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superiors at work.
Berglind tried again: ‘Tell me what you’re thinking about.’
‘Nothing. Well, actually I was remembering how much you used to talk as a kid.’ In an attempt to appear casual, Nína took refuge in a mouthful of cold coffee. No, it would be a bad idea to mention the old case to Berglind – at this stage. She was bound to want to chew over it endlessly and Nína wasn’t ready for that; she needed more information first. To start with, she meant to have a word with Thröstur’s father, who ought to remember the incident, although it was a long time ago. His mother had died of breast cancer five years ago, so she wasn’t around to ask. But if Nína managed to extract some information from her father-in-law, she would probably be able to use it to find out more. Information was never far away, especially if you had access to various systems and national databases through the police. She hoped she wouldn’t be sacked or forced to take leave before she’d had a chance to try. ‘I’m just tired and sleepy. Let’s stop talking about me and my problems. I’m so bored of myself it would do me good to change the subject.’
They remained chatting there for a while until it became glaringly obvious that Berglind was avoiding any mention of her own husband. Nína had noticed this tendency in others; it was as if women found it inappropriate to say anything in her hearing that might remind her that their husbands were alive and well. As if it might make her envious. It was typical that when Berglind finally showed signs of making a move, she was careful not to say she had to get home to Dóri but rather that ‘duty called’. It was kindly meant, like so many wrong-headed ideas. But in spite of this they hugged each other affectionately as they said goodbye on the front steps. Nína had promised that they would go out and have fun together some time in the next couple of weeks. Do something that wouldn’t result in stiff muscles.
Berglind seemed satisfied and didn’t notice her sister’s expression as she released her. Nína’s eyes had accidentally fallen on the garage while they were hugging and she couldn’t help noticing that the plastic ball had vanished.
She almost ran into the kitchen to close the window and draw the curtains again before heading off to the hospital. She had no wish to linger here any longer than necessary. Her stomach churned as she caught sight of the garage in the instant before the curtain fell into place. She wanted to be sick.
There, beside the old flower pot on the garage windowsill, was the plastic ball.
Chapter 5
26 January 2014
The fog closes in with alarming suddenness. One minute they can see ocean to the south and land to the north, the next nothing but a stony grey blankness that shifts and stirs in an oddly languid manner whichever way they look, as if the world has decided to consign the rock to oblivion by sweeping it under a carpet of cloud. The effect is so unreal that Helgi’s feelings veer back and forth between pleasure and anxiety as he is adjusting to the transformation. Although he’s no fan of classical music, it seems to him that the sound of violins would be peculiarly appropriate at this moment. But in the absence of plangent strings he has to make do with the roaring of the waves far below. In the fog the noise is oddly intensified, as if the sea wishes to remind them of its presence now that it’s no longer before their eyes.
Shortly after the fog descended, Ívar had shouted to Helgi to come back to the lighthouse; it would be safest until visibility improved. Helgi, who was perched on the edge of the helipad at the time, had felt relieved. He had chosen the spot to keep out of the others’ way while they worked. The echo of their voices carried to him, increasing his feeling of isolation as he sat there as if alone in the world, the grey cloud before his eyes.
So far Ívar has avoided speaking to Helgi if he can help it, and the
Berglind tried again: ‘Tell me what you’re thinking about.’
‘Nothing. Well, actually I was remembering how much you used to talk as a kid.’ In an attempt to appear casual, Nína took refuge in a mouthful of cold coffee. No, it would be a bad idea to mention the old case to Berglind – at this stage. She was bound to want to chew over it endlessly and Nína wasn’t ready for that; she needed more information first. To start with, she meant to have a word with Thröstur’s father, who ought to remember the incident, although it was a long time ago. His mother had died of breast cancer five years ago, so she wasn’t around to ask. But if Nína managed to extract some information from her father-in-law, she would probably be able to use it to find out more. Information was never far away, especially if you had access to various systems and national databases through the police. She hoped she wouldn’t be sacked or forced to take leave before she’d had a chance to try. ‘I’m just tired and sleepy. Let’s stop talking about me and my problems. I’m so bored of myself it would do me good to change the subject.’
They remained chatting there for a while until it became glaringly obvious that Berglind was avoiding any mention of her own husband. Nína had noticed this tendency in others; it was as if women found it inappropriate to say anything in her hearing that might remind her that their husbands were alive and well. As if it might make her envious. It was typical that when Berglind finally showed signs of making a move, she was careful not to say she had to get home to Dóri but rather that ‘duty called’. It was kindly meant, like so many wrong-headed ideas. But in spite of this they hugged each other affectionately as they said goodbye on the front steps. Nína had promised that they would go out and have fun together some time in the next couple of weeks. Do something that wouldn’t result in stiff muscles.
Berglind seemed satisfied and didn’t notice her sister’s expression as she released her. Nína’s eyes had accidentally fallen on the garage while they were hugging and she couldn’t help noticing that the plastic ball had vanished.
She almost ran into the kitchen to close the window and draw the curtains again before heading off to the hospital. She had no wish to linger here any longer than necessary. Her stomach churned as she caught sight of the garage in the instant before the curtain fell into place. She wanted to be sick.
There, beside the old flower pot on the garage windowsill, was the plastic ball.
Chapter 5
26 January 2014
The fog closes in with alarming suddenness. One minute they can see ocean to the south and land to the north, the next nothing but a stony grey blankness that shifts and stirs in an oddly languid manner whichever way they look, as if the world has decided to consign the rock to oblivion by sweeping it under a carpet of cloud. The effect is so unreal that Helgi’s feelings veer back and forth between pleasure and anxiety as he is adjusting to the transformation. Although he’s no fan of classical music, it seems to him that the sound of violins would be peculiarly appropriate at this moment. But in the absence of plangent strings he has to make do with the roaring of the waves far below. In the fog the noise is oddly intensified, as if the sea wishes to remind them of its presence now that it’s no longer before their eyes.
Shortly after the fog descended, Ívar had shouted to Helgi to come back to the lighthouse; it would be safest until visibility improved. Helgi, who was perched on the edge of the helipad at the time, had felt relieved. He had chosen the spot to keep out of the others’ way while they worked. The echo of their voices carried to him, increasing his feeling of isolation as he sat there as if alone in the world, the grey cloud before his eyes.
So far Ívar has avoided speaking to Helgi if he can help it, and the
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