Contents
About the Author
Title Page
Copyright
Epigraph
Pronunciation guide for character names
Five years earlier
Chapter 1
The present May
Chapter 2
August
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
About the Author
Yrsa Sigurdardóttir works as a civil engineer in Reykjavík. She made her crime fiction debut in 2005 with Last Rituals, the first instalment in the Thóra Gudmundsdóttir series, and has been translated into more than thirty languages. The Silence of the Sea won the Petrona Award in 2015. The Doll is her fourteenth adult novel and the fifth in the Freyja and Huldar Series.
THE DOLL
Yrsa Sigurdardóttir
Translated from the Icelandic by Victoria Cribb
www.hodder.co.uk
First published with the title Brúðan in 2018 by Veröld Publishing, Reykjavík
First published in Great Britain in 2021 by Hodder & Stoughton
An Hachette UK company
Copyright © Yrsa Sigurdardóttir 2021
English translation copyright © Victoria Cribb 2021
The right of Yrsa Sigurdardóttir to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
eBook ISBN 978 1 473 69349 4
Hodder & Stoughton Ltd
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
www.hodder.co.uk
Thanks to Maren Sofie Strømme and Tryggvi Jónsson for the photo of the doll retrieved from the Icelandic seabed. That photo was the inspiration for this story.
– Yrsa
Pronunciation guide for character names
Baldur – BAL-door
Berglind – BAIRG-lind
Bergur – BAIRG-oor
Bjarni – BJARD-nee
Bragi – BRAH-yee
Brynjólfur (Binni) – BRIN-yohl-voor
Dísa – DEE-ssa
Erla – ED-la
Fjalar – FYAH-lar
Freyja – FRAY-a
Fridrik Reynisson (Frikki) – FRITH-rik RAYN-iss-son (FRIKK-kee)
Gudlaugur − GVOOTH-lohgur
Hafthór – HAHV-thohr
Hjálmar – HYOWL-mar
Huldar – HOOL-dar
Lína – LEE-na
Rafn – RABN
Rósa – ROH-ssa
Saga (as in English)
Salvör – SAHL-vur
Thorgeir – THOR-gyair
Thröstur – THRUST-oor
Tristan (as in English)
Týr – TEER
Yngvi – ING-vee
Five years earlier
Chapter 1
The wind changed, blowing the reek of oil from the noisy engine forward over the deck of the little fishing boat. The smell almost did for Dísa. She pulled the neck of her jumper over her nose, preferring the cloying perfume of wool detergent to the poisonous fumes. But the others didn’t seem to mind. Dísa’s eleven-year-old daughter, Rósa, was leaning over the gunwale with Frikki, the boat owner, their attention fixed on the water where the net was submerged. Dísa, meanwhile, stayed close to the wheelhouse, her back pressed against its reassuring bulk. She tried to make it look as if this had nothing to do with seasickness or a fear of drowning, but she knew Frikki saw through her. Although he didn’t say anything, he kept glancing over his shoulder, his face concerned. Rósa didn’t notice. She was still too young to let any worries cloud this rare chance of adventure.
Dísa had been carefree once. But it was a long time since she had been able to summon up that youthful recklessness. Instead of enjoying the moment – the taste of salt on her lips, the wind in her hair – all she could think about was the icy clutches of the sea.
She forced her mind away from this unhealthy preoccupation. Surely, fate couldn’t have a watery grave in store for her and her daughter, not after what had happened in the past. The coincidence would be too great. Instead, she tried to concentrate on her surroundings. When she raised her eyes to the horizon, there was nothing to see but the grey surface of the ocean, almost merging with the overcast sky. So she looked up instead, watching the gulls that had been patiently circling the boat ever since they’d left the quay, undeterred by the meagre catch. All they’d pulled up so far were two lumpfish and a handful of small fry. They had started out fishing with a line until it had become inextricably tangled with some unseen obstacle below. After several futile attempts to free it, Frikki had resigned himself to cutting the line. He had suggested to Rósa that they try the net instead, but as yet the change of tackle had produced no results.
Perhaps the failure was Dísa’s fault for begging Frikki not to sail too far from the shore. Even here, mother and daughter were unlikely to survive if the boat sank, but she kidded herself that they would be able to swim to land, Rósa with the help of the lifebelt, and she because of all those years of swimming lessons at school. In fact, the only lifebelt on board had seen better days; it was a dirty, cumbersome object that looked unlikely to float if they went down. But she mustn’t let herself think like that. If she did, she might give in to panic and start shrieking at Frikki to turn back.
Turning to look at the shore, Dísa realised to her dismay that they were much further out than she’d thought. Distance had almost flattened out the city skyline; the smaller buildings were invisible, the high-rises no more than huts. She hadn’t been paying enough attention, and, because she hadn’t objected, Frikki had probably thought it was all right to sail further out in search of a better catch. Unless the boat had drifted with the current? That wouldn’t surprise her.
‘Mum! There’s something in the net!’ Rósa looked round, her face radiant with excitement. The grey woollen hat hiding her unruly hair was the same colour as the brooding sky, creating a momentary optical illusion that the top of her head was missing. Her jeans-clad legs looked almost comically spindly below the grubby, oversized lifebelt, while her arms, in the puffy sleeves of her jacket, seemed totally out of proportion. But, like a true fisherman, Rósa gave no thought to her appearance. ‘It might be a salmon!’
Dísa smiled back, not wishing to dampen her daughter’s unrealistic expecta
tions. Ever since she had first heard about the trip several days ago, Rósa’s descriptions of what they might catch had been growing increasingly fanciful. What had started out as a single haddock for the pot had ended up as enough lobsters to provide a feast for her mother, her grandparents and all her friends at school. And Frikki too, of course – you couldn’t leave out the captain, though Rósa barely knew him. Her daughter was very concerned about doing the right thing. From a very young age, her character had been defined by sweetness and a kind heart. She was such a dear child – yet Dísa worried about what would become of her. Worrying was her speciality. In her opinion, character traits like Rósa’s were rarely valued by an uncaring world. She lacked courage, drive and boldness – the very qualities necessary to get ahead nowadays. Dísa was afraid that life would chew her daughter up and spit out the mangled remains. She blamed their personal circumstances for this: her fatherless daughter needed a boost in self-confidence that Dísa was unable to provide.
It was this that had motivated Dísa to accept Frikki’s offer to take them out fishing on the boat he co-owned with his brother, father and uncle. For Rósa’s sake, Dísa had suppressed her own anxiety about the trip. She had thought the experience might toughen her daughter up a bit or, if nothing else, at least force her out into the fresh air. While everyone else was bewailing the fact that fewer and fewer children were reading these days, Rósa had her nose permanently buried in a book. Of course, books were good and even necessary, but life wasn’t only to be found between their covers. Children needed to experience things first hand as well, or so Dísa believed. She didn’t want her daughter to turn out like her: forever prey to fears about things that other people simply shrugged off.
Frikki glanced back and smiled. Unlike Rósa, he was bareheaded, his curly hair blowing around in the wind. It suited him. So did being in the open air and in charge of the boat. He was far more at home here than in the government office where they both worked, Dísa registering changes of car ownership, Frikki registering fishermen. Neither job was particularly exciting or rewarding, but the hours suited Dísa as a single mother. She had never discovered why Frikki had chosen that line of work, though. He didn’t exactly radiate satisfaction whenever she bumped into him in the cafeteria. In the office he came across as clumsy, distracted and socially awkward, whereas at sea everything seemed to come naturally to him and his movements were sure and easy. He seemed positively daring and manly. Perhaps that was why he had invited her out on the boat – and suggested she bring Rósa along when she’d said she couldn’t get a babysitter. He must have known he would cut a better figure on deck than he would in a café surrounded by breakable cups and wobbly tables. And there was no mistaking the fact that he was interested in her.
‘Aren’t you going to come and see, Mum?’ Rósa beckoned her mother over.
‘Yes, sure,’ Dísa said with feigned enthusiasm, prepared for yet another disappointment. She was afraid Rósa would expect her to cook the undersized specimens that were already lying in the battered old fish tub. Pushing herself off the wheelhouse, she made her way unsteadily to the side and stood beside her daughter, gripping the gunwale and peering down at the blue rope which vanished into the depths. The restless sea seemed in no hurry to let go of its spoils and Frikki, hauling hand over hand, had to redouble his efforts.
At last the net rose to the surface and Frikki dragged it in, dropping it with a thud on the deck. It wasn’t as flat as it had been last time. Down at the bottom, there was a more respectable-sized bulge, but it wasn’t wriggling like the smaller fish had done and Dísa wondered if they’d caught a rock, if such a thing were possible. But when she took a closer look at it through the mesh, she gasped. She could have sworn she’d seen a tiny hand, like that of a baby. She clutched Rósa tight against her before her daughter could bend down to see for herself.
‘What the hell’s that, Frikki?’ Dísa had been unable to sleep before the trip, plagued by a succession of fearful images: of drowning, of a gull crapping on her head, of being seasick, losing a finger in the winch, getting caught up in the propeller, being capsized by a whale, or crushed between boat and quay … but the possibility of finding a baby in the net had never entered even her darkest dreams.
Frikki’s puzzled frown did nothing to lessen her alarm. She hung on to Rósa who was struggling to see what it was. It was futile trying to prevent her, though: the deck space was so cramped that they wouldn’t be able to avoid catching sight of it.
Frikki squatted down beside the net. He appeared calm but Dísa thought his fingers were trembling as he reached out to the object sticking through the mesh. She grimaced and screwed up her eyes, torn between two conflicting urges: to watch or look away. When Frikki looked up he was smiling, visibly relieved. ‘It’s a doll.’ He stood up and began to shake the contents out of the net.
Dísa let go of Rósa who darted over to join Frikki. She watched in suspense as the catch rolled out on deck: two small fry, a clump of seaweed and finally the doll.
‘Ugh!’ Dísa made a face. ‘What a horrible thing!’ She took the three steps over to stand beside her daughter and Frikki. All three were silent as they took in the extraordinary sight. It was a toy doll, no question; the kind that is designed to look like a baby. Its legs were in a sitting position, extending in a V from the pink torso. One of the arms was outstretched, the other lay against the doll’s side. The plastic lips were slightly parted, the face forever frozen on the verge of asking a question. Just like millions of other dolls. But in every other respect it was as far as you could imagine from anything you’d find on display in a toy shop.
The doll had obviously been in the sea for a long time. It was covered in barnacles, white worms and other nameless organisms. Around its neck was a delicate chain but it was impossible to see what was hanging from it because of the shells and other creatures that clustered over the doll’s chest like a breastplate. One eye was nothing but an empty hole; the other stared at them glassily from under a lid that looked as if it would close if the doll was tilted. Most of the eyelashes were missing. The doll had lost part of its hair as well, revealing neat rows of holes over its scalp. The remaining tangled mess of hair was dark. There was nothing sweet or cuddly about it.
‘Whose is she?’ Rósa was the first to break the silence.
‘No one’s. Not any more.’ Frikki was transfixed by the hideous vision at his feet. ‘Perhaps it belonged to some little girl, a long time ago.’
‘What was she doing in the sea?’ Rósa was still young enough to believe that grown-ups had all the answers. She would soon be disillusioned.
‘Maybe the girl who owned it was on a boat and dropped it overboard. Or perhaps she dropped it off the quay and the current carried it here. The line must have dislodged it from the seabed earlier and then it floated into the net.’ Frikki was rising to the occasion pretty well, in Dísa’s opinion. There was no need for her to intervene.
‘Oh. Poor girl.’ Rósa face was a picture of sadness and sympathy. ‘And poor doll.’
Frikki bent down and made as if to put his hand in his sleeve before touching the doll. But then he changed his mind, no doubt keen to avoid coming across as a wimp. When he picked the doll up, streams of seawater began to pour out of its hip joints. ‘I reckon we should throw it back.’
‘No!’ Rósa cried out. ‘I want her.’
Dísa made a face again. ‘It’s a bit grim, Rósa. Look at all the horrible muck on it. Some of it’s bound to be alive.’
But now that the fishing trip had produced a result, Rósa proved uncharacteristically stubborn. ‘I want her anyway.’
Frikki’s embarrassment made him suddenly revert to his familiar office persona. He glanced from Rósa to Dísa, racking his brain for a compromise. His suggestion, when it finally came, was feeble. ‘I could put it in a bag?’ It sounded like a question.
Before Dísa could refuse his offer, Rósa forestalled her: ‘Yes. Put her in a bag. I can wash her when we get home.’ Sh
e looked up at her mother with a hopeful smile. ‘Maybe we can find the girl she used to belong to.’
Judging by the ecosystem that had made its home on the doll, it must have been at the bottom of the sea for years. ‘I’m sure the little girl who owned it will have grown out of toys by now,’ Dísa reasoned. ‘She’s probably forgotten all about it.’
‘She might have belonged to a boy. You can’t be sure it was a girl.’ Not for the first time, Rósa proved more broad-minded and modern than her mother. ‘And I’m sure the owner is still sad about losing her. I would be. Even if I was a hundred.’
Dísa didn’t doubt it for a minute. Rósa wasn’t the only child who thought of her toys as alive. Dísa herself still had several boxes of teddy bears and dolls in her parents’ basement that she didn’t have the heart to throw out.
Mother and daughter argued while Frikki stood by awkwardly. In the end, Rósa got her way and was allowed to keep the doll. Frikki’s relief was palpable. He clapped his hands and suggested they eat their picnic.
But when they sat down to their packed lunches, it turned out that none of them felt like Dísa’s flatcakes or the cheap, shop-bought sponge cake. Although the doll was now hidden away in a bag, they couldn’t forget the gruesome sight, which would have been enough to rob anyone of their appetite. Even the gulls had disappeared.
When Frikki suggested they call it a day, neither mother nor daughter raised any objections, so he put about and headed for shore.
In the end, Rósa’s interest didn’t last much beyond taking the doll out of the bag – wearing rubber gloves, at her mother’s insistence – and putting it in the bath, where she quickly forgot about it. Her enthusiasm didn’t extend to washing it or scrubbing off the barnacles. So there the doll sat, staring at Dísa out of its single eye when she went to the loo and, later, when she brushed her teeth before bed. Instead of replacing the plastic bag over the hideous object, Dísa took a photo and posted it on Facebook.
It wasn’t often that she had anything unusual to report.
The Doll Page 1
