A cold sweat had broken out on Aldís’s forehead and she knew her face was chalk-white. The heaving had brought tears to her eyes and her mascara was probably smudged. ‘I’m ill.’
‘No. You’re sick.’ Hákon stood up, went over to the sink and put down his empty cup beside her. ‘And it’s morning.’
Aldís spat out more saliva and stared at him uncomprehendingly. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ll work it out.’ He left the room, his spindly legs hardly making any impression in his loose trousers.
Aldís turned back to the sink and retched again. This time she brought up a powerful gush of brown bile.
* * *
The phone call was postponed. All pleasure at having made the decision to quit her job and ring her mother had evaporated, leaving nothing but the despondency that had paralysed her for the last few weeks. This was the first time she’d actually vomited, though she’d felt queasy now and then in the mornings: all it took was a boy with a snotty nose, leftover porridge in a bowl, a drainy smell in the toilet. Of course it was possible she had a stomach bug and would wake up tomorrow feeling as optimistic and happy as she had this morning. But she knew that was wishful thinking. Her breasts were tender and she was late, too. No further proof was necessary. She’d cast her mind back with an effort to her last period and calculated that she was at least two weeks overdue. It was a sign of the monotony of life at Krókur that she hadn’t noticed sooner. Every day was the same; they piled up behind her with nothing to distinguish them.
But she mustn’t go to pieces. She would get through the washing up after supper, just as she had managed to keep up a front this morning, at lunchtime and all afternoon. Work drove her on, providing her with a lifeline so she wouldn’t collapse in tears.
‘I’m going home soon.’ When she turned round, Tobbi was standing behind her, smiling enigmatically. He held out his plate as if it were a special gift. He had come in late for supper because he’d been handing up tools to Veigar who was patching the cowshed roof.
‘Just put it on the table.’ Aldís studied the boy with his too-long hair, his cheeks still bright red from coming in out of the cold. ‘Congratulations. Are you looking forward to it?’ She wasn’t sure what he wanted her to say and felt too dispirited to think of anything else.
Tobbi shuffled his feet. ‘Yes, sure.’ He scratched his head. ‘Mum’s ill. That’s why they’re letting me go.’
‘She’ll get better,’ said Aldís, though she guessed the prognosis was unlikely to be good. Boys weren’t allowed to leave just because their parents had flu. ‘When are you off?’
‘Tomorrow morning.’ The big toes of both feet were sticking through his socks. His trousers were too short and Aldís realised he had grown since last autumn when she arrived at Krókur. He hadn’t put on any weight, though; his worn clothes were as baggy now as the first time she had met him. ‘I don’t know if I’ll see you again, so I just wanted to say goodbye.’
‘I expect you’ll see me at breakfast.’ It came out brusquer than she’d intended. The boy’s gesture of friendship had touched her more deeply than she could bear at that moment. It took so little to make her cry these days and she couldn’t let him see her tears. ‘Thanks, Tobbi, love. I’ll miss you.’ She forced a smile. ‘I’m going to leave soon too, so perhaps I’ll bump into you in town.’
‘When? Are you moving to Reykjavík?’ The eagerness in his face was heartbreaking. A boy of his age shouldn’t be that excited at the possibility of bumping into a woman he barely knew. ‘Maybe I could visit you.’
‘Yes, you do that.’ Aldís turned back to the last bits of washing up.
Tobbi made no sign of leaving. She could hear him breathing behind her. ‘Can I tell Einar?’
Aldís’s hands stopped moving in the dirty water. A small air-bubble rose from the rubber glove with the hole in it. ‘Sure, why not?’ She heard Tobbi dash out, clearly excited to have something to tell. Another air-bubble escaped the glove. Aldís carried on washing up. A couple of glasses crashed together and one broke in half. Aldís fished out the pieces and threw them in the bin. She didn’t bother to hide them under the other rubbish as she would normally have done, no longer afraid of a scolding from Veigar or Lilja. She had other things on her mind. Tobbi was bound to mention her imminent departure to Veigar in the car tomorrow. She would have to hand in her notice before then. She took the last glass out of the scummy water and laid it on top of the drying rack, not caring that it was cloudy and still had a crust of milk in the bottom.
Aldís knew the couple had gone over to the hall as usual after supper to pray – or so they claimed – but Aldís suspected it was a ploy to avoid helping with the clearing up. Perhaps they sat there reading or relaxing after the day’s work.
She turned off the light and went out into the corridor. The door to the hall was closed but she could hear a muttering that could well be praying. Taking a deep breath, she ran a hand over her hair, then knocked before her courage could desert her. It reminded her of swimming lessons at school; sometimes it was better to dive straight in than lower oneself into the water inch by inch. She opened the door without waiting for an invitation. The couple were sitting on the front bench, faces turned to see who had the audacity to burst in on them like that. Lilja’s hands were still clasped together.
‘What’s going on?’ Veigar seemed more surprised than angry. Anxious, even. Perhaps he was expecting bad news about the cowshed roof.
‘I’m leaving. I just wanted to let you know.’ It was all she had prepared. A silence fell that no one seemed willing to break. ‘When can I go?’
‘Leaving?’ Lilja appeared hurt.
Veigar kept his calm, though it was obvious he thought she was being unreasonable. ‘You can’t just leave.’
‘I’m handing in my notice. When can I go?’ Aldís was aware that her face was scarlet. She wished this were over, yet felt proud of herself for speaking out at last. ‘I know I have to work out my notice. How long is it?’
Veigar spluttered. Aldís couldn’t remember seeing him at a loss before. ‘Won’t you think again, Aldís, dear? We were just saying it’s time to review the wages and so on. There’s no need to rush into anything.’
‘I’m pregnant. I can’t stay here any longer. When can I go?’ The words poured out like this morning’s vomit. She had a hunch that once she’d said this, there would be no turning back. The part of her that longed to get away had taken over and intended to make sure that she wouldn’t be swayed by any fair-sounding offers.
The couple sat there, stunned. Veigar put his arm round Lilja who looked away and fixed her eyes on Jesus. ‘Did you say pregnant?’ Veigar licked his lips. He avoided Aldís’s eye. ‘Yes. I think so. Or, rather, I know I am. I’ve got to leave.’ Aldís gripped the door jamb as if to stop herself running away.
‘Who’s the father? Is it someone from here?’
‘That’s none of your business.’ She blushed even deeper red and tightened her grip on the doorframe.
‘Are you going to keep the baby?’ Lilja’s gaze was still fixed on Jesus, as if the question was addressed to him.
‘Yes. Well, we’ll see.’ All of a sudden Aldís found the situation absurd. She wasn’t even sure she was going to have a baby, and certainly hadn’t decided what would happen to it or to herself. Her despair had been so great – it simply mustn’t be true. But if it was, she would just have to deal with it. Perhaps Einar would shoulder his responsibility. It would undeniably be easier to cope with his help; she knew from personal experience what it was like being brought up by a single mother. And, however much she loved her, she couldn’t bear to end up like her own mother. She and Einar would just have to work it out together. That would be best for the child and for her. For him, too. But first they needed to get a few things straight.
It was as if Veigar read her mind. ‘If the father’s who I think he is, he might be able to help if you decide to get rid of it.’ He stood up.
Al
dís didn’t understand this but sensed that it wasn’t kindly meant. Her anger over the letters and the couple’s intolerable behaviour suddenly flared up, as if she’d received a physical blow. ‘You’re wrong. Anyway, at least my child won’t end up buried in a hole in a farmyard.’ She let her fury get the upper hand. ‘Buried alive.’ Without waiting for his reaction she fled into the corridor and didn’t draw breath until she was outside the building. Behind her, she heard Lilja give a scream of anguish that pierced her to the marrow. She put her hands over her ears. Revived by the fresh air, she grinned bitterly. There was no way they would force her to work out her notice after this.
* * *
The moon still hung in the sky and the stars lay scattered over the heavens as on any other evening. Nature seemed oblivious to the transformation in Aldís’s life. She sat on the bench behind the little house, gazing into the darkness. She heard the snow crunching but didn’t look round. Whoever it was would either walk past or stop and speak to her. What did it matter?
‘Tobbi told me you’re leaving.’ Einar sat down beside her, hands in his anorak pockets.
‘Yes. I’ve got to get away from here.’ The puff of steam forming in front of her face made Aldís long for a cigarette. But there would be no more smoking from now on. Perhaps she could have one to celebrate if it turned out she wasn’t pregnant after all.
Einar heaved a sigh. ‘I was hoping it wasn’t true.’
Together they stared out into the black void beyond the farm. ‘Veigar made a comment about you, Einar, that I need you to explain.’ Without looking at him, she continued: ‘It’s terribly important for me to know what you did and why you’re here. I can’t tell you why just now, but hopefully there’ll be a chance later.’ She could hear him breathing heavily and out of the corner of her eye she saw him bow his head. ‘I have to know, Einar. You have to let me in on the secret.’
And just as Aldís thought things couldn’t get any worse, the impossible happened. But it wasn’t until she came across the bird, lying dead in the snow by the door to the little house, that her tears finally began to flow.
Chapter 30
Diljá came and perched on the corner of the desk in Róberta’s cubicle, where Ódinn had taken refuge after their meeting with Eyjalín. He couldn’t face returning to his own desk and having to speak to his colleagues or resume work on the report that it was now clear he would never finish. His immediate impulse had been to rush out of the building but he hadn’t known where to go. Diljá put her warm hand on his shoulder. ‘I told you. Iceland is a small country. You can’t turn a corner without bumping into an old friend or a relative, or an ex. Almost everyone’s connected somehow.’
Ódinn gave a hollow laugh. ‘Whatever.’
‘This is bullshit. I really don’t see why you should give up the case.’ Diljá folded her arms, pushing up her shapely bosom, and for an instant Ódinn forgot his troubles, then he looked away, ashamed. ‘Seriously. Who needs to know? Heimir wouldn’t find out if you tattooed it on your forehead in big letters.’
‘I have to declare it. I don’t care who knows about my connection to Aldís. I can’t go on with it for my own reasons.’ There was no way he could sit down at the computer and bash out this new information for the report. It was hard enough trying to write objectively when you knew the people involved, let alone when your former mother-in-law, the grandmother of your child, was accused of causing the death of two boys forty years ago. It didn’t matter that the person who’d made this claim was a fruitcake. ‘I’m finding it hard enough to keep my head straight, and I find I keep having to manipulate the facts, however clearly I try to set out Eyjalín’s accusations.’
‘Are you close to Aldís?’
‘God, no. She can’t stand the sight of me, and it’s mutual.’ Ódinn exhaled. ‘I’m thinking of Rún. My daughter’s got real problems. It would be terrible for her to witness the media frenzy if it emerged that her father had mishandled this investigation and that her grandmother was a murder suspect.’
‘Oh, please. I don’t believe Eyjalín knows a thing. So what if your former mother-in-law fancied this Einar, as Eyjalín claims? Last time I checked, young girls didn’t go around killing the boys they were crazy about. And come to think of it, how can Eyjalín still be in love with someone who died so long ago?’ Diljá rose to her feet. ‘She’s off her rocker – I hope you realise that.’ Ódinn shrugged. In the circumstances he probably wasn’t the best judge of who was or wasn’t sane. ‘But she must have been absolutely delighted to meet Róberta, and I bet the feeling was mutual.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Róberta was lonely and didn’t have many friends, then suddenly this posh woman turns up, thinking she’s her saviour and treating her like a confidante. It must have worked like a drug on the poor woman. I bet that’s why she took that stuff home – to earn brownie points with Eyjalín by returning the letters to her or making sure they wouldn’t be referred to in the investigation. Unless she was planning to look into the matter herself. At the very least Eyjalín must have been the reason why Róberta started taking a personal interest. You saw the photo. Who on earth gives someone they barely know a framed photograph of themselves? And what kind of person would put the picture up in their bedroom? They were both a bit nuts. You should have seen Eyjalín at the funeral. You’d have thought she was mourning her twin sister.’
‘That doesn’t alter my decision. I can’t work on this.’ Ódinn rubbed his eyes. The lids felt like sandpaper. ‘You’ll sort it out, Diljá. The case will be in much better hands with you and your lack of compromising connections.’ Ódinn stared at the photo of the boys on the wall and they stared back, forever frozen in 1974, the year the picture must have been taken. He was about to do some mental arithmetic to work out how old they would have been today when it suddenly dawned on him. The dates on the whiteboard; Einar had been eighteen when he died, much older than the other boys. And what’s more … ‘Jesus!’ He took the photograph down from the wall.
‘What?’ Diljá leant in to scrutinise the picture. ‘It’s not as if you haven’t seen it before.’
‘Yes, but I’ve only just realised what it shows.’ The photo of Einar and Thorbjörn must have been taken at Krókur early in 1974, at some point before their death on 5 March. Lára had been born in November 1974. The resemblance was unmistakable in the still-boyish features. Ódinn groaned. It also explained Eyjalín’s hatred of Aldís, whose relationship with Einar had evidently been more intimate than the woman had cared to admit. She’d claimed that Aldís’s feelings had been unrequited. No doubt that was why, once her theory about Veigar was shown to be untenable, she had shifted the blame for the boys’ death to Aldís.
He tried to remember what Lára had said about her father. Ódinn had taken little interest in her family and the subject had rarely come up, but he did remember that her father was supposed to have died before she was born, and that her parents hadn’t been living together. He also had a vague memory of hearing that her father’s family lived in America, though he could be wrong. Lára’s patronymic was the generic Karlsdóttir, a second name often used in the old days when paternity was uncertain or the mother wanted to conceal the father’s identity. But there could be no doubt: Einar was Lára’s father and Rún’s grandfather. ‘I’m calling it a day. I can’t take any more.’
* * *
Ódinn leafed distractedly through yet another magazine in the waiting room. He didn’t know why he was doing this, only that it seemed to help fractionally to look at pictures of a bunch of carefree foreigners. Perhaps the solution would be for him and Rún to begin a new life abroad, far from Lára’s grave and everything connected to her; far from Aldís and her messy past. He put down the magazine. Going abroad wasn’t the answer: he and Rún would never be like the beautiful, happy people in the pictures. Besides, for all he knew the father and daughter in the golfing magazine might be coping with the same sort of traumas as them. Perhaps the father was afraid
he’d murdered the mother of his child and that his mother-in-law had killed the little girl’s grandfather. And the moment they put down their clubs they’d be overwhelmed by the horror of it all. Yeah, right.
He suspected Nanna and her colleague at the practice had deliberately avoided putting a clock in the waiting room in case the ticking triggered anxiety in their patients. Although he had nothing better to do than to wait for Rún, it was incredibly tempting to fish out his phone and watch the time pass. Without warning, the door opened and Nanna appeared with a flushed-looking Rún. He looked up from his phone. There were still ten minutes left. ‘Could I have a word?’ Nanna smiled warmly at Rún. ‘You can wait out here in the meantime. There are some Disney comics on the shelf.’
Rún walked silently past Ódinn and sat down, head drooping. It hurt Ódinn to abandon her like this but he felt obliged to do as Nanna asked. As she closed the door behind them Rún looked up and their eyes met for a second before the door shut. ‘Do sit down. I won’t keep you long.’
‘That’d be good. We’ve got to be somewhere else shortly.’ It was a lie but he wanted to get back to his daughter as soon as possible.
‘Right.’ Nanna looked as if she’d been asked to break the news of a death. ‘I just wanted a word with you about the condition you insisted on the other day – that I shouldn’t talk to Rún about her mother’s death.’
‘Yes. I’d rather you didn’t.’ Ódinn didn’t know what to say if she demanded to know why.
‘I don’t know what your objection is, but I have to say it seems very unwise. Of course, I’ll respect your wishes, but I wanted to ask you to reconsider.’
‘I can’t. Not at the moment.’
She looked surprised, then narrowed her eyes when she began to speak. ‘You asked if your daughter could come to me for counselling. It’s very much against her own wishes – like most children, she’d rather do almost anything than talk to me. She’s not here on her doctor’s advice or because she was ordered to undergo treatment, so I assume you’ll stop bringing her if I say I can’t continue without addressing her mother’s death. Am I right?’
The Undesired Page 27
