On A Small Island

by Grant Nicol

  After a few visits to my flat he had seen enough of my paintings and had still agreed to pose for me but probably thought that I would never actually get around to it. Well, if that was what he thought then he had been wrong. Very wrong.

  During my tidying burst I had kept to hand the bits and pieces that I would need to start work on a new piece and as soon as we were done in the bedroom that was exactly what I did.

  I didn’t need to persuade him to get undressed; it was getting him to stand still that was the problem. His natural tendency was to keep moving about the place but once he realised that we weren’t playing a game he made a better statue than I would have ever imagined.

  In an effort to preserve his dignity when people viewed the finished product he insisted that he get to face away from me while I was drawing him. I had happily agreed to this one demand. As long as he was posing for me, I didn’t really care.

  If he’d been concerned about me making the experience a little uncomfortable then he really shouldn’t have worried. As it turned out I don’t think things could have been more uncomfortable for him if I’d been trying to make him nervous.

  For as long as we’d been living away from home both Kristjana and I had always had a set of keys for each other’s flats. I’m pretty sure that it had originally been her idea, just in case one of us locked ourselves out of our own flat.

  This arrangement had come in handy on many occasions but as my sister had always been a bit more needy than me in the company department, she used hers a lot more than I used mine. I tended to revel in whatever time I had to myself whereas she found living on her own boring if she didn’t have something to do.

  Her cello took up plenty of her time when she wasn’t selling t-shirts and woollen jumpers to tourists in a shop on Laugavegur, but as she only needed to walk down Stýrimannastígur and then turn right at the end of the street onto Vesturgata, I got more than my fair share of unexpected visits.

  There had been occasions when I had been known to turn my phone to silent mode when I didn’t feel like being disturbed, even though it would only make her all the more desperate to contact me. I’d figured that since she was performing later in the day she would have more than enough on her plate and might just leave me alone. That way Baldvin and I could be left alone until I had to meet up with Elín later on. Of course, as happens so often in life, I was quite wrong.

  As the front door opened I could see Baldvin flinch as his instincts told him to cover himself with his hands. I had just about got my first outline done and wasn’t about to redo it.

  ‘Stay exactly as you are,’ I ordered him in a no-nonsense tone.

  On top of the fact that I didn’t want him moving just yet, I knew that the only person it could be was Kristjana. For the life of me I couldn’t think of a better way to put her off bursting in on me than having her confronted with Baldvin front on in his present state of undress.

  She had never had much success dating men and was as awkward around them as anyone I’d ever met. I knew that her jaw would hit the floor as soon as she walked in and I wasn’t at all disappointed with the reaction I got.

  On her way down the street she had managed to get herself soaking wet. She was wearing her cello in its hard case like a backpack and her wet hair clung to her face as she struggled to figure out where she should be looking. Or not looking, as the case might be. Her surprise and shock slowly turned to something approaching amusement as she figured out what it was that she had stumbled upon.

  ‘You can close your mouth now. You’ve got Baldvin at something of a disadvantage here. He can’t shake your hand right now. I’m sure he’d like to, though.’

  Kristjana took the cello case off her back and leant it up against the wall.

  ‘I tried to call but you’re not answering your phone and when I saw your car outside I just... I should have knocked, though, I can see that now. Nice to meet you, Baldvin, I’m Kristjana, Ylfa’s sister. I’m sure she’s told you all about me.’

  She moved to offer him her hand but realised he had his fingers locked together behind his head for the pose. With no idea what to do with herself she just stood where she was talking rapidly to calm her nerves or perhaps because of them.

  Baldvin, on the other hand, had little or no choice but to stand there until she had finished saying her piece. I would have given pretty much anything to see the expression on his face as this imbecilic girl stood in front of him instead of making herself scarce.

  ‘Baldvin, I’m playing tonight at Harpa. You should come along if you’re not doing anything. In fact I need a lift there, that’s why I came over. I need to find a towel, I’m soaked. I must look a real sight,’ she said as much to herself as anyone else and finally headed off to the bathroom. She was smiling from ear to ear while trying very hard not to. I could hear Baldvin exhale heavily as she walked out of the room. I was hoping they had both found the experience as uncomfortable as I had found it amusing.

  ‘You’ll have to forgive her, she doesn’t get out much. I’m so sorry about that,’ I lied through my teeth. ‘I had no idea she was coming over.’ That was the truth at least.

  ‘I hope she didn’t let too much cold air in,’ I said successfully resisting the urge to burst out laughing.

  Baldvin cleared his throat hesitantly; he was obviously feeling a little awkward. I wasn’t at all sure how men felt about being naked in front of a girl they’d never met before but I would have been in shock if it had been me. He still didn’t know what to say.

  ‘I won’t be much longer if you can just hold that pose for me. Then I suppose I’ll have to give her a lift down to Harpa.’

  ‘No problem,‘ he finally said without turning around. ‘I think she got a bigger shock than I did. I could give her a lift when we’re done. I have to head back to Álftamýri soon so it would be on my way.’

  ‘That’d suit me just fine, I hate being her taxi driver.’

  By the time Kristjana had towelled herself off and made us all some coffee I had finished most of my painting and graciously allowed Baldvin to dress himself once again. If he had found meeting my sister uncomfortable he wasn’t letting it show. If nothing else, it would give Kristjana something to talk about with her orchestra buddies later on.

  Once we were all sitting around the kitchen table drinking our coffee I decided to bring up the recent events at the house. Kristjana had been terribly shocked at what had occurred but had been silent on the subject since her unexpected arrival. She had only met Jóhannes a few times but the thought of such violence so close to home had caused her great distress, as it had us all.

  ‘It could have turned out even worse than it actually did,’ she said alluding to the fact that Dad could quite easily have been killed as well.

  ‘I think that if whoever was responsible had wanted him dead then he would be,’ I said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Kristjana asked.

  ‘If they’d wanted him dead as well then he wouldn’t be with us any more. He was meant to survive so he could observe it all. It’s possible it was meant as some kind of warning. Dad seems to think there was a note left in Jóhannes’s mouth but the police haven’t said anything about it. He could have been mistaken, though; it must have all been pretty traumatic.’

  ‘It sounds like something those biker types would do. Maybe Jóhannes owed them money for drugs. This could have been their way of settling the debt,’ Kristjana suggested.

  ‘It would have to have been a great deal of money. I’m not aware of him knowing anyone like that and I like to think that I knew him pretty well. He was a good boy, he wasn’t mixed up in anything stupid like that,’ I felt the need to defend poor Jóhannes since he was no longer around to do so himself.

  The image of the scars down his back appeared to me as an unbidden reminder that there were probably plenty of things that I didn’t know about him, no matter what I thought.

  ‘I don’t see any other explanation for it, though,’ Kristjana continued. ‘
It’s hard to see what an old man like our father could have done to make someone so angry. He’s never done anything to anyone.’

  ‘It’s about time that Baldvin was heading off. He’s going to drop you off on his way home. That way I can clean up here and I’ll see you after the concert.’

  ‘Make sure you sit down the front so I can see you both.’

  She picked her cello case up off the floor and put it on her back again.

  ‘It looks like we’re off, then,’ Baldvin said.

  I gave him a peck on the cheek and told him I’d call him later. As they walked out the door together Kristjana smiled at him in a way that would have made me a little jealous if I hadn’t known her better. Maybe it was just time that she got herself a man of her own.

  CHAPTER 8

  By the time I reached Harpa prior to my date with Elín, the rain had moved away but the wind was now strong enough to make walking into it something of a struggle. I had called Elín one last time to once again ensure her attendance and had been reassured that she would be there as soon as she was finished at the office. She worked in a modern building on Borgartún, which was no more than two or three minutes away if she drove or in the more unlikely scenario that she decided to walk, it would still only take her around ten minutes. I could almost begin to relax.

  Still, my nerves dictated that I head straight for the restaurant bar on the ground floor as soon as I arrived. The open-plan dining and bar area was crowded with festival-goers from near and far. It was the second night of a major local festival that involved musical acts from all over Iceland but also incorporated bands from Europe and North America. The concert hall had been in operation for about three years now and served as one of the festival’s main venues. The rest of the year it was home for the orchestra with whom Kristjana was to about to perform for the first time. The material they were to play was the work of a local artist, an up-and-coming composer who had made a name for himself both in Iceland and overseas.

  I still hadn’t seen the interior of Eldborg, the concert chamber in which she would be performing but by all accounts it was quite impressive. It was the largest of four performance spaces within the building and located up an imposing staircase on the first floor. As the minutes ticked by I became more and more aware of exactly how nervous I really was. About Elín, that was. Despite all her promises I knew all too well that for her, old habits die hard. I moved myself to the bar on the first floor balcony where I would be close to the Eldborg doors and was still in a good position to see anyone arriving below.

  Two beers later my worst fears were realised as I heard the bell from within the hall heralding the imminent beginning of the performance. Still no sign of Elín. I cursed her solidly out loud without thinking where I was, drawing more than a few stares from other Icelandic concert goers. I joined the line filing into the hall and then looked around for somewhere to sit, alone. Despite Kristjana’s suggestion that I sit as near to the stage as possible I decided to find somewhere nearer the back where my unaccompanied presence would not be noticed. I didn’t want Kristjana to know that her horrible older sister hadn’t made the effort to show up until after the performance. I was going to have harsh words with her as soon as I could. She had lied to the both of us repeatedly, and for the last time. I had reached my breaking point with her.

  The blood-red velvet interior of the chamber gave the place a remarkably intimate atmosphere despite its 1,500-seat capacity. The low ceiling beneath the upper tiers added to the compact feeling and while I had a good line of sight to the stage I couldn’t actually see any of the people above me. It felt cosy and grand all at the same time.

  As the musicians filed out onto the large black stage I saw Kristjana take her seat on the right hand side with the rest of the cellists. She appeared calm and at ease, and was not looking about the room for us as I thought she might have done. I was genuinely happy for her; she was finally doing what she had always wanted to do.

  Kristjana performed the first piece and didn’t return for the second. I assumed she was backstage relaxing. Some people in the crowd seemed a little restless after the first piece. A lot of them left and the venue was filled again with new arrivals for the second recital. It was hard to tell if people had actually come to see the orchestra perform or if they were simply using their festival wristbands to their full advantage, taking in as many different venues as they possibly could in one night.

  After the show was over I waited just outside the doors for her to appear. When she eventually did she gave me a huge hug as a greeting. Noticing the look on my face she asked straight away if Elín had come and I just shook my head. I wanted more than anything to wring Elín’s neck like a chicken destined for the oven. She was really going to get it when I got hold of her.

  Kristjana and her orchestra friends were heading out for a drink to celebrate their performance and wanted to know if I would join them. I briefly toyed with the idea but I knew that if I put off confronting Elín then my rage would dissipate and I would let her off the hook, again. I wasn’t going to allow that to happen this time.

  My mind was made up for me when one of the other girls wanted to know all about the murder at our farm. She had heard about it on the news and wanted to know if there was anything that had been left out in the broadcast.

  ‘Left out?’ I wasn’t sure what she was talking about.

  ‘Well,’ she continued in a tone which inferred that I was expected to confirm or deny whatever rumour it was she had heard, ‘I heard the killer is some kind of religious freak who left a quote from the Bible on the dead boy.’

  Kristjana looked at me wondering if I was planning to make any kind of comment on the matter. I wasn’t. I could tell she was dying to discuss what had happened but as far as I was concerned it was neither the time nor the place for it.

  ‘We’ll go see Dad together tomorrow,’ I suggested. ‘I’ll call you in the morning but I’ve got to go.’

  I squeezed her arm, ignoring the disappointed look on her face, and made my way back down the huge staircase as quickly as I could without seeming to hurry.

  The rain had started again, sending dark sheets of water across the glass front of the building. Digging deep into my reservoir of loathing I pulled a woollen cap over my head and set off down Sæbraut towards Elín’s office building. The clouds over Faxaflói Bay were dark and mischievous. The wind was sending spray up over the breakwater onto the road so I crossed over as I headed towards Snorrabraut and the back of the police station.

  As I approached the police car park I wondered if Grímur was inside the building anywhere and if he was getting any closer to figuring out who killed Jóhannes. I turned onto Borgartún and headed for where I felt convinced my sister would still be. This time she was going to get to hear all about what the two of us really thought of her. If she was planning to leave the country then the sooner she did so the better as far as I was concerned. I had had enough of her self-centred ways and her broken promises. I couldn’t have cared less if I never saw her again.

  When I got to the corner of Borgartún and Noatún I looked across the car park that she and her fellow workers used to see if I could spot her car. It wasn’t anywhere to be seen but it was possible that she had parked in the underground parking area. I wasn’t going to let anything put me off looking for her now I’d made the effort and got myself soaking wet into the bargain.

  While I was walking to the rear entrance of the building a motorcyclist appeared out of nowhere and almost bowled me over in his hurry to get back onto the street. As I turned to scream obscenities at him he was already heading east on Borgartún. My anger turned to concern when I saw that the back door of the building was open slightly. I had never seen it left open before during the day let alone at what had to be approaching ten o’clock in the evening. I began to wonder why it was that the man on the bike had been in such a hurry.

  I looked up into the wild night sky and saw that the lights on Elín’s floor were stil
l burning bright. Only Elín could think that work was more important than her sisters. The woman’s priorities were as skewed as her taste in men. It wasn’t hard to imagine that life would easier without her around. I was starting to take a shine to her idea of leaving us behind for whatever it was she wanted to do elsewhere.

  By the time I had made my way up to the third floor my feeling of concern had turned into something more serious. There wasn’t a sound coming from anywhere in the building and no one answered my calls as I stepped out of the lift. The place was too quiet. Silent, except for the squishing sound my shoes made as I trudged along the carpet towards her office.

  I wanted to hear her voice calling out to me to let me know that she was there but there was nothing, not a word. The door to her office was open and the lights were on but it was empty. As I looked around her desk, though, I could see signs that she was possibly still around. Her keys were lying next to her phone on the floor next to her seat. As I bent down to pick them up I noticed a strange chemical smell I hadn’t come across before. It felt out of place in her office, medical almost.

  I sat down in her chair staring at the keys and phone in my hand wondering what the hell was going on. There was a small business card holder on her desk. I reached out and took one of them: Elín Einarsdóttir, my sister and yet such a mystery to us all. I pocketed the card and looked about the office for some sort of clue as to where she might be. I was starting to think that maybe she had just gone to the toilet or popped out to the all-night 7-11 on the other side of the building. That was when I saw the piece of paper stuck to the wall like some sort of bizarre reminder on a fridge door. Something inside me twisted itself into a knot as I read the note. It was the familiarity of it that scared me. That and the certain knowledge that my sister was gone, and not the way she had planned.