I am alone with a heavy suitcase, following the signs described to me, on a dirt road that leads into dense woodland.

Toivo described the walk as a mere fifty metres, but this seems to go on for ever. There is snow on the ground and more is threatening overhead. The road narrows here and becomes deeply rutted. Heavy lifting vehicles lean in ditches at the side of the path. After threequarters of an hour, in darkness and with the temperature falling rapidly, I reach a log-timbered building.

He’s not there. In his place I find a mess-room full of foresters, eating, drinking or dozing around a wood stove after a day cutting, planting and hauling wood, some wary and others delighted to see a bedraggled woman barge unannounced into their all-male den. The room stinks of men and cigarettes.

I ask for Toivo and get blank stares. I ask for Topi and get guffaws and knowing looks. I describe a tall dark Finn with big hands and they laugh and hold out their hands for inspection, each one huge and calloused and in some cases recently bloodied. Two men have missing fingers. I ask for something to eat and someone dishes out a steaming bowl of soup. A worker named Erik slaps me on the back and tells me to eat up. I bolt the soup and when I finished, I rest my head on my bag in a corner of the room and fall into a deep sleep.

I wake to silence and absolute darkness. I can feel a warm body breathing next to mine. I sit bolt upright and stare into the dark, suddenly afraid.

‘Erik?’ I ask.

‘Who’s Erik?’ asks a shadow.