‘We’ll have to find something else to do. If I watch another film I’ll start thinking. And I don’t want to think.’ Bylgja gazed at her father and he didn’t have the heart to contradict her. He felt exactly the same.
‘Would you like to do some colouring?’ If they said no to this, Ægir didn’t know what else to suggest. He was impressed he’d even managed to come up with that. His eyelids began to droop again.
‘Yes, please.’ Bylgja put her hand in his and squeezed. ‘Don’t go to sleep, Daddy.’
‘The colouring books aren’t in our cabin.’ Arna grabbed Ægir’s other hand and he tightened his grip in an attempt to communicate all he wanted to say to them.
‘Where are they?’
‘In the saloon.’ Arna broke off. ‘Where Mummy is.’ Her fingers writhed in his hand. ‘I want to see her. To kiss her goodbye. So does Bylgja.’ Their eyes, fixed on him, were full of anxiety and Ægir detected a hint of fear as well. It was hardly surprising in the circumstances, but what shocked him was that they appeared to be afraid of him. He must look like a madman.
‘We can’t go in there.’ He spoke without thinking. ‘It’s impossible. Anyway, Mummy isn’t there any more.’
‘Where is she then?’ Large, heavy tears began to slide down Bylgja’s cheeks again. He opened his mouth but no words came out. If Lára was no longer lying where she had died, he had no idea where her body could have been taken. He didn’t even know what Thráinn and Halli had done with Loftur’s body, but they were probably stored in the same place. He felt dizzy at the thought of them lying somewhere side by side, Lára and Loftur. ‘Will she be thrown in the sea, Daddy, like the woman we saw falling, or Loftur?’
‘No.’ It felt as if his insides had turned to stone and were now slowly cracking. Soon they would disintegrate, leaving nothing behind but dust. He almost looked forward to it.
‘We want to kiss her goodbye if she’s going to be thrown overboard, Daddy. Or we’ll never get another chance.’ The tears were still flowing silently, making Bylgja’s whole face shiny.
‘Come on.’ It was as if their words finally had a galvanising effect on him and abruptly his fatigue was gone. What had he been thinking of? Where was the gun, for example? And was he really going to leave the body of his wife, the mother of his daughters, to those psychopaths? Not in a million years.
‘What if the men come, Daddy?’ Arna dug her heels in but Ægir dragged her along with him regardless. ‘You said we should hide from them.’ She had started to cry too, but unlike her sister she allowed herself to make a noise. No doubt she was torn between fear for her own safety and the longing to see her mother one last time.
‘It’ll be all right. I promise.’ Ægir had to let go of their hands in order to open the door. Ushering the girls inside, he closed it quietly behind them. Then he laid a finger on his lips to hush them. The terror and grief in their faces were so heart-rending that he was hit by a sudden, urgent desire to seek out Halli and Thráinn and strangle them with his bare hands. He couldn’t give a damn if one of them was innocent. Or both; they had never finished exploring the lowest deck of the boat, so it was still theoretically possible that there was a stowaway on board. He led the girls cautiously up the two levels to the saloon and hesitated outside the door, unwilling to barge in when he didn’t know what might await them inside. The only way to find out would be to go out on deck and peer in through the window but it was still daylight so they would be exposed to anyone in the room. So he pushed the girls behind him and undid the catch on the door. Then he opened it slowly and calmly, without saying a word, and stuck his head through the gap, ready for anything.
His precautions proved unnecessary. There wasn’t a soul inside and the sofa was empty; Lára had vanished along with the blanket she had been lying on. ‘Where’s Mummy?’ Bylgja did her best to whisper but it emerged like a shriek in the silence.
‘I don’t know, darling. We’ll find her.’ Ægir’s eyes ached and when he rubbed them he discovered they were swollen from lack of sleep. Harsh stubble scratched his hand as he ran it down his face: his appearance must reflect his inner torment. If he had to resort to threats against Thráinn and Halli, there was no question now that they would take him seriously. Without looking at the girls, he seized their colouring books and crayons from the coffee table and handed them over. ‘Come on.’ There was a strange odour in the room that filled him with revulsion; he didn’t want it to linger in his nose, guessing that it was connected somehow to Lára’s dead body. He wanted to remember how sweet she had smelt when alive.
They made less effort to tiptoe on their way back downstairs. There was no reason to any more since Ægir now actively wanted to find the men. It went against all his previous plans but the thought of Lára’s cold body, alone and abandoned, robbed him of his few remaining wits. What did he mean to do if he found out where she was? He didn’t know, but one thing was certain; he was not going to leave her behind to the tender mercies of Thráinn and Halli.
On reaching the pilot house, Ægir signalled to the girls to stop. He inched closer to the door, hoping to hear voices or sounds of movement. But his ears were met by silence; either the door was too thickly insulated or there was no one inside. The girls were mutely clutching their colouring books. He beckoned them over, then pushed them behind him as before.
Inside, Halli and Thráinn were sitting face to face, apparently engaged in a staring contest. ‘Where’s Lára?’ The men finally broke eye contact and Ægir was shocked when he saw Thráinn’s face. The white stubble made him look as if he had aged ten years; his eyes were blood red and the black rings under them would have done a ghost proud. Halli looked little better. His dyed hair was matted, his face puffy.
‘What?’ The hoarse croaking indicated that Halli hadn’t spoken for a long time.
‘Where’s Lára? And where’s the gun?’
‘Do you think it’s a good idea for you to take it? It’s caused enough harm already.’ Thráinn’s voice sounded like the rustling of dry paper. There were no drinks to be seen and the two men had probably been sitting there, parched with thirst, for hours. Neither apparently trusted the other enough to go and fetch water or a Coke.
‘Don’t you worry about that. And it’s a bit late to be careful now – it’s your fault Lára had the gun in the first place.’ The captain didn’t react to the accusation. ‘But if you want to know, I’m going to throw it in the sea. I don’t want it and I don’t like the idea of you two having it.’ Even as he spoke, he realised his mistake. It would have been better to let them believe he had the gun. Exhaustion was making it difficult to think straight, difficult to think at all, and he couldn’t come up with any convincing way to retract his statement.
‘It’s in the top drawer.’ Thráinn pointed to the console under the window. ‘You can chuck it overboard for all I care.’
‘What?’ Halli made to stand up and grab the gun first but was so stiff that he couldn’t get out of the chair properly. ‘I’m telling you – there’s somebody else on board. We might need that gun. Are you out of your minds?’ Ægir went to the drawer and opened it. He didn’t reply and it seemed Thráinn was not going to either. In the top of the drawer lay an object wrapped in a dishcloth. As Ægir was unwrapping it, Halli spoke again: ‘And what about the police? They’re bound to want the gun when we go ashore.’ His voice rose to a falsetto.
‘If we ever make it to land.’ Thráinn coughed and rubbed his forehead. If he was feeling anything like Ægir he must have a splitting headache on top of everything else.
Ægir wrapped the dishcloth back around the gun and took the bundle out of the drawer. ‘Where’s my wife?’
‘Down in the engine room.’ Thráinn glanced at the girls and Ægir thought he saw his face soften a little. They were still gripping their colouring books in both hands, watching the unfolding events with wide, terrified eyes. Bylgja’s glasses had slipped down her nose but she wouldn’t relinquish her hold on her book to push them back in
to place. ‘I’m not sure it would be wise for you to go down there. We’ll reach land in about twenty-four hours, all being well, and there’ll be plenty of time for that then.’
‘You’re not going down there!’ screeched Halli, frantic now. ‘What’ll you do if you run slap into the killer? Eh? Surely you’re not thinking of taking the girls?’
Arna and Bylgja looked even more petrified and Ægir was forced to intervene before Halli tipped them over the edge into hysteria. They were in a bad enough state already. ‘None of your business.’ Going over to his daughters, he positioned himself in front of them, hoping to block their view. But he could feel them peering round him to see what was happening. ‘I am going, and I don’t want to see you two again until we reach Reykjavík. Or ever.’
‘Shouldn’t we try to talk?’ Thráinn was still massaging his head, his bloodshot eyes reduced to slits. ‘We’re heading for disaster. Can’t we agree to take it in turns to sleep? Two stand watch and keep an eye on each other?’
‘No.’ Ægir shoved the girls towards the door. He had to get out before he succumbed to a proposal that sounded so enticing to his tired ears. ‘I’m going to look after my daughters. You two can go to hell.’
‘It’s the only way, Ægir.’ Thráinn reached out, as if to seize Ægir and force him to stay put. ‘The only way.’
‘Listen to him.’ Halli was on his feet now, rocking, though the sea was calm. ‘It isn’t one of us. I keep trying to tell you.’
‘Then you two should be all right here on your own. You can take it in turns to sleep; you don’t need me.’ Ægir opened the door and herded the girls out. ‘The point is – I don’t trust you. Either of you.’
‘Ægir.’ Thráinn did not shout or raise his voice, though he must have known this was probably his last chance to try to persuade the other man. His voice sounded devoid of hope. It almost worked. Ægir paused, halfway out of the door. ‘I activated the emergency button,’ Thráinn said, ‘but nothing happened. Someone’s sabotaged the wiring and I don’t trust myself to fix it. The lifebuoy isn’t working either. But the long-range radio is tuned to the emergency frequency, so you could try to get through. I haven’t been able to.’ The captain’s voice gave out. Clearing his throat, he managed to rasp out one more sentence: ‘Take care of the girls.’
Ægir let the door slam and they hurried away without bothering with the catch. On the way he hurled the gun, still in its wrapping, overboard without a moment’s regret.
‘Are you sure they’re bad men, Daddy? Halli and the captain?’ Arna freed one hand from her colouring book to hold the rail as they descended the stairs.
‘Yes. I am.’
‘I’m not.’ Arna hesitated on the penultimate step. ‘What if there’s someone else on board, like Halli said?’
‘Halli’s talking nonsense, Arna. Don’t think about it. We’ll lock ourselves in and everything’ll be okay.’
‘I want to wait and see Mummy later. I don’t want to go down to the engine room in case there’s somebody there.’
‘Nor do I.’ Bylgja had caught up with her sister and stopped beside her.
‘All right.’ Ægir had to admit that he was relieved. He dreaded descending into the confined space of the engine room where it was possible that a fourth man – or woman – was lurking. ‘We’ll just go back to the cabin and have a rest; have something to eat maybe. Then we’ll see. How does that sound?’
Once he had securely locked the door and given the girls a slice of bread and a yoghurt apiece, which they accepted but didn’t touch, he sat down and let his mind wander. A bitter laugh escaped him when he realised that if the yacht hadn’t tangled with the container they would almost be home by now. The girls both regarded him anxiously and he stifled his laughter. He mustn’t lose control – for their sake. If only he could lie down for ten minutes. Or even five. It would be enough to take the edge off his exhaustion and afterwards he would be in better shape to stay awake for the rest of the voyage. He closed his eyes, all his problems evaporated and he slipped gently into a dreamless, restorative sleep.
When he started awake he had no idea how long he had been dead to the world; the girls were sound asleep fully dressed on the bed, their colouring books open in front of them, the crayons scattered over the rumpled bedclothes. Outside it was pitch dark, but that didn’t tell him much as it had been near sunset when they came below.
Ægir rose, thanking God that nothing had happened while he was out for the count. He was furious with himself for failing in his guard duty but his reproaches lacked conviction since he had at least managed to sleep a little without anything going wrong. Yet he did not feel well rested and was seized by a longing to return to his comfy chair and slip back into unconsciousness. But that was impossible. His luck wouldn’t hold forever. He heard a noise overhead and wondered if that was what had woken him. It sounded peculiar, like something being dragged across the deck. Then it fell quiet. Suddenly there was a splash from outside the porthole Ægir had opened to air the cabin. He dashed over to see what had fallen into the water.
He felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. On the illuminated surface of the waves a man bobbed up, as if the sea were rejecting him. It was so unreal that it took Ægir a moment to focus. The body was floating face down but just before it vanished into the darkness astern, he recognised the muscular back and grey-streaked hair. The yacht no longer had a captain.
All that separated Ægir and his daughters from the man responsible for this monstrous deed was a flimsy wooden door. His heart lurched as he realised that on the other side Halli would be waiting.
Chapter 28
‘What did I tell you?’ Bella’s attitude reminded Thóra of her mother’s reaction whenever she had taken a wrong turn in her teenage years after ignoring a piece of wise parental advice. ‘You should have listened to me. I knew it all along.’ The secretary folded her arms across her formidable bosom. ‘I have an unfallible instinct for that sort of thing.’
‘Infallible.’ Thóra resisted the temptation to roll her eyes in case Bella noticed. She had been listening to the secretary’s crowing for several minutes now and enough was enough. What a mistake it had been to tell her that Karítas had probably never left Lisbon. Bella’s obsession with the fate of her old schoolmate had gone into overdrive. The worst of it was that Thóra couldn’t help agreeing with her. ‘It’s infallible, not unfallible.’
‘Whatever.’ Bella did not allow this grammatical nit-picking to put her off her stride. ‘She’s dead, just like I said. It’s a no-brainer. I mean, is she meant to have just walked out of Portugal on her Jimmy Choos? As if. And I doubt she has a driving licence.’
Thóra’s mobile rang and she answered without even checking to see who it was. No phone call could be worse than listening to this. Bella kept talking, undaunted by Thóra’s inattentiveness; she merely raised her voice to drown out the competition. When Thóra rang off, she smiled brightly at the secretary. ‘Sorry, what were you saying, Bella?’
Bella glared at her. ‘Are you taking the piss?’
‘No. Not at all. What was it? That you were so clever because you’d always claimed Karítas was dead? Wasn’t that it?’
‘Yes.’ Bella smelt a rat. ‘Why are you looking like that?’
‘Only, that was Karítas’s mother on the phone. Her daughter’s come home.’ Thóra’s smile broadened. ‘But do go back to what you were saying. You have such an infallible instinct for these things. Please go on.’
Bella’s arms fell to her sides. ‘You’re kidding me?’ Her downturned mouth reminded Thóra of a bulldog’s. She had never seen anyone so disappointed by good news.
‘I’ll soon find out. I told Begga I’d drop by. But first I need to inform the police; I expect they’ll be interested in talking to Karítas too and I owe them some information. I haven’t been keeping up my end of the bargain.’
‘What, Karítas is willing to meet you?’ Bella looked astonished. Plainly she couldn’t care less ab
out the information owing to the police. ‘That’s weird, seeing as how she didn’t even want to be your friend on Facebook. And she’s got hundreds.’
Thóra had thought the same thing. ‘According to her mother, Karítas herself suggested she ring me. I don’t know why but we’ll soon find out. Perhaps she needs a lawyer. If she does, it’ll be a wasted journey because I can’t act for her while Ægir’s parents are my clients.’
‘I’m coming with you. You don’t know how to handle a chav like her.’
‘She’s hardly a “chav”,’ protested Thóra. In all the photos Karítas had looked extremely glamorous; a little plastic, admittedly, but hardly a chav.
‘That’s what you think. I’m coming anyway.’ Bella rushed into reception to fetch her coat.
‘Really? I don’t remember you at all.’ Karítas stared at Bella, stretching her big blue eyes as wide as they would go. It didn’t suit her. Instead of the little-girl effect she was aiming for, she came across as a simpleton. She was draped across the sofa in her mother’s sitting room, her long legs taking up the entire seat so that Thóra, Bella and Begga had to make do with chairs. ‘You weren’t in my class, were you?’
‘No.’ Bella was sitting bolt upright, making no attempt to appear at all girlish. When Karítas’s mother had introduced her as an old schoolmate, Bella had looked uncomfortable; obviously she hadn’t wanted this information revealed straight away. Yet she had clearly taken umbrage at Karítas’s failure to remember her, so it was hard to work out what she did want.
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