‘And I don’t need a bed either,’ I said, adjusting my position. ‘I’d rather just stay here.’

‘Tonight? You’re going to sit in that chair all night? Here?’

‘When are you expecting help to arrive?’

Geir Rugholmen straightened up. He placed his hands on his hips and looked down his nose at me. That look from those who are standing up, the tall ones, the ones whose bodies work perfectly.

Strictly speaking, I think it’s perfectly OK to have mobility problems. I want to be immobile, that’s the way I’ve chosen to live. The chair doesn’t really hamper me significantly in my everyday life. It can be weeks between the occasions on which I leave my apartment. The problems arise when I am forced to go out. People are just desperate to help me all the time. Lifting, pushing, carrying.

That’s why I chose the train. Flying is a complete nightmare, I have to say. The train is simpler. Less touching. Fewer strange hands. The train offers at least some degree of independence.

Except when it’s derailed and crashes.

And I really don’t like those looks, up and down, from those who are healthy and mobile. That’s why I didn’t meet his gaze. Instead I closed my eyes and pretended I was settling down for a sleep.

‘I don’t think you’ve really grasped the situation,’ said Geir Rugholmen.

‘We’re snowed in on the mountain.’

‘You could put it that way. We certainly are snowed in. At the moment a full storm is raging out there, with gusts of hurricane force. A hurricane on Finse! It’s not exactly an everyday occurrence. We’re in the lee of -’

‘I’m really only interested in one thing: when can we expect someone to come and get us?’

There was complete silence. But I knew he was still there. The smell of wood smoke and old wool was equally strong.

‘I asked you a question,’ I said quietly, keeping my eyes closed. ‘If you can’t answer, that’s fine, of course. Personally I was thinking of having a little nap.’