Chilled to the Bone

by Quentin Bates

  Reykjanesbraut was dark, and when Gunna saw the streetlights on either side of the road waving dolefully in the wind she realized she needed to concentrate, as a gust of wind hit the car and threatened to send it spinning into the central barrier.

  With barely sixteen years between them, she and Gísli had almost grown up together. They had always been close, to Gunna’s mind closer than her contemporaries were to their children, especially as Gísli’s father had played no part in his son’s life. The narrow age gap had forged a bond that others found difficult to understand, though it had been threatened several times. When Gunna had met and married Ragnar Sæmundsson, it was as if Gísli, then only eight, had drifted into his own little world, from where Raggi’s attention and perseverance had eventually drawn him out. When Laufey was born, though, there was nothing to indicate that he resented the arrival of a little sister.

  When they had been hit by Raggi’s death only a few years later, Laufey remembered almost nothing of him, while Gísli had been left with fond and enduring memories of the stepfather who had only been with them a few years, but who had made a lasting impression on him. The shock had battered them all, but Gísli proved to be the pillar Gunna leaned on in order to get herself through those tough early months as well as, she reminded herself, the black moments that still returned occasionally.

  Picking over the past and asking herself what had gone wrong, Gunna almost missed the turning to Grindavík that would take her across the lava fields to Hvalvík, the run-down coastal village where she had been the village copper until just recently.

  She wondered if Gísli would appear that evening and hoped that he would. She worried that her reaction to his news the day before could have been taken the wrong way. The news a few months earlier that Gísli’s long-term girlfriend Soffía was pregnant had been a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. It only took Gunna a week or two to get used to the idea of becoming a grandmother before her fortieth birthday. Soffía had been radiant, planning and looking forward to motherhood.

  Skirting Grindavík, she saw that there was spray coming over the harbour walls and hoped there would be some time for the weather to abate before Gísli’s next trip to sea, then she scolded herself for worrying unnecessarily about him. The ship he sailed on as a deckhand was big and modern enough to cope with the worst weather the North Atlantic could throw at it.

  There were far more dangers for a young man on shore, she reflected bitterly, coasting down the road into Hvalvík and through the village, stopping outside the terraced houses in a row right on the edge of the lava fields. She sat in the car for ten minutes outside the darkened house. The absence of lights indicated that Laufey was either at some club or else with Sigrún, the friend who once used to babysit the precociously clever girl when police business called for Gunna to work awkward hours.

  She wondered how Drífa must be feeling. She struggled to recall much about the stepdaughter her elder brother Svanur had taken on all those years ago when he’d moved in with a woman with three small children. Drífa was the eldest, a quiet, studious girl who had blossomed in her first year away from home at university in Reykjavík. A year later she had become unrecognizable as the same person. Still vivacious and outgoing, Drífa had started dressing in black, colouring her hair and wearing heavy silver jewellery, while her university course in accountancy had been abandoned as she switched to sociology and immersed herself in politics.

  Gunna held her head in her hands. She wondered what Drífa saw in Gísli, a stolid young man with no radical views and who seemed to have a career path mapped out ahead of him. She wondered how Soffía had reacted when Gísli told her his news, imagining the anger and disappointment at what she would surely see as a betrayal of the worst kind. She couldn’t help sympathizing with Soffía’s situation, having parted company with Gísli’s father long before the boy was born all those years ago. She was also certain that Soffía was her preferred choice of daughter-in-law, a fiery but level-headed girl with a mind of her own. Drífa was an unknown quantity, as she’d only encountered the girl on a few occasions and had to trawl her memory to dig up any details about her.

  A tap at the window shook her from her reverie and she looked around to see Laufey’s toothy smile beaming at her from underneath the hood of the parka that encircled her face.

  ‘All right, Mum? Thought you were asleep there. Forgot your keys?’

  ‘No. Sorry, sweetheart. Just miles away.’

  ‘OK. Sigrún says hi. What’s for dinner?’

  Gunna was hit by the realization that she hadn’t even thought that far.

  ‘I have no idea. Open the door and I’ll be right with you, darling. There’s something I need to tell you about,’ she said with a feeling of dread.

  Magnús drove carefully through Kópavogur, wondering what the brooding man in the passenger seat had in mind. Baddó merely pointed in which direction he wanted to go as he thought what to do next. The wind buffeted the car as they drove through Gardabær and down the hill into Hafnarfjördur, keeping off the main roads and among the traffic.

  As they cruised through Hafnarfjördur and joined the evening traffic leaving town, Baddó sighed.

  ‘The tart at your hotel,’ he said suddenly. ‘Seen her before?’

  Magnús was silent for a moment. ‘Where are we going?’ he stammered finally.

  ‘Never you mind. That woman at your hotel. You’ve seen her more than once, haven’t you? Who does she work with?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘It must be a racket. Who’s she working for? Or is she solo?’

  Magnús shook his head wildly. ‘I’m telling you. I saw her a couple of times. I don’t know what she was doing there. We’re not supposed to ask.’

  Baddó grinned in satisfaction. ‘Ah. We’re getting somewhere at last. So you have seen her?’

  ‘Er. Occasionally. There was yesterday, and the time before that was months ago, last summer.’

  ‘This businessman, Haraldur. He was in a bad way, wasn’t he?’

  ‘He was very upset.’

  ‘Not too fast. Keep to eighty. Tell me what happened. Every detail,’ Baddó instructed as the lights of Reykjanesbraut flashed by, illuminating the beads of sweat running down Magnús’s face.

  ‘He booked the room, paid in advance. She came to the hotel and asked for him. They sat in the bar for a while. I didn’t see them leave. I thought she’d left the building. About an hour and a half later there was a call to the front desk; said a man was in trouble in 406 and would we help him?’

  ‘Was it a woman calling?’

  ‘I don’t know. Someone else took the call.’

  ‘And you went and untied him?’ Baddó said delightedly.

  ‘Yeah. I don’t know what went on in there but I got housekeeping to clean the room and get it ready right away. The man, Haraldur, came down and checked out on the spot, even though he was due to stay for a few more days.’

  ‘So he left? What do you know about this guy?’

  ‘Nothing. He’s in some sort of business. I don’t know what.’ They were past the lighted part of Reykjanesbraut and Magnús became increasingly nervous in the darkness as cars and trucks sped past them, throwing gritty slush in their wake. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Not far. This woman, then, has she done this stunt before?’

  ‘Stunt?’

  ‘Fuck me, boy. It’s obvious, isn’t it? Promises these old farts a spanking, ties them up and then clears out with their wallets. It’s not that hard to work out, is it?’

  ‘Oh . . . I hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘Well, has she?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Done this before?’

  ‘Er . . . I don’t know. Maybe. There was some talk a while ago, but we were all told not to say anything about it. Look, how far are we going? There’s not much petrol left in the tank.’

  ‘In that case, you can come off at the next roundabout.’

  Magnús s
lowed and eased the car down a slip road to a small roundabout at the bottom, where he stopped the car. He tensed and Baddó extended a bear-like hand.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ he growled. ‘That way,’ he said, pointing to the right. ‘Into the car park. Kill the engine and switch the lights off.’

  Magnús obeyed. The car came to a standstill in a deserted car park large enough for only a dozen cars. A forlorn picnic table squatted on a raised area at the end, lit up by the passing beams of cars speeding along Reykjanesbraut. Rain pattered on the windscreen. Magnús shivered.

  ‘This is where we get out and go for a little walk, young man,’ Baddó said with the sigh of a man with an unpleasant job ahead of him.

  Jóel Ingi lounged on the sofa, practically sinking into it, fiddling with his phone while Agnes watched a movie. He hardly took in any of the film, while she sat entranced, her hand going to her mouth occasionally from the bowl of popcorn he had made and placed on her lap. The credits finally rolled and Agnes looked up.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked with a sideways look.

  ‘Yeah. Me? I’m fine.’

  ‘Sure? You’ve been sulking all evening.’

  ‘I have not!’ Jóel Ingi retorted.

  Agnes let a trickle of popcorn slide into her mouth and crunched suggestively. ‘You are so sulking,’ she sniggered. ‘What’s up with you?’

  Jóel Ingi sighed. ‘Æi. Work shit, that’s all.’ He yawned.

  Agnes leaned forward to put the bowl, now containing nothing more than a few unpopped kernels and a layer of salt, onto the vast coffee table. She let herself fall sideways and her cheek rested against his shoulder. ‘What’s the matter, big boy?’ She whispered in a tone that normally had him eating out of her hand. ‘Done something you shouldn’t have?’

  Jóel Ingi frowned. For once there were things on his mind that drove his wife’s sure-fire seduction techniques right out of his mind.

  ‘Or not done something you should have?’

  ‘Æi, Agnes, what’s the matter with you tonight?’ he snapped as his phone tinkled.

  Agnes’s face set like a rock and she sat bolt upright, straightening the cardigan that had begun to come adrift.

  ‘There’s nothing the matter with me,’ she said harshly. ‘I’m not the one who’s grouchy and uptight. I’m not the one who’s waiting for someone to call,’ she spat and stood up. Jóel Ingi heard her footsteps on the iron spiral staircase that led down to the flat from their cosy TV attic. Then the bathroom door slammed and he heard the sound of water running as his phone tinkled again. He scanned the message on the screen, frowned and sent a quick reply before sighing to himself and wondering how long it would be before Agnes deigned to speak to him again. Occasionally it was a relief to have her in a foul mood. At least that way Jóel Ingi knew where he stood.

  He could hear the muffled roar of the shower running at full blast as he sprawled on the sofa, twisting his phone in his hands and wondering whether or not to call. He picked up the TV remote, flicked through a dozen channels and frowned at the lightweight satellite dross on offer everywhere, before scrolling through the list of numbers on his phone and selecting Hinrick. He pressed ‘call’, then immediately cancelled it, frowning to himself with one eye on the TV before deciding to call after all.

  ‘Hæ. It’s me.’

  ‘So I see.’

  Jóel Ingi could hear music in the background that practically drowned out the voice. ‘Anything yet?’ he asked.

  ‘I told you yesterday,’ Hinrik drawled, and from the self-satisfied sound of his voice, Jóel Ingi imagined him lying on a leather sofa being administered to by gangster’s molls of every description. ‘I told you yesterday that my best guy is dealing with this. When there’s something to tell, you’ll be the first to hear it, my friend.’

  ‘All right. Just wanted to be sure. After all . . .’

  ‘After all, this is costing you a lot of money and you want results. That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it?’ Hinrik asked, his tone suddenly harsh.

  ‘No. Not at all.’ Jóel Ingi said, flustered by the change of direction.

  ‘That’s all right then,’ Hinrik said, softly this time. ‘The job’s being done. Now leave me alone to get on with it, will you?’

  Jóel Ingi found himself looking at his phone, the connection having been abruptly terminated. He tossed it onto the sofa and looked out of the small skylight that provided a view of city roofs, as long as you stood on tiptoe.

  ‘I’m going to bed.’ He turned and saw Agnes, her pale shoulders bare above the towel wrapped around her and her hair dripping as she looked into the TV attic from halfway up the stairs. ‘You coming, or are you going to stay up there all night making secret phone calls?’

  ‘Agnes, I’m just . . .’ he fumbled, but she had already gone and this time the bedroom door slammed.

  It had been too long, Baddó flexed his shoulders and surveyed the bar from a vantage point at one end that let him see the door and, more importantly, who came through it. The music throbbed and it irritated him, this poppy youngsters’ music that was all computers and drum machines. There was no soul to it, no feeling. A bunch of sweaty guys with guitars in a smoky club, that’s music, he thought, not this factory shit. But hell, the place was busy enough and it was time for a man to iron out the creases after a long time away.

  He sipped his beer, determined to make it last. The fucking price of it these days! Not that the price of beer alone had prompted him to leave the country when he did. Baddó reflected that it had been the right thing to do, even though it hadn’t ended well. He could have stayed, he thought, faced them down, and all that unpleasantness would have been ancient history by now.

  A couple of likely looking women were positioned here and there, one not too far away. Baddó returned to his thoughts, not that he made a habit of picking over the past, but seeing María again brought so much back.

  He looked over at the woman nearest to him; she was a few feet away along the bar, trying to get the barman’s attention. Decent figure, he reckoned, not too tall and no stick insect. Blonde – a natural one as far as he could make out – although maybe a little faded as middle age approached. Nicely dressed but not flashy. A few miles on the clock, but that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. He sensed that she was about to look his way and averted his eyes, looking back in her direction just as she frowned in irritation as the barman again served someone else.

  ‘Hey, Andri!’ Baddó called in a tone that was gruff but carried in spite of the hum of noise. It was a voice that commanded attention and the barman looked up smartly at the hard-looking character he’d seen drinking with Hinrik a few times, a questioning look on his face.

  ‘Lady here needs serving,’ Baddó said sharply, and Andri was in front of her in a moment, his original customer angrily bewildered at being abandoned.

  ‘Thanks for that. I feel I owe you a drink,’ the woman said, appearing at his side ten minutes later, her group of friends at a table in the far corner forgotten.

  Don’t be too keen, he told himself. ‘You’re welcome. I don’t like to see someone without a drink for too long.’

  She smiled. Strong teeth, lines at the corners of her mouth, sharp blue eyes. She put out a hand. ‘I’m Ebba. Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Baddó.’

  ‘I’ll get you that drink if you’ll make sure the barman gets here.’

  This time Baddó didn’t even have to call. Andri was there as Baddó raised a finger. He was pleased to see her ask for two beers, as he had never held with fancy drinks for women. ‘Cheers,’ she said, clinking her glass against his and looking him in the eyes over its rim as she drank.

  3

  Saturday

  Gunna had intended to make the most of a morning at home, but by the time she had washed and dried clothes and given the kitchen a birthday, she realized that there was precious little left of it.

  ‘Laufey! Laufey Oddbjörg Ragnarsdóttir! Rise and shine,
young lady,’ she called in a thoroughly cheerful but convincing tone into the darkness of Laufey’s bedroom, clicking the light on and off again.

  ‘What? What time is it?’ Laufey moaned.

  ‘It’s ten thirty on this delightful, cold, wet Saturday morning, and as Steini’s gone to Keflavík to drive a digger for the day and I have to go to work this afternoon, I took an executive decision that it’s your turn to clean the bathroom.’

  There was an incoherent moan from under the bedclothes and Gunna hoped that it signalled agreement with no further argument.

  ‘I’m going to the shop,’ she declared into the gloom. ‘Be up by the time I get back, would you?’

  The village of Hvalvík’s only shop was sparsely populated on a blustery morning and it was a windblown and red-cheeked Gunnhildur who returned home with two bags of shopping to find a black car parked diagonally across her drive.

  Scowling to herself, she parked in the street instead, carried her bags through the widening puddles that had been ice the day before and let the front door bang as she let herself in.

  ‘Laufey!’

  ‘Yeah, Mum.’ The reply didn’t come from the bathroom, where she’d hoped her daughter would be toiling with a brush and mop.

  ‘Is that one of your friends who doesn’t know how to park a car straight?’ Gunna demanded, dropping her boots by the door and carrying in three shopping bags, which she heaved onto the worktop before turning to see Laufey sitting at the kitchen table, patting the hand of a tearful young woman with a flood of ink-black hair straggling over the collar of her coat.

  Gunna’s face fell.

  ‘Drífa? What brings you here? Are you all right, sweetheart?’

  Pregnancy had not been kind to Drífa and when she stood up to hug Gunna, she could see the prominent bulge around the girl’s midriff. It was only a few months since Gunna had last seen her brother’s stepdaughter and the change was a shock. Her normally slim face with its lopsided smile had changed to a pale plumpness that looked distinctly out of place.