The Undesired

by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

  ‘Do you remember what it was?’

  ‘Not word for word; something about how certain people were a bit odd. That she should have known, she’d been warned this person wasn’t right in the head. But it was all part of the job and she’d just have to put up with it.’ Diljá swung one leg. ‘Then she took a swipe at me, saying unlike some people she didn’t spread gossip – the person in question may have behaved stupidly, but she knew how to react professionally. As if I didn’t?’

  This was neither the time nor the place to discuss Diljá’s discretion, so Ódinn faked mild indignation on her behalf. ‘Did she happen to say if it was a man or a woman, or where their paths had crossed?’

  ‘No. If she did, I’ve forgotten. She was careful not to give away the sex of the caller, and she didn’t mention where she knew them from, but it was definitely work-related. I have a hunch it was a woman, though. Women her age react differently to men and women when they’re angry, and this sounded like a quarrel between women.’ Diljá’s shapely leg ceased its swinging and her face grew serious, transforming her almost into a stranger. ‘I told you not to take on this case. There’s something very weird about it. Róberta got so creepy. Always staring at the photo of those boys, and doing all kinds of other crazy stuff. And now it’s like you’re losing the plot too.’

  Ódinn didn’t like the direction their conversation was taking. ‘Did she interview anyone from the home, as far as you know?’ There had been no indication of this on Róberta’s timesheets, but given the calls and e-mails she had received, she must at least have discussed the case with someone from outside the office. Someone, what’s more, who was very keen to block the inquiry. And Ódinn wanted to know why. He would rather a major issue didn’t come to light after the report was published, but it was hard to imagine what could provoke such a dramatic reaction nearly four decades on apart from a serious crime like murder. ‘Do you think she spoke to any of the former residents? The man I talked to earlier said no one had contacted him before, but perhaps she spoke to other old boys.’

  ‘No.’ Diljá seemed disappointed not to be able to carry on discussing the sinister side of the case. ‘Almost certainly not. I’d have known – she usually told me where she was going when she went out. As if I cared.’ She reached for her coffee cup and peered into it. ‘Bloody thing must be leaking.’ She looked back at him. ‘But she definitely interviewed members of staff. One or two. Maybe more.’

  ‘Any idea who? I can’t find anything about staff in the files.’

  Diljá shook her head. ‘No. Not a clue. I just know she did. Wanted to start at the right end, as she put it. Probably thought the boys were beneath her – though they’re old men now.’

  ‘Or she was afraid of them. There’s no telling what motivates people. Often it’s quite different from what you think.’

  He started to walk away, then turned. ‘I forgot to say sorry. I behaved like a fool just now.’

  ‘Well, I never. A man who can apologise.’ Diljá tilted her head and Ódinn feared she was about to angle for a date. Feared, or hoped? He didn’t know. But she didn’t say anything else. Nodding a farewell, he walked away, but after he had gone a few steps she called after him, peering round the partition: ‘Know why I swapped the chair?’ He shook his head. ‘Because it wouldn’t stay still. Fobbing it off on Denni was just a bonus. I couldn’t put up with it any longer. It kept creaking just like it did when Róberta was sitting on it, and it moved around the cubicle. I’m telling you, this case is seriously fucked up.’ Her head disappeared back behind the partition.

  Ódinn sighed. Back at his desk he found it difficult to concentrate and caught himself constantly glancing over at Denni, though he could see nothing odd about his chair. Finally, he switched off his computer and left the office with Rún, an hour earlier than intended.

  Only when they were sitting in the town centre, with an ice-cream tub each, did he feel himself again. ‘I think she fancies you.’ Rún licked chocolate sauce off her spoon.

  ‘Who?’ Ódinn searched in vain for more chocolate chunks in the slush at the bottom of his tub, then pushed it away.

  ‘That woman at your office. Diljá.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Yes, she does. She asked loads of questions about you, like if you had a girlfriend. She does fancy you.’ Rún pushed her ice-cream into the middle of the table; she’d had enough too. ‘What’ll happen to me if you marry her? I don’t want a new mum. Could I move in with Uncle Baldur?’

  Ódinn took Rún’s hand. Her fingers were cold and a little sticky. ‘I’m not going to marry Diljá, Rún. No way. Nobody’s going to push you out of your home, so you can stop worrying about that right now.’

  ‘What if you die? What then? Would I go to Uncle Baldur’s? I don’t want to live with Granny.’

  ‘I’m not going to die. Not any time soon. Anyway, you’ll be a grandmother yourself by then and I hope for your sake you won’t still be living with me.’ They both watched, distracted, as half a wafer sank slowly onto its side in her tub. Finally, it slid right down and vanished in the melting ice-cream. Their eyes met and in her face he read a sadness that revealed not fear but certainty.

  ‘What was that picture of the car meant to show, Rún?’ He phrased it as carefully as he could.

  ‘Boys.’ She stared down at the white tabletop. ‘Boys dying in a car. Some people die like that. They can’t breathe.’

  ‘What made you think of that?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just drew Mummy falling and then those boys. I can’t draw happy pictures. I try, but nothing comes.’ It was a good thing she had an appointment with the psychologist tomorrow. Pity it wasn’t later today. Or right now. Ódinn couldn’t tear his gaze from the small-featured face, the red cheeks and delicate lips that she pursed shut as if to ensure she wouldn’t say anything to disappoint her father.

  But she didn’t need to say anything. Ódinn felt as if he had set off down a precipitous slope, unable to see what lay at the bottom; all he knew was that he was gaining momentum, would break into a run soon, and after that there would be no stopping until he reached the end of the road – an end he dreaded. He forced a smile and Rún smiled unhappily back. What on earth was going on inside that little head?

  Chapter 16

  January 1974

  Aldís didn’t know what had woken her, the chattering of her teeth or the drips plinking into the icy bathwater. Cautiously opening her eyes, she was relieved to discover that it was still dark. She had a splitting headache that eased slightly when she closed her eyes again. Another drop fell from the tap and the sound echoed for a long time in the silence. If she didn’t get out she’d die of cold, naked in the bathtub. The thought of the humiliation was enough to stir her into action.

  At first she made do with sitting up. Afraid she would faint if she tried to stand, she sat there, shaking like a leaf, half in icy water, half in freezing air. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she felt sick and had a foul taste in her mouth. She gripped the slippery sides of the bath and slowly heaved herself out. The cold clutched at her body but she tried to concentrate on controlling her shivering so she wouldn’t fall back in. At last she was out, but it was only when she was standing on the floor in a pool of water that she looked round for a towel and discovered there wasn’t one.

  As Aldís gathered up the clothes strewn across the floor, the events of the night slowly came back to her. She couldn’t remember all the details, which was a blessing, really. It was enough to recall the most important parts. Such as how she had ended up in the bathtub. She was too cold to blush, and too tired and sick to feel ashamed. She managed to dry herself a little with her clothes. That warmed her up slightly and stopped her from shivering so violently. She wrapped her clothes around her: there was no way she could put them on, she was still too wet and weak. And her trousers were too tight. It was no coincidence that she had been wearing them; they were the only garment in her wardrobe that could by any stretch of
the imagination be called smart, and she had wanted to look nice last night. The sales assistant at Karnabær had told her they should fit like a second skin and that she’d have to lie down to zip up the flies. If Aldís had known she was going to have to take them off twice before going to bed, she might have chosen a different outfit.

  She and Einar had slept together. By that point she had drunk a great deal of the bottle she had pilfered from the larder. She couldn’t really remember the sex, except for a hazy impression of his being considerate; in spite of his eagerness he had given her the chance to enjoy herself as well, unlike the boys she had been with before, who had just pumped away on top of her as if paid by the minute. One hadn’t even bothered to do more than push his jeans just below his buttocks before getting down to work – she remembered squeezing her eyes shut and trying to think of something else. It hadn’t occurred to her to do that last night. She could recall that much, though the details were patchy. She hadn’t minded that her earlier sexual encounters were a bit of a blur, but this time she regretted having drunk so much. Then again, she’d never have done it sober. Would have flatly refused. If only because she wasn’t on the pill and he, naturally, didn’t have a condom. She remembered that much at least, which was why she’d ended up in the bath. Despite being pissed out of her mind, she had followed the advice of a friend who’d once told her that a hot bath after sex prevented conception. It had better be true.

  After satisfying herself that there was no sound from the landing, she peered out. She had no idea what time it was – the darkness told her nothing as it didn’t get properly light until nearly midday at this time of year – so the workmen might well be rising. The last thing she wanted was to bump into them, half-naked. She made a frantic dash to her room. Not until she had shut the door, flung down her clothes and climbed under the duvet did her shivering abate and her breathing slow to normal. She was still terribly cold, still queasy, still had a crippling headache and a ton of self-loathing. What had she been thinking?

  Aldís put her head under the duvet, closed her eyes tight and clasped her hands over her ears. But however hard she tried, she couldn’t shut out the memory of all the rubbish she’d poured out to Einar in her woozy state. Those slurred words could never be unsaid; her only hope was that he had been just as drunk. The evening’s theme had alternated between whining about the unfairness of the world and making grandiose declarations about her huge potential and her future plans, and unfortunately she had the impression that he’d mainly listened and kept quiet about himself. She had asked him why he’d been sent to Krókur but received no answer, and, incredible as it seemed, had been too caught up in talking about herself to challenge him about his age or the girl in the photo. She had the feeling she’d aired all her dirty laundry. Bloody booze – she was never drinking again.

  Aldís opened her eyes wide. What had they done with the bottle? For most of the time they had been holed up in the little coffee room adjoining the cowshed, of all places, though admittedly there hadn’t been much choice in terms of where they could hang out. Lilja, Veigar or the workmen were bound to be keeping an eye on movements around the main building after the incident with Tobbi, and they couldn’t use her room with her housemates next door, or the boys’ dormitory, for obvious reasons. There had been no question of staying out in the cold, either, so as a last resort they had plumped for the cowshed. The bottle would probably be sitting right there when Veigar or the workmen turned up in the morning, on the dirty, wobbly little table. Determined as she was to hand in her notice, she would rather not leave Krókur under a cloud, which is what would happen if the couple discovered that she’d stolen their drink and gone on a bender with one of the boys. But if she managed to dispose of the bottle, no one would be any the wiser. After all, it had stood untouched behind a stack of tins ever since Aldís had arrived at Krókur.

  Stretching a trembling hand out from under the duvet, she fumbled for the alarm clock on the bedside table. To her relief, it was still about an hour before anybody would be up. There was nothing for it but to force herself out of bed. She’d have to dash over to the cowshed and remove the bottle and any other signs of the night’s debauchery. Her headache reminded her of its existence and her stomach joined in. She almost wished it were too late, so there would be no point dragging herself out of bed.

  * * *

  Aldís had been dreading going outside in the cold but the wind was actually exhilarating. Although her headache didn’t disappear entirely, it did at least recede enough for her to move. She drank in the bracing air as if she were drowning, but the ends of her wet hair froze and when they brushed against her bare neck she felt as if she were still lying in the icy bath. She zipped up her anorak as far as it would go but didn’t pull up the hood in case her headache made a comeback. Better to put up with frozen hair. It had been snowing and the tracks that had marked her meandering progress home that night were almost buried. The snow leaked into her summery plimsolls, clutching at her instep and forming lumps under her soles, making them ache. She regretted not having put on any socks. When she looked round she saw that she was leaving a clear trail. She would have to try and obliterate her footprints on the way back from the cowshed, so it wouldn’t be obvious that someone had been there in the small hours.

  She might just get away with it. She smiled at the thought as she walked quietly, hands in pockets, towards the shed. But her smile vanished as she remembered more of what had passed between her and Einar last night. Her stomach churned and she paused to fight the nausea so she wouldn’t throw up on the pristine snow. It was as if her guts were rebelling against what had seemed such a clever idea last night. She couldn’t remember which of them had started it – probably her. Aldís took several deep breaths, then carried on walking, feeling a little better. What a relief that she’d never worked out where the couple’s child was buried. Had she known, she and Einar might have gone through with their plan last night to dig it up and lay it at the couple’s door. Like a parcel from a mysterious benefactor. From me to you, dear Mum and Dad. Last night it had seemed to them a singularly appropriate punishment for the couple’s theft of her letters and their abominable behaviour in general. Aldís shuddered and thanked God she only had to retrieve an empty bottle, not the corpse of a child.

  By the time she reached the end wall of the boys’ dormitory, her eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, but at that moment a half-moon emerged from behind the clouds and the white blanket of snow sparkled blue all around. Only the shadows cast by the naked bushes reminded Aldís that it was still night and that she should have been tucked up in bed, fast asleep, dreaming about what to do on her day off in town. That was looking unlikely now. She’d hardly have recovered in time to catch a ride with the postman, and she couldn’t picture herself crouching by the road, trying to hitch a lift with strangers. Not in this condition. Her day off was ruined. Fed up, she shoved her hands deeper into her anorak pockets and quickened her pace. It wasn’t as important to tread softly in the crunching snow here because the boys could be trusted not to give her away, if they woke. Yet she found herself scanning the windows in search of inquisitive faces. There was no one to be seen; even the bird had found itself shelter for the night. But she did spot faint tracks, presumably Einar’s, leading behind the building. Aldís paused and peered round for some means of obliterating them. Veigar was sure to spot them when he woke the boys and it wouldn’t take him long to work out that someone must have slipped out after curfew.

  Seeing a shovel in the porch, she grabbed it and, after a few clumsy attempts, got the hang of scraping away the footprints. She might as well continue behind the dormitory too, though it would mean trampling on the area she had already smoothed over. It was better to be certain; footprints under a window were bound to goad Veigar into action.

  The clouds closed ranks, darkness descended and the snow turned grey again. Aldís could still see dimly but felt increasingly jumpy, acutely aware of the empty landscape stretchin
g away behind the house, over hills and lava-fields. It was pitch black out there now. Reluctant to turn her back on this eerie void, she tried to work fast, moving crabwise so she’d be able to see out of the corner of her eye in the unlikely event that someone was out there. Then she stopped and peered down, puzzled, before stooping for a closer look. Under the window where Einar had apparently entered, she saw not only his tracks but another set approaching from out of the darkness. Without pausing to wonder how he’d climbed through the bars, she concentrated on the deep, unidentified footprints. Then, slowly and deliberately, she turned in the direction they had come from and followed them with her eyes as far as she could see. Some unknown person had walked in from the dark wasteland. And these tracks were deeper and sharper, more recent than Einar’s. Aldís straightened up cautiously and retreated from the window round the corner of the building. There she frantically swept snow over her and Einar’s footprints, trying not to think about the unknown person who might be lurking nearby. Perhaps the same person as the unseen presence in the dining room. Aldís almost expected to smell again the pungent reek of blood. Suddenly her headache and queasiness ceased to matter.

  Leaning the shovel against the wall, she looked over at the cowshed. What had seemed a short distance now appeared endless. The clouds showed no sign of relenting and allowing the moon to shine through again. Aldís dithered in the porch. She wasn’t sure which was worse: the idea that the bottle would be discovered the following morning or the prospect of trying to make it safely to the cowshed and back. She swallowed and steeled herself to make a run for it. If anyone approached she would scream at the top of her voice. The cowshed was almost within reach when she remembered that on the way back she would have to pause at every step to wipe out her tracks with one foot. It would be impossible to move fast. But it was too late for regrets now. She took a flying leap over the final stretch to the door.