Girls Who Lie

by Eva Bjorg AEgisdóttir

  We go into the hall and stand there like a couple of idiots, watching the other kids racing around. They slide along the floor and jump around like baboons. Then one of the fathers stops the music and the kids all slither to a standstill. ‘We’re going to play a game,’ he says loudly, after shushing some of the boys. He explains the rules, not that most of the kids listen, but then they seem to know the game already.

  ‘Go and join in,’ I say, giving her back a push. She looks at me and for a moment I think I see fear in her eyes, as if I’m asking her to do something bad. Then she obeys and walks out onto the floor. When the music begins she moves in time to it, and when it stops she runs into a corner like the other kids. When her corner isn’t drawn out of the pack of cards, she looks over and smiles. Waves to me like she’s an actor on stage, and I’m a member of the audience, come to see her. I feel a pang and blush when I notice some of the other girls looking at her and giggling.

  ‘Which one of these brats is yours?’ asks a voice behind me, and I glance round. I recognise him immediately, though I’ve only seen him from the seventh floor. He’s recently moved into the flat on the ground floor of our block. I watched him carrying in furniture several days ago. And what I thought then is right: he is tall and strong, with light-brown hair. But what I hadn’t been able to see until now were those friendly eyes.

  ‘The girl in the blue dress,’ I say. ‘The one with the plait.’

  ‘She looks like you.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘Yes, very like.’ He smiles as if this is a compliment. To be fair, she has changed since she was a baby with that big nose and those overly strong features. She’s grown into her nose, her features have softened, and her eyes have become quite arresting, with their piercing gaze and naturally dark surrounds. Maybe she’ll grow up to be beautiful, but at the moment her looks are striking rather than pretty.

  ‘Mine’s the boy dancing as if nobody’s watching.’ He points to a boy who has fallen to his knees and is playing air guitar with flamboyant gestures.

  I laugh. ‘I wish I could be like that.’

  ‘You could always take a turn on the dancefloor,’ the man says. ‘Like certain other people.’

  Our eyes are drawn towards the father who, not content with controlling the music, has joined the children on the floor and is wiggling his hips embarrassingly, jerking them from side to side and waving his arms in a peculiar manner.

  ‘Oh, no. I’m fine here,’ I say.

  We both grin as if we can read each other’s minds, and without warning I feel my stomach turning a somersault. He smells good, and he’s standing so close that I can tell he’s just drunk a coffee.

  ‘I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before,’ he says, studying me.

  ‘Yes, I believe you’ve just moved into my building.’

  ‘Ah, right,’ he says. ‘So we’re neighbours.’

  ‘Apparently so.’

  ‘Hafliði,’ he says, holding out his hand. I take it, and am conscious that our handshake lasts longer than strictly necessary.

  ‘We should let our kids play together some time.’

  ‘That would be fun,’ I say, though I can’t picture it. My daughter still hasn’t had any friends round, and I don’t suppose that’s about to change. She doesn’t seem to know anyone. No one goes over to talk to her or pays her any attention. Somehow she’s more solitary among all these children than when she’s alone in her room with her toy soldiers.

  ‘I mean, my son and I are new to the area. Stefán doesn’t really know anyone yet.’

  ‘He seems confident, though,’ I say, turning my gaze back to the dancefloor, where the boy is now bouncing all over the place like a kangaroo.

  Hafliði sighs ruefully. ‘A bit too confident.’

  ‘Well, maybe he could help bring my daughter out of her shell.’

  ‘Is she shy?’

  I shrug. Shyness isn’t the word I’d use to describe her. ‘She’s happy in her own company,’ I say, after a little thought.

  ‘That’s a good quality.’

  The music goes quiet, and one of the mothers calls across the hall that people can eat now. The children flock towards her. Hafliði says something I can’t hear over the screeching around us. He shakes his head in defeat and next moment his son is there beside him. He tugs at Hafliði’s sleeve, and then I feel a small, cold hand slip into mine and look down to see my daughter.

  I watch him for the rest of the evening. He talks to some of the other parents, plays a bit with his son, and laughs at a comment made by another father. He’s one of those men people are drawn to. I see the mothers smiling at him, and the fathers nodding every time he opens his mouth. When he shoots a sudden glance in my direction and grins, I drop my eyes in embarrassment.

  It’s a horrible evening really; the music’s too loud, the kids are unbearable and keep crashing into me, and I step in a blob of mayonnaise on the floor. Yet I can’t stop smiling all the way home.

  Borgarnes School wasn’t particularly large or impressive. Paint was flaking off the walls, though the scaffolding outside suggested that this was in the process of being remedied, and the football pitch was big and looked new. The grounds were overlooked by the picturesque church on the hill above.

  ‘I was her teacher from when she was ten,’ explained Lína, the young woman who was waiting to meet them. She had shoulder-length hair and bandy legs, her boyish appearance exaggerated by her outfit of jeans and T-shirt. ‘I took over the class in year five and I’ll stay with them right through to the bitter end – much to their horror.’ Her voice was a little husky and her smile crooked. Elma guessed she was good at getting through to the kids. She certainly didn’t seem to take herself too seriously.

  ‘It must be nice staying with them for such a long time,’ Elma remarked.

  ‘Yes, it is. You get to watch them develop, you know. Grow up. Though they still seem terribly young when they leave us. But it’s great meeting them later and seeing how they’ve turned out, you know? That’s the best part. Especially when they take you by surprise.’

  ‘What kind of pupil was Hekla?’ Sævar asked, shifting in his seat. They were sitting in one of the classrooms, on chairs that were far too small for his big frame.

  ‘She was…’ Lína drummed her fingers on the desk and tightened her lips. She drew a long breath while she was turning the question over in her mind. ‘Ye-es, what was Hekla like? That’s not actually very easy to answer. She was pretty shy and quiet, you know? One of those kids who tend to get overlooked because you’re always having to manage the rowdy ones. But she was hard-working. Maybe not the best pupil, but she did her homework and handed it in. Did what she was told – most of the time.’

  ‘Most of the time?’

  ‘Yes, well … She started slacking a bit during her last year with us. She’d begun skiving off and that kind of thing, which wasn’t like her. I asked if anything was wrong. She didn’t answer, just sat there picking her nose.’ Lína laughed, then her face grew more serious. ‘Joking apart, I could see there was something bothering the poor kid.’

  ‘Do you think it could have had anything to do with her situation at home?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say … I mean, naturally she wanted to be in Akranes. She really liked her, you know, er … her family there. She said she had good mates there too.’

  ‘Didn’t she have any friends here?’

  ‘No. No, she didn’t. She probably didn’t try that hard to make them either. In fact, she did stuff that meant the other kids didn’t want to hang around with her.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well, she could be … what shall I say? She could lose it without warning. Lash out.’

  Elma frowned. ‘What do you mean? Did it happen often?’

  ‘Errr…’ Lína moved her jaw to one side consideringly, then said: ‘There was, like, one time that springs to mind. The girls were doing games, and one of them obviously said something to Hekla, because
she totally freaked out. She bit and scratched the girl so badly you could see the wounds a mile off.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘They were eleven, so it was a while back – four years ago.’

  ‘Do you know what was behind it?’

  ‘No, but it was a major drama … they were all crying and howling when I came in. Claimed all they’d done was ask Hekla if she didn’t like taking showers. Of course, anyone could see what was behind that, and that they were being a lot nastier than they made out.’ Lína sighed. ‘But, like I said … Anyway, after that there was always a teacher present while they were changing. We made a big effort to help Hekla, but sadly you just can’t force people to be friends. It would solve a whole lot of problems if you could, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Did the bullying stop after that?’ Elma realised they had strayed from the purpose of the interview. Hekla’s problems at school didn’t necessarily have any bearing on her mother’s disappearance.

  ‘We-e-ell … there may have been stuff that was hard to spot. Spiteful comments and so on. I wasn’t aware of anything, but I tried to keep my eyes open. The team here are good at cracking down on that kind of thing. The kids get a lot of teaching about bullying from year one, and I’m happy to say there were no reports of incidents of that type at our school last year.’ Lína smiled. ‘Anyway, Hekla was obviously much happier in Akranes, and I couldn’t understand why her mother didn’t just move there. It wasn’t like she had an important job here or … But what am I on about? I just think it would have been best for Hekla – if you ask me.’

  ‘You had some communication with Maríanna, then?’

  ‘Yeah, sure … Parent-teacher evenings and so on. We always have some contact with the parents. Some would say way more than necessary!’ Her laughter ended in a coughing fit; a loose, phlegmy cough that made Elma suspect that she smoked.

  ‘I assume you’re aware that we found Maríanna’s body a few days ago,’ Sævar said, and the woman immediately turned serious and nodded. ‘That’s why we’re exploring all possible angles, trying to work out what happened. Is there anything you can think of?’

  ‘Me?’ She looked at them in astonishment. ‘No. I mean…’ She paused to think. ‘When I heard where she was found, it occurred to me that maybe she’d run out of petrol and someone had given her a lift and … but what am I on about? Maybe it was someone she knew. Is that what you’re thinking? I don’t know anything. All I know was that Maríanna was a bit like Hekla and kept a pretty low profile here in town. But maybe she’d started seeing someone?’

  Elma didn’t know quite how to answer this stream of questions, and again it struck her that Lína must get on well with the kids, not least because she didn’t seem so different from them. Not that she was immature, just that she was still in touch with her inner child. She’d adopted the kids’ manner of speaking instead of being stiff and formal.

  ‘We don’t have much to go on yet,’ Elma said after a pause. ‘We’re just examining…’ She hesitated. How could she put it, without stating bluntly that they suspected Hekla of being involved?

  Sævar stepped in. ‘We’re examining whether anything unusual happened before Maríanna went missing. We know Hekla had a boyfriend in Akranes and wanted to move there. But can you imagine that there might have been something else upsetting Hekla, something connected to school? Do you know if she had any more fights with the other kids or possibly with her mother? You know – was there anything you remember that we’re forgetting to ask you about?’

  ‘Errrr…’ Lína raised her eyebrows and twisted her face in a peculiar scowl. ‘Look, maybe it’s not for me to say, but I got the impression Hekla was…’ She stopped herself. ‘No, it has nothing to do with this. I simply don’t know what happened. I can’t imagine that anyone would have … have had it in for Maríanna.’

  ‘You got the impression Hekla was what?’ Sævar asked.

  Lína sighed. ‘Of course it’s got nothing to do with it, but let’s just say I’m surprised she had a boyfriend.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I always got the feeling she wasn’t into boys. That girls were more her thing.’

  The day’s interviews had left Elma with a lot to digest, but at least they were finally making progress. The conversation with the teacher stayed with her. She felt sorry for Hekla, sympathising with her desire to live near her friends in Akranes, with a family she was happy with. She pitied her, but even so there were various indications that Hekla knew more than she was letting on. Perhaps she was just a difficult teenager who lied and sneaked out without permission, couldn’t stand her mother and wanted to get her own way. It needn’t mean any more than that. But if Hekla had been forced to endure terrible things in her childhood, you never knew; it might have triggered a hatred that had slowly grown and festered inside her. Maybe until something had happened to push her over the edge.

  Elma took out her phone as she sat in the car outside her block of flats and wrote herself a note to ask Agnar’s employer if he had turned up to work that evening. It would have required physical strength to carry Maríanna over the lava field; strength that a fifteen-year-old girl wouldn’t possess. Not Hekla, anyway. Elma pictured Agnar’s long, thin limbs. He could hardly be that strong either, but he was tall.

  It was a quarter to seven before Elma finally walked through her front door. She was absolutely shattered. She sent her mother a text to say she wouldn’t make it to supper, only to regret the decision the moment she looked in her fridge. In the end she found a Thai ready-meal of chicken and noodles, frozen into a block of ice at the back of the freezer. While she was waiting for it to thaw in the microwave, she took off her jeans and got into her pyjama bottoms. Loosening her hair from its elastic band, she massaged her scalp.

  Her phone started ringing the very instant the microwave pinged. Stomach rumbling, she sighed as she picked it up. Since she didn’t recognise the number, she answered formally: ‘Elma.’

  ‘Good evening,’ said an older woman’s voice. ‘I’m sorry to call so late. My name’s Bryndís. We spoke on Tuesday, and you told me to ring you if I thought of anything else.’

  Elma clicked at once. It was the mother of Maríanna’s neighbour, who had been babysitting for her daughter when they went round. The one who used to drink coffee with Maríanna every Wednesday.

  ‘Oh, yes, of course, I remember you,’ Elma said.

  ‘Good.’ The woman was silent, then said: ‘Well, I don’t know if this will be of any use, but I’ve been racking my brains to think whether Maríanna said anything that could be important. It’s been weighing on me, to be honest. That’s why I’ve been going back over our conversations. I feel as if … as if she must have said something that…’ Bryndís sighed, then went on: ‘Anyway, I did remember one thing, connected to her brother.’

  ‘Her brother?’ Elma echoed.

  ‘Yes, he died when Maríanna was pregnant with Hekla,’ Bryndís said. ‘She said her brother had been wrongly accused of something. She suddenly got terribly worked up and angry when she was talking about it. I don’t know exactly why, but it just came back to me.’

  ‘OK, thanks for letting me know.’

  ‘You’re welcome. I wish I could do more. Goodbye—’

  ‘Just a minute,’ Elma interrupted, before Bryndís could hang up. She had just remembered Sævar’s suggestion about Elín’s husband. ‘Your son-in-law, Unnar…’

  ‘Yes, what about him?’

  ‘Your daughter mentioned that he and Maríanna got on well together…’ Elma hesitated. She didn’t know quite how to phrase the question without sounding too tactless. ‘Do you know if they developed a close relationship or…?’

  ‘A close relationship? I really don’t know. But…’ Bryndís paused. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time that…’

  ‘That what?’

  ‘That Unnar has – how shall I put it? – misbehaved.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Don’t tell anyone I said that.
It was years ago and I don’t want … my daughter would…’ Bryndís sighed again. ‘Maríanna never said anything to suggest it, and I don’t believe there was anything going on. I was much more struck by all the anger she seemed to be carrying around inside her because of what had happened to her brother. It was as if … as if she was on fire.’

  After they’d said goodbye, Elma tried to call to mind what she knew about Maríanna’s brother. It was very little: only that he had been quite a bit older than her and his name was Anton. He had killed himself fifteen years previously, and Maríanna’s family had moved to Reykjavík in the aftermath. A sad story that showed how badly families could be affected by a blow like that. Maríanna’s parents had apparently been incapable of helping their extremely young, pregnant daughter to cope with her grief, as the woman from the Child Protection Agency had told them. But it was the first time Elma could remember hearing about there having been accusations against Anton that had angered Maríanna. Neither her friends nor her daughter had mentioned this, which meant that the information Bryndís had provided was probably worthless, though she had meant well.

  Elma took the meal out of the microwave and put it on a plate, regarding the five small chunks of chicken with disappointment. She sat down in front of the TV but didn’t take anything in. Instead, she was picturing Hekla in her mind’s eye, the picked-at black nail varnish and heavily pencilled eyebrows. Could she have suffered more at the hands of her mother than she was willing to admit?

  Elma ate the last chunk of chicken, then put the plate down on the table. No way was that remotely filling: her stomach still felt half empty. Then she remembered the bar of chocolate in the cupboard. She had just settled down with it in front of the television when there was a knock at the door. A quick tap, so she knew immediately who it was.