Read Online Someone to Watch Over Me by Yrsa Sigurðardóttir - Free Book Online Page A

could see that this was one of the obsessives; any ordinary person would have hung up after holding for so long.
    The song ended, abruptly; now he had a dilemma. Either talk about something random, or fight to get a word in edgeways amid the ramblings of God-knows-who. Margeir could think of nothing clever to say, so he took the call. ‘Good evening, you’re through to Margeir, what’s on your mind?’
    ‘I’ve been listening to the show and I wanted to say that I think my friend Gunnbjörn, who called in earlier, is getting stupider every day. What’s he got against the European Union? Is he scared, or something?’
    Out of old habit Margeir defended the person being attacked. The stream of nonsense continued, and whenever he tried to interrupt, the caller raised his voice. Soon he was practically screaming, which had the desired effect because Margeir stopped interjecting. In the end, however, he’d had enough, and by raising his voice to a volume he didn’t know he was capable of, he managed to overwhelm the ranter. ‘Well, it’s time for a commercial break, so unfortunately we’ll have to say goodbye for now. Thanks for calling.’ He hung up, not caring if it caused offence, and quickly ran an ad. He knew he’d started resorting to this as a means of escape too often, and as the station manager had once pointed out when giving him a dressing-down, while the sponsors might initially be delighted that their advertisements were heard more often, it wouldn’t take long before they realized the number of listeners was decreasing for that very reason. Unfortunately, people didn’t actually tune in to hear commercials.
    There were only five minutes left of the show when the final advert on the tape finished. Instead of giving in to his desire to put on another song, he decided to talk about a newspaper article on cycle paths. He actually had no opinion whatsoever on this area of transport policy, and it amazed him how good he was at discussing a topic without meaning a word of what he said. This had started to affect his private life; the women he met weren’t impressed when he automatically switched to bland DJ patter every time there was an awkward silence. Lately even his parents had started rolling their eyes when he joined in conversations at family gatherings.
    The light had started blinking again. This time the call was a godsend; the show was about to end, so it didn’t matter what dickhead was on the line – he wouldn’t have long. ‘Good evening, you’re through to Margeir, what’s on your mind?’ He winced as a screech of feedback pierced his eardrums. ‘Could you please turn down the volume on your radio, caller?’ This wasn’t one of the regulars, that was certain. They had learned long ago to turn off their radios when they got through. The noise stopped and Margeir repeated his greeting, which had become so hackneyed that he could say it backwards without any problem. ‘Good evening, you’re through to Margeir, what’s on your mind?’
    ‘Good evening,
Margeir
.’ He didn’t recognize the voice, and the emphasis on his name sounded sarcastic.
    ‘To whom am I speaking?’ Margeir had been so busy grumbling to himself about the regular callers, he had forgotten how difficult first-timers could be.
    ‘To me.’
    Margeir looked at the clock in the hope that just once, time had sped up at the right moment, but he was disappointed. Four minutes left. ‘Well, my friend.’ The man must be drunk; sometimes heavy drinkers called the evening show just to have someone to talk to. Yet another reason to want an earlier slot. ‘Our time is running out, so you’d better hurry up if you want to share something with the listeners.’
    ‘I called to talk to you. Just you.’ The voice was not slurring at all; on the contrary, every word was clear and seemed loaded with hidden meaning.
    ‘Well, that’s too bad, my friend. You’re on air. Don’t you want to share something with the