know about his ex-girlfriend, but not for the reason he might think.
He takes a deep breath. ‘You must be wondering why I didn’t come back to the island.’
I shrug, determined to keep my face blank.
‘If I’m honest, I left because . . .’
My phone vibrates.
I grab it from my pocket, relieved to see Mum’s name. ‘Sorry, I have to take this. Do you mind?’
I glance at the door and Stig reluctantly gets up. ‘Sure, sure. Of course.’ He pulls his coat tighter and goes outside.
I smile, a tiny bit pleased that he’s the one being kept waiting for a change. Once he’s gone, I swipe to answer. ‘Yes, I’m here, Mum. Did you see the doctor?’ There’s so much interference on the line I can barely hear. ‘Say that again?’
‘I said he’s given me some sleeping tablets, and no, before you ask, I didn’t say anything about the tree. Please tell me you’re on your way home.’
‘Not yet.’
Mum sighs. ‘I know you had to go to the circus, I felt it when I drew the pictures, but I want you to come back now.’
When I don’t say anything, she whispers, ‘Please, Martha. I don’t like being on my own. When I water the tree I can feel someone watching me.’
My chest twinges as if a hand is squeezing my heart. I hate hearing her sound afraid. ‘Don’t worry, Mum. If you can sense something, it will be the Norns. They won’t hurt you.’
‘Please, you have to leave that place. He scares me. You mustn’t invite him inside.’
I look out of the window. It’s blowing a gale and Stig is pacing up and down, his chin to his chest.
‘Who are you talking about, Mum? Who scares you?’
The line goes dead. I call back but all I get is a recorded voice telling me to leave a message. Maybe I should go home. What if there really is someone watching her and it’s not the Norns? I sigh and return my phone to my pocket, then open the door.
Stig hurries up the steps and huddles under the electric fire. Whatever his story is, I hope it’s good. ‘You were about to tell me something?’ I say.
He shoves his gloves in his pockets then worships his hands to the heater. ‘Yes. The reason why I left . . . It was because of Nina.’
‘I know. You told me you were going to visit her in hospital.’
‘No, you don’t understand. I mean I saw her in the cabin. You remember how you helped me inside after the draugr attacked me?’ Thinking about the corpse that clawed its way out of the tree makes my stomach shrink. Stig touches his neck, revealing a glimpse of pale pink scar, and I nod, the image of his frozen face clear in my mind. Mum helped me get him to the sofa and I covered him with blankets. We didn’t know if he was going to make it.