I wake to the sound of a happy house: people talking and laughing. For a moment I don’t dare open my eyes. Stig is alive. Mum is here and she knows the truth. Gandalf is fine. It’s like when I used to wake on Christmas morning and was afraid to explore the house.
In the kitchen, Stig has his back to me, eating breakfast, and Mum is at the sink. The two of them are chatting happily in Norwegian. I go to Stig and hug him around the neck, cautious of his wound even though it seems healed. He smiles at me and I grin back.
Feeling uncomfortable with Mum in the room, I look at the pile of journals on the table. Her reading glasses sit on top of them and I wonder how many she’s read and how much she knows.
Mum sees me and smiles. ‘Breakfast?’
‘Great. I’m starving.’
I sit opposite Stig and she sets a plate of pancakes and a cup of coffee before me.
‘Good?’ asks Stig.
I swallow. ‘Very. But not as good as yours.’
‘I heard that, young lady.’ Mum sits next to me. ‘When you’ve finished, I thought we might take a walk out to the tree and water it together. And then you can tell me where …’
I nod, not wanting to think about Yrsa and Olav. I point at the journals. ‘So you read them?’
‘Yes, and Stig told me some of what’s been happening. It’s a lot to take in.’
Stig smiles shyly. ‘It was for me too. I didn’t believe Martha at first; it seemed so crazy. I found it hard to trust, but she has a way of being persuasive.’
I smile at Stig and feel so many things. Happy and excited that I met him and he’s OK, but sad about Yrsa and Olav.
After we clear the breakfast things, we put on our coats and head out. I trudge through the snow with Stig and Gandalf, while Mum strides out, carrying the pail. She slows as we reach the tree and I gaze at its mighty branches and imagine Odin hanging above me, finding the runes in the well. My breath catches, remembering what Stig said. If the journals are right, the tree stands at the centre of the cosmos, connecting different worlds. Who knows where its branches and roots might lead?
Mum’s face is pale. I leave Stig and take her arm. ‘I used to be afraid of it too.’ I realise that it no longer scares me. The dead are back where they belong and there’s nothing that remains of the draugr – not even bones. The ravens must have carried them away. As long as we tend to the tree, it should never happen again.
Mum watches as I take the pail from her, dip it in the well, then throw the water over the hole inside the tree. A raven caws overhead and she glances nervously at the sky.
‘It’s fine, Mum, I promise. Nothing bad is going to happen.’
‘OK. I might leave you two alone. I’ve got some more reading to do.’
She spots the axe in the snow and picks it up. I give her a hug and watch as she trudges back to the cabin with it. Stig stares at the tree, seemingly lost in thought.
‘Penny for them.’
‘What?’
‘For your thoughts. It means, what are you thinking?’
‘Oh.’ Stig puts an arm around me and pulls me close. I fall into him, enjoying his warmth.
‘Sprinkler systems,’ he says.
‘What?’
‘I know you need to water the roots every day, but there’s no reason why you need to use the pail, is there?’
Gandalf comes over and wags his tail as if he thinks it’s a good idea.
I laugh and Stig looks at me in surprise. ‘What’s funny? I think it could work!’
I wrap my arm around his waist. ‘No, you’re right.’
He turns and leans close, and I hold my breath as his lips meet mine. He kisses me again and again, each one a tiny knock at the door of my heart. The softness of him melts every part of me. I feel like a thread unravelling, coming undone. Being with him, kissing him here under the tree, feels so right.
Stig pulls away and stares at something behind me.
I follow his gaze. ‘Something wrong?’
‘I thought I saw …’ He takes my hand and squeezes it tight. ‘When you see the dead, how do they appear?’
I glance at him, surprised. ‘Can we talk about it another time?’
‘Sure, sure.’ A look I know so well passes across his face – a dark cloud then sunshine. A flicker of emotion, followed by its opposite.
He yanks my arm. ‘Come on, before my nose freezes off!’
We walk back to the cabin hand in hand. There are so many things we don’t know about each other that our conversation jumps all over the place. I want to ask him about all his likes and dislikes, the places he’s been and the things he’s seen. I have a million questions.
As we climb the porch steps I stop and kiss him again. I don’t know which I want to do more, talk or kiss. The thought makes me laugh.
He pinches me lightly on the nose. ‘What’s funny?’
‘I was just thinking of all the kissing and talking I want to do. I don’t know how I’m going to fit it all in. Even ten lifetimes wouldn’t be enough.’
Stig flashes me his dimples. ‘Du er deilig. And we have plenty of time, don’t worry.’
I try to smile, but I can’t help worrying. What if Mum insists that we go home right away – what will happen to Stig? How will I get to see him?
Inside, Mum is drying up at the sink. The cabin feels so different – the emptiness and the shadows have gone. It looks how I remember: a place where I was happy.
She turns and gives me a knowing smile, then narrows her eyes. I know I’m going to have to answer a lot of questions about Stig, as well as everything else. Things might be tough for a while – I’m going to have to help Mum get her head around things. It should have been her supporting me, but that’s just how it is. We have to work together now.
I shrug out of my coat and hang it over a chair, but I misjudge the distance and it drops to the floor. Stig grabs it for me and I smile a thank-you, glad of his help.
Mum coughs. ‘I’ve been thinking – I could sell the house in London and move here.’
Stig looks at Mum expectantly, then takes himself off to sit by the stove. I haven’t thought about the future properly. Maybe I’ve been purposefully avoiding it – not wanting to think about how Stig and I will be together exactly, just hoping that we would.
‘We can both live here together,’ I say.
Mum frowns. ‘You don’t have to stay out here with me. Watering the tree is my responsibility.’
‘But I want to be here with you and Stig!’
‘You’re seventeen, Martha. You have your education to think about. I’m sure you can stay with Dad. If you don’t want to go to school, we can arrange some kind of home tutor.’
‘But, Mum, I can get the ferry to a college on the mainland. Some of them must offer classes in English – and anyway, I want to learn Norwegian.’
Mum raises an eyebrow.
It’s only been a few days since I left home, but so much has changed. Whatever happens with Stig and me, I don’t want to hide away any more. And I need to learn Norwegian so I can read the journals for myself.
‘If you’re sure.’ Mum smiles and I wrap my arms around her. Her yellow chiffon scarf crackles with energy. Chiffon holds a person’s daydreams, and an image comes to me now: she’s standing in a large sunlit room, teaching students to paint.
Mum used to sell her paintings at a major art gallery in London, but she stopped around the time Dad left. I used to love going to her openings; I was so proud of how talented she is. She’s never mentioned wanting to teach, but I think she’d be brilliant at it. A shiver of excitement runs through me. Dad signed over the house to her after the divorce. It must be worth a lot – easily enough to get something out here.
‘Mum, there’s an old guest house for sale by the harbour. What about doing it up and running an artists’ retreat? The light there is amazing and so are the views.’
‘I don’t know. It would be a lot of work.’
I point at Stig, who is throwing a log on the fire, but she only frowns in reply. Stig could help do the place up; I know he could. It would be fun to meet new people. Maybe I could take their coats at the door and then use my gift to help them make the right decisions in life, so they don’t die with regrets. The idea of using my gift to help people feels right somehow.
Mum lowers her voice. ‘It’s too soon, Martha. Besides, you barely know him.’ She sees my face and her voice softens. ‘Look, we’ll talk about it later. We don’t have to decide anything right now.’
I nod, but I’m already thinking about packing up my things in London. Though I’ll miss Stig, I can’t wait to see Kelly. I won’t mention the walking corpse I beheaded, but I know she’ll want to hear all about my boyfriend.
Stig is tending the fire, his back to me. He must be able to hear our conversation, so why isn’t he saying anything? Mum pipes up before I can stop her. ‘So what are your plans, Stig?’ I glare at her, my heart in my mouth.
He turns around and smiles. ‘I need to go to Oslo. Just for a few days. I need to talk to Mum, but then I’m coming back here to look for work.’
My heart falters. If he goes home, does that mean he will see his ex-girlfriend? What if he mentioned her name because he’s still in love with her? The words slip out before I can stop myself. ‘Will you see Nina?’
Stig glances anxiously at the window. When he speaks his voice sounds far away. ‘Yes. I need to know if she woke up from the coma.’
Something drops inside me, like a pebble sinking into a well. ‘But before, you said that she –’
He forces a smile. ‘I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry.’
Stig walks over and lays a hand on my shoulder, and part of me wants to flinch from his touch. He smiles into my eyes and I feel the brush of his coat sleeve. Anger, hatred and jealousy burn into me, followed by love and kindness. The same emotions I felt before, in the woodshed. I thought it was his dad I was picking up, but what if …
‘Martha?’
Stig looks at me expectantly. How can I doubt him, after all we’ve been through?
I grab the journals from the table, happy to find an excuse to leave the room. ‘I’m going to put these back.’
Hugging the books to myself, I watch Stig wander over to the fire. He sits on the floor, then takes out his phone and grins, and I wonder who has messaged him. Or maybe he’s looking at photos. When I turn back, Mum gives me a suspicious look. Ignoring her raised eyebrows, I head to Mormor’s room and shut the door.