Every time she moved, Aldís could feel the envelope in her back pocket and it was enough to keep her rage smouldering all day. It was unbelievable that they should have the temerity to confiscate her letters. They were bound to have read the contents as well. The thought made the fury and hatred blaze up inside her as never before. They had no right to pry into her private affairs, perhaps even sneer at what her mother wrote, which was surely an attempt at an apology. In between trying to come up with a plan for getting her own back on Lilja and Veigar, she wondered what was in the letter, always coming to the same conclusion: her mother was begging her to take pity on her. To get in touch or come home. What else could it be? She would hardly be writing to say that Aldís was a bloody liar who couldn’t bear for her to find love, though of course it couldn’t be ruled out. Perhaps her mother wanted her money back, though it had only been a small amount. It was these fears that stopped Aldís from shutting herself in a room during the coffee break and tearing open the envelope. Better wait until she’d finished work.
‘Are you angry with me?’ Einar loomed over her as she was crouching with the dustpan in the room where the Christian meetings were held. When she first started work at the home, Aldís had attended the gatherings, not out of a desire to hear the word of God but for a bit of variety in her monotonous life. Veigar and Lilja’s faces had lit up when they saw her taking a seat behind the boys but their pleasure had been short-lived because she had only attended three meetings. She couldn’t bear the repetitions and Bible quotations that the couple thundered at the boys by turns, or the sanctimonious looks on their faces. Now she only ventured into the room once a week to clean it.
‘No.’ Aldís stood up. ‘Why should I be angry with you?’ She hadn’t the energy to discuss the matters that concerned him, let alone the business of the letters. Another time.
‘You were so strange at lunchtime.’
‘I’m just not in a good mood. It has nothing to do with you.’
Einar reached out as if to touch her face, then changed his mind. He put his hands in his pockets instead and rocked on his heels. ‘Tobbi told me about this morning. I just wanted to let you know. And to say that Veigar and Lilja are bastards. Total bastards.’
Aldís couldn’t agree more but didn’t say so. She couldn’t decide whether to ask him to leave her alone or welcome his company. ‘Why did he tell you?’
‘I saw him nip over to your house this morning after he’d gone out at the crack of dawn. He was supposed to go for the post yesterday but they never got round to sending him. I didn’t know if it was you he went to see or the other guys who live there, so I interrogated him. I can get him to talk pretty easily.’
Of course he could. Tobbi was thirteen; Einar nearly nineteen, almost an adult. But Aldís couldn’t say as much without revealing that she’d stolen a look in his wallet. And she had no intention of doing that. Not yet. ‘Did you ask if he’d seen any letters to you?’
Einar’s face took on an odd expression, though it seemed a normal enough question to Aldís. ‘No. I didn’t ask.’ He was a bad liar. As if to head off any further questions, he added quickly: ‘I’m going to slip out this evening if the weather’s good. Maybe go for a walk, enjoy a bit of freedom. I was wondering if you’d like to join me. If I get into trouble, I promise not to let on that you were there too.’
‘How will you get out?’ Aldís asked, to defer having to answer. Breaking out of the boys’ dormitory was child’s play, as she well knew.
‘I’ll find a way.’ His smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘What do you say? Are you coming? It’ll do you good. We’ll go far enough away that you can scream yourself hoarse if you want to. It can help to let off steam.’ He seemed to be talking from experience.
Aldís fiddled with the handle of the dustpan as she considered her answer. If they were found out, she could get into serious trouble, even lose her job. But so what if she did? It would hardly be the end of the world if she didn’t get a reference from Veigar and Lilja. Though she tried to do her work conscientiously, she wasn’t sure what sort of recommendation they’d give her anyway. If the worst happened, she could simply go to Reykjavík sooner than intended. ‘I’ll come. Where shall I meet you and what time?’
Einar’s face lit up. Once they had agreed on a time and place, he hurried out, turning in the doorway to wink. He had gone by the time she managed to wink back.
Before leaving the room, she gave in to the urge to empty the dustpan under the carpet by Lilja and Veigar’s lectern.
* * *
Aldís had her anorak on and was ready to go out and meet Einar before she finally opened the letter. She had been sitting on her bed for ages, contemplating the innocent envelope, but now impulsively she grabbed it and ripped it open. She sat with the letter in her lap, eyes fixed unseeingly on the black writing that ran across the page in perfectly straight lines as if her mother had used a ruler to ensure that none of the words went astray. Then, taking a deep breath, she began reading.
My darling Aldís,
I hope you’ve read my earlier letters though I haven’t heard back from you. I’m so afraid that you’ll throw them away unopened when you see who they’re from. But if you’re reading this, I beg you again to get in touch, ring or write, even if it’s only a few words.
As I’ve written before, Lárus has gone, so you needn’t worry that he’ll answer the phone or read what you write to me.
I miss you more than words can say and I’d give anything to be able to turn the clock back and react differently. But there’s no point talking about it – I failed you and I’ll just have to live with the fact and try to make up for it. Ever since you were born you’ve given my life meaning, been the one thing that’s brought me happiness and joy. Without you, life’s not worth living.
Please let me hear from you, my darling Aldís. Not knowing how you’re getting on and how you’re feeling is killing me. I love you and always will, and I beg you to overlook those few seconds when I doubted you, and remember instead all those years when my behaviour was guided by my real feelings for you.
Love,
Mum
Aldís put the letter down. She wanted to read it again but wouldn’t let herself. Before she could decide how she felt, she had to get hold of the previous letters. When had her mother realised that she was telling the truth? Had she thrown the bastard out or had he walked out on her? Was it only then that her mother had really started regretting her behaviour? Rather than trying to order her thoughts, Aldís got up and left the room. It was still ten minutes until she was due to meet Einar but in the meantime she meant to pinch a bottle from the larder. She had never felt any desire for alcohol before: it tasted vile and she didn’t enjoy feeling drunk and talking crap. Not as a rule. But at this moment it felt appropriate. Even if it led her to do something she’d regret. Though it was hard to imagine what could make her position here worse than it already was.
Chapter 15
‘We were hoping to hang on to you a bit longer.’ Diljá winked at Rún and smiled at Ódinn. Her lipstick had worn off while Ódinn was out, a sign that she’d looked after Rún diligently, not even popping to the loo to touch up her make-up. He felt torn between gratitude for her care and trepidation about her possible motives. What had Diljá been saying to his daughter while he was away?
‘Oh, you want to get rid of me again, is that it?’ Rún looked at her father, her expression unreadable. Afraid his attempt at a joke had misfired, Ódinn ruffled her hair gently, to show he didn’t mean it. ‘And there I was thinking I was indispensable.’
‘Not entirely.’ Diljá winked at Rún again. She picked up her bag and her shoulder sagged under its weight. Ódinn had often been puzzled by all the clobber some women carted around with them, especially as they could never find anything in those black holes when they needed to. ‘Look after my chair, Rún,’ Diljá added. ‘I’m going to get a coffee; I won’t be a mo. Can I get either of you anything?’ They said no thank you, an
d Ódinn watched as she headed to the loo.
‘What did you two talk about?’ He turned to his daughter.
Rún shrugged. ‘Nothing special. I was just drawing.’ The desk in Róberta’s cubicle was littered with coloured-in pictures. He had no idea where Diljá had dug up the crayons, since they were hardly standard office equipment. Perhaps they’d been lying at the bottom of one of Róberta’s drawers. It was a good thing Diljá hadn’t lent Rún a biro as she tended to press so hard that the pictures would have been engraved into the surface of the desk.
‘Want to bring your drawings over to my desk? It’s much nicer for me to have you within reach while I’m working. Here you’re so far away you might as well be at home.’ Ódinn had moved Rún over to Róberta’s cubicle to be near Diljá while he was out. He hadn’t stopped to think about it before he left, but now he regretted having left her at the dead woman’s desk – worse, in the exact spot where she’d given up the ghost. ‘Come on, sweetheart. Let’s shift your stuff. I’ve got a bit of work to do, then we can go.’ He’d promised to leave earlier than usual so she wouldn’t have to spend all day at the office, and he meant to keep his word.
‘Who are they?’ Rún pointed at the photo of the two boys on the wall.
Ódinn swallowed. ‘They’re just two boys. From the olden days.’
‘What are their names?’
‘Einar and Thorbjörn.’ Although Pytti’s account of their deaths had been pretty far-fetched, he couldn’t get it out of his mind. What was he supposed to do with the information? Gloss over it? If he repeated Pytti’s story he’d probably find himself at the employment agency looking for a new job once the report was published. No one would want to read an official inquiry that contained gossip about the corpse of a baby buried somewhere on the property at Krókur, and he still didn’t quite understand how it was linked to the story of the two boys. It had been difficult enough to follow Pytti’s rambling story without the addition of a dead baby. Eventually, however, Ódinn had got the gist: the exhaust hadn’t been blocked by snow; the boys had died because someone had stuffed a rag into it. Pytti’s theories about who might have wanted to dispose of them had been as vague as the rest of his tale: first it was the couple who ran the home, then the workmen, then one of the other boys. The motive for the crime was also obscure, and all Ódinn’s attempts to find out what it was had met with a blank stare. As with all conspiracy theories, Pytti’s story was vague, muddled and almost certainly fictitious. But something about that detail about the rag made it seem plausible.
‘Why are they on the wall of your office?’ Rún stared intently at the old photo.
‘I don’t know. It’s not my desk. Maybe the woman who used to sit here liked the picture.’
‘They watch you.’ Rún frowned. ‘Their eyes follow you.’
‘That’s just because they were looking into the camera.’ Ódinn stepped to one side and the boys’ eyes seemed to pursue him, as they had the first time he saw the photo. Foolish as it was, he felt as if they were waiting impatiently to see what he would do; if he would expose the truth about their fate. He wanted to lean over to the photo and tell them that one mysterious death was quite enough; he didn’t need any more. But right now his priority was to get Rún out of the cubicle. ‘Come on. There’s juice in the kitchen.’
But Rún sat tight. ‘Where’s the woman who used to work here? Did she leave like the man who had the other desk?’
‘Yes, she left.’
‘Why didn’t she take her stuff? He didn’t leave anything behind.’
‘She didn’t have time. It’ll be cleared out soon.’ Ódinn spun the chair round and had to restrain himself from snatching Rún out of it.
‘That’s not Róberta’s chair, by the way.’ Diljá was back at her desk, coffee cup in hand. She had reapplied her lipstick and Ódinn had to admit that she was looking particularly gorgeous. For an instant he envied Denni going home with her from the office party. But her next comment brought him back to earth. ‘I swapped it with Denni’s. He didn’t dare complain, though I don’t suppose he was exactly thrilled.’ Diljá smirked and sipped her coffee. ‘Serves him right.’
‘Why?’ Rún looked between the two of them. ‘What did he do?’
‘Nothing. That was the trouble.’ Diljá hung her bag over her chair again, sat down and began to hammer away at her keyboard.
‘What do you mean, nothing?’ Rún looked up at her father. ‘And what was wrong with the other chair?’
‘There was nothing wrong with it. Diljá’s only joking.’ Maybe he should have called in sick today after all. The feeling intensified as he gathered up Rún’s drawings. One was of a figure that appeared at first glance to be making a snow angel while another stood watching. Then it dawned on him that the first figure had its mouth open and was clearly a woman with flailing arms and legs, either falling or just landed. Only the back view of the other figure was visible but it appeared to be female too, going by the bare legs sticking out from under a garment resembling a coat. Unless it was a man in shorts. Another picture showed a gravestone with Mummy written on it. The grave was decorated with smiling flowers that were at odds with the headstone and its inscription. He would show them to Nanna at tomorrow’s appointment. He was brought up short by the third drawing. It was of a boxy car with two screaming faces in the windows, their round mouths almost exactly like the mouth of the woman in the first picture. Ódinn’s eyes darted to the photo on the wall. Obviously Diljá had told Rún how the boys died. What on earth had she been thinking? Christ, he really should have stayed at home.
* * *
‘There was no need to tell my daughter about those boys dying in the car.’ Ódinn folded his arms to stop himself losing his cool and wagging his finger in Diljá’s face. He was trembling with rage, justifiably incensed that someone would upset his child. ‘What possessed you? She’s got enough on her plate without hearing something like that.’ The child’s phobia about open windows was bad enough; he didn’t want her refusing to get in the car as well.
Diljá turned, making no attempt to hide the Facebook page open on her screen. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Rún. You told her about the boys who suffocated in the car. The boys in the photo on Róberta’s wall.’ Ódinn took care to keep his voice down so Rún wouldn’t be able to hear at the other end of the office.
‘Are you out of your mind?’ Diljá frowned. ‘I didn’t talk to her about those boys, let alone tell her how they died.’ She made as if to stand up. ‘Why would you think that?’
Ódinn’s anger gave way to surprise, then blazed up again. ‘Maybe because she drew a picture of them while she was in your care.’ He pulled the folded drawing from his pocket and showed it to her. Diljá held out a hand but Ódinn snatched it back, folded it again and returned it to his pocket. ‘You’re hardly going to claim it’s a coincidence?’
‘I wouldn’t know. I didn’t say a word about it. Why would I? You must have done it yourself. It’s your case, not mine. I have zero interest in it. Zilch.’
‘Me?’ It took all Ódinn’s self-control to stay calm. ‘I wouldn’t tell my daughter about that – for Christ’s sake!’
‘Don’t get tetchy with me. I didn’t do it. We were talking about something completely different.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like what an idiot you are.’ Diljá glared at him defiantly. ‘It’s a wonder the kid turned out so well. She must take after her mother.’
Ódinn was flummoxed. He had no intention of engaging in childish bickering with Diljá, and anyway, he believed her. Why would she have told Rún? Because she’d run out of things to say? Hardly; Diljá had all the gossip in town on the tip of her tongue. ‘If you didn’t say anything and I didn’t either, then how did she know what happened to the boys in the photo?’ The anger had vanished from his voice; to his annoyance he now sounded whiny with fright.
‘Search me. How should I know? I can’t for the life of me imagine why s
he would draw that – perhaps it’s just meant to be screaming kids on a rollercoaster.’
Although unlikely, the explanation wasn’t wholly implausible. He would have to question Rún but didn’t want to alarm her. That was why he hadn’t asked her about the picture in the first place, though he’d noticed how closely she had been watching his reactions as he gathered up the drawings. Instead, he had pretended nothing was up. He felt exhausted by constantly walking on eggshells. ‘Is there any chance she could have been digging around in Róberta’s files and found some document mentioning how they died? You’d have heard the rustling, wouldn’t you?’
Diljá blew a lock of hair from her forehead. ‘Yes, probably. Though I can’t be sure. Of course, sound carries between the cubicles. But Rún could have been turning pages and reading them without my noticing, if she’d done it stealthily enough. Though I can’t imagine she would. Since when have kids been interested in files?’
Ódinn suddenly regretted being rude to Diljá. You had to hand it to her; in spite of her faults she was one of the few people worth talking to in the office. ‘Tell me something. You said sound carries between the cubicles – were you ever aware of Róberta receiving threats? Did she ever mention it?’
Diljá shook her head. She was sitting back down now with her legs crossed, looking at him warily. ‘Never.’ Then she brightened up a little and added, pleased with herself: ‘Actually, she did receive a pretty odd phone call once. She suddenly raised her voice and became very agitated. Said something about e-mails, asked if the caller had been sending her messages. I interrogated her the moment she hung up but she wouldn’t talk about it. Just fobbed me off with some cryptic comment.’
The Undesired Page 14
