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  ‘Please do,’ he said quickly, taking off his glasses.

  After a while she re-appeared, with a glass of wine and a portion of fish on a plate for herself.

  ‘It’s all right renting from Svenni and…?’ She sat down and started on her food without finishing her question. ‘Wow … I hadn’t realised how hungry I was.’

  ‘Matthildur, you mean? Yes, I was lucky to find that place,’ Guðgeir replied. ‘You know them?’

  He knew perfectly well that she could hardly not know them, and that she naturally knew where he lived, but this was as easy a way to kick off a conversation as any. He had no desire to spend another evening alone with his phone.

  ‘You must be joking. I’m a hundredth generation local and I’m pretty sure their roots here go back to the Saga age. Everyone like that knows everyone else,’ she laughed. ‘This place is like a living museum, a cross-section of East Skaftafell’s population.’

  Guðgeir smiled and Linda continued, clearly keen to cheer him up.

  ‘You’ve noticed how Svenni talks, with that little laugh after every sentence? It makes no difference what he’s talking about. He could be telling you about some disaster, but there’s always that giggle that ends every sentence.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Guðgeir said as he ate his fish. ‘I had noticed.’

  ‘Svenni’s mother was just the same, and so was his grandfather and his great-grandmother, although all of them are long gone. They were Höfn people going back generations and we’re all more or less related to each other. We’re a prime example of inbreeding,’ she said. ‘Svenni and I ought to be stuffed and put in a museum for the tourists to look at,’ she said with a laugh of her own.

  ‘And talking about you and Sveinn … did he mention to you the woman from Sri Lanka who arrived here thinking she had a job to go to?’ Guðgeir asked, determined to keep the conversation going. ‘That was back in February when the weather was pretty wild.’

  ‘February, you said?’

  ‘Yes. Around the end of the month, as far as I recall,’ Guðgeir said. ‘In fact I had forgotten all about this, and then the woman came to mind when I had a touch of claustrophobia when I heard the forecast. It’s uncomfortable not being able to go anywhere, let alone when you’re in a strange place.’

  ‘There weren’t many tourists about in February. The weather was so lousy last winter that they only started to show up around the end of March,’ she said, shivering at the recollection.

  ‘This woman wasn’t a tourist. It seems she came here because she was sure she had been promised work in a salon, or something like that,’ Guðgeir repeated.

  ‘That’s it,’ Linda said. ‘Reminds me of the American who wanted to go to Laugavegur and ended up in…’

  ‘Siglufjörður,’ Guðgeir said, doing his best to be patient. ‘Except he was in a hire car and punched in the wrong street name into the satnav. But this woman was under the impression that there was a job and a place to live waiting for her. The problem is that she can’t read or write Icelandic, but I hope she managed to get back safe and sound.’ He rubbed his cheek with one hand and gazed out of the window. ‘Have you heard of a Chinese woman who either works or worked as a beautician around here?’

  ‘No,’ Linda said, raising an eyebrow as the question took her by surprise. ‘What’s that about?’

  ‘This girl from Sri Lanka was under the impression she was taking over from some Chinese woman.’

  ‘That’s weird.’

  ‘This woman appears to be non-existent,’ Guðgeir said.

  ‘Do you think the one from Sri Lanka could have gone somewhere with the guy who owns the Hostel by the Sea?’ she asked after a pause. ‘I think his name’s Thormóður. My brother Jói is a plumber and he did some work for him. Would that fit?’

  ‘What was that?’ Guðgeir’s attention had wandered and he had lost the thread of the conversation. The Crossfit lawyer with the trailer had sneaked back into his thoughts. ‘That’s more than likely. That’s where Sveinn said he took her.’

  ‘I think I saw them at the Ólís filling station some time back in the winter,’ Linda said. ‘The woman went inside to use the toilet and Thormóður sat in his car. I was on the way out to the lagoon with Jói because the family has a summer house out there. We had been told there was a leak in one of the pipes, so we went to check. I remember we stopped off at the filling station for something and I had to wait for the toilet to be free. Jói wasn’t impressed because the forecast was bad and he wanted to be quick. Thormóður and the woman were ahead of us all the way through the tunnel and past Jökulsá. Then we turned off and they carried on. I remember because we were wondering where they could be heading and who the woman was. It was pretty bad that day, and the roads were practically blocked.’

  ‘The girl we’re talking about has a cleft palate, which is distinctive,’ Guðgeir said.

  ‘Exactly. Then we’re talking about the same person. I couldn’t help noticing her hair, thick and beautiful,’ Linda recalled, her voice lower.

  ‘Maybe he took her sightseeing?’

  ‘Surely not in that lousy weather,’ Linda said. ‘It improved later in the day, so I hope they didn’t get stuck anywhere.’ She glanced quickly at the clock. ‘We wondered at the time where they could be going, and my brother reckons the guy goes out to Bröttuskriður now and again.’

  ‘Bröttuskriður? Where’s that?’

  ‘It’s a farm right under the mountain slopes. On the far side of the lagoon,’ Linda said. ‘It’s a grim sort of place and very isolated. I gather the farmhouse itself is something of a wreck. They’re flat broke out there.’

  ‘So why would he be taking her all the way out there in such terrible weather?’ Guðgeir said, as he went into police mode. ‘What would take Thormóður and this woman to such an out-of-the-way place in the dead of winter?’

  He was starting to feel a deep foreboding.

  ‘Who knows? They must have been on the way somewhere. There are only two places that far inland. There’s Gröf, which is closer, and then Bröttuskriður,’ Linda said. ‘He can hardly have been hoping to drive for a few hours to catch a flight from Egilsstaðir. In any case, he wouldn’t have had a hope of getting through.’

  Lost in thought, Guðgeir didn’t reply straight away. It was all a while ago, but it wouldn’t do any harm to check it out. Casting around to find what had become of the girl would be something to keep him occupied.

  ‘Are you done?’ Linda asked suddenly, looking at him enquiringly. It took him a moment to realise she was asking if she could take his plate.

  ‘What? Yes, of course,’ he said, forking up the last piece of fish. ‘My compliments to the chef. The fish was really good.’

  ‘I’ll tell him. Thanks for the chat,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘I have to get back to work. See you.’

  ‘Certainly,’ Guðgeir said. ‘But tell me. Does anyone live there?’

  ‘At Bröttuskriður? Selma and Ísak. An elderly woman and her son.’

  ‘Ah. That’s good. I was imagining an abandoned farm and all sorts of horrors.’

  ‘Like what?’ Linda asked, a curious expression on her face.

  He shrugged and smiled. He had no intention of explaining. Sometimes he felt he had seen and experienced too much to be able to live a normal life.

  ‘I reckon they don’t have an easy time of it out there.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ Guðgeir asked, making an effort to show interest. ‘They keep livestock, don’t they?’

  ‘I’m not sure. They must have some animals. But everyone’s either up to their ears in debt or they’ve sold their milk quota. The only ones who make a decent living are those who cater for tourists. And there are more and more farms bought up for summer places. Foreigners, a lot of them,’ she added.

  ‘And do they do that? Cater for tourists, I mean?’

  ‘No. The old lady’s a bit odd. Half crazy, I suppose. She went through some terrible shock when she was young,
but the son was more normal … as far as I know, but I don’t know what opportunities there are now for him,’ Linda said, and hesitated. ‘He used to keep to himself, which is understandable, considering, and he managed to hang on up there. His name’s Ísak, and he was a couple of years ahead of me at school. Then he went down south to university in Reykjavík and everyone thought that would be where he’d stay, but he dropped out. I guess he’s stuck out there.’

  ‘Maybe studying was too difficult for him?’ Guðgeir said, just to say something.

  ‘No, I think he struggled with leaving home. He was always very reliant on his mother, and maybe he found it difficult to get on with other people. He was always on his own, never had fun with the rest of the kids or anything like that. Every summer most of us worked in the fish plant, and there was always work in the prawn season. But he never did any of that.’

  ‘Was his father from out there by the lagoon as well?’

  ‘No, it was always just Selma and him, and she lived at Bröttuskriður with her father. As far as I know, her mother died a long time ago. I once heard my grandmother say that Ísak’s father had been a Yank from the base at Stokksnes. Did you know that they were once here in Höfn? It wasn’t exactly a military base, nothing like Keflavík, but there was a radar station. Have you been out there?’

  ‘I’ve heard about it,’ Guðgeir said, reflecting that he had to be at least fifteen years older than Linda and there was a clear difference in their awareness of the past.

  ‘Ísak’s father was supposed to have been stationed there. If I remember the gossip correctly, he came off the road on the pass. He was coming back from Bröttuskriður when the roads were icy and the car ended up going straight down the mountainside. The man was killed instantly. Selma was adamant she wanted the car, which was a complete wreck after rolling down the mountain. For years it was outside the farmhouse at Bröttuskriður and she used to stand there and stare at it with the baby in her arms. It’s no surprise she turned out to be on the odd side. But I don’t know the details, and for all I know I could be making stuff up. Anyway, I have to get back to work.’

  He saw Linda nod to her colleague, indicating that she knew she had talked for long enough and started collecting crockery.

  ‘Interesting,’ Guðgeir said as more questions began to come to mind. He wanted to know more about Bröttuskriður and the tale had sparked his curiosity. ‘Remarkable that the boy should have gone off to university and then ended up in that remote spot with his mother.’

  ‘It’s not that remarkable, even these days. You and I fail to understand how he can live there, but some people are just much more in touch with nature. They can’t live in a town like Höfn.’

  Guðgeir hid a smile. He recalled that Höfn’s population was around fifteen hundred people and he saw the place as a long way from being a town where the crowds could overwhelm anyone – the lack of people was more likely to be uncomfortable.

  ‘I’ve obviously lived too long in Reykjavík to be able to understand how anyone can live somewhere so isolated in winter,’ he said.

  ‘True. But Bröttuskriður is a wonderfully beautiful place in summer,’ Linda said. ‘Awfully beautiful. You ought to go for a drive out there.’

  ‘Awful beauty in an awful place?’ Guðgeir said. ‘Who lives at the other farm you mentioned?’

  ‘You mean Gröf? An elderly couple with no children who are a bit cracked, as my grandmother always said. The woman was always involved in local politics and knew everyone, but I can’t remember their names,’ Linda said, her brow furrowed. ‘Haven’t you been up to the lagoon?’

  ‘No, but now I’ll make sure I do. Didn’t she get any help? The mother, I mean.’

  ‘No, definitely not. There was no counselling or anything like that back then,’ Linda said. ‘The best she could have hoped for would have been a sedative from the local doctor.’

  ‘Poor woman,’ Guðgeir muttered. An image of a young woman with a baby in her arms gazing at a wrecked car had taken root in his mind. He felt a stab of sympathy for her.

  ‘It was seen as a terrible thing to be sleeping with a Yank, so she had to put up with the shame of that as well,’ Linda said.

  ‘So she didn’t have much of the man while he was alive and couldn’t mourn him when he was dead?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Linda said. ‘Back in the old days people weren’t supposed to talk about anything like that. There was no way to work these things out. People just had to bottle up all their emotions and act as if nothing was wrong. I remember the terrible stories my Dad used to tell me about the shipwrecks out here in the Hornafjörður estuary when husbands and fathers drowned before the eyes of the families waiting for them. Nobody said anything much. They’d just sit there and stare silently into a mug of coffee, as the old man said. So people suffered from depression, or turned into alcoholics, or they hardened against everyone and everything, or else they went completely off the rails.’

  9

  Over the last couple of weeks she had scrubbed practically every corner of the house at Bröttuskriður, wiped away stains and done her best to restore the place to its former smart self with pure elbow grease. The farmhouse was spotless, with the exception of the cellar, and Sajee was thoroughly relieved not to have to go down there. Now she was on the way over to Karl and Marta at Gröf, as the previous evening Marta had showed up at Bröttuskriður and demanded that Sajee come and clean for her as well. Selma had responded furiously, but the thought had cheered Sajee. She would be glad of the change of scene, and the money.

  ‘Can’t you clean up your own filth?’ Selma snarled, but Marta hadn’t turned a hair.

  ‘No more than you can,’ she hissed back.

  ‘The girl’s going to be leaving in a few days, so don’t come asking again,’ she said firmly. Sajee stared in surprise, but Selma winked discreetly, giving her the impression that the old woman was shielding her from further demands.

  When Marta’s green car had gone and Selma had told her to go to her room, Sajee could hear mother and son arguing. Ísak was far from pleased that Sajee should be going over to Gröf, and said it would be as well that Thormóður didn’t find out. She couldn’t understand the reason for that.

  The farmhouse was newer than Selma’s house, but unlike at Bröttuskriður, the household appliances were worn out. The vacuum cleaner was heavy and held together with grey insulation tape. She had lunch with Karl and Marta. In the middle of the kitchen table with its vinyl cloth stood a radio, and Karl turned the sound up and down as he gave his opinions on whatever the newsreader announced, in between spoonfuls of slices of the fresh-baked bread that didn’t seem to cling to his spare frame any more than Selma’s pastries did. All the same, the meal was livelier than Sajee had become used to at Bröttuskriður and she enjoyed the change of atmosphere. In the afternoon Ísak appeared behind the wheel of his jeep. She quickly finished her work and put on her coat. She stood by the half-open door, waiting to be paid. The cold found its way inside and she wound her scarf tighter around her neck.

  ‘You’d best be on your way. You’re all finished here,’ Marta said, clicking open the clasp of her watch and snapping it closed again.

  ‘Do you want me to come again next week?’ Sajee asked cheerfully.

  ‘Aren’t you going back south?’

  ‘Yes, but not right away. I need to earn more money first.’

  The loud blaring of a horn could be heard outside and she waved to Ísak to let him know she was coming. He impatiently sounded the horn again. Marta stood with her hand on the door handle, ready to shut it behind her.

  ‘Anyway, I suppose we’d better not impose any more on the people at Bröttuskriður. Off you go, don’t keep the man waiting.’

  ‘I haven’t been paid,’ Sajee said.

  ‘Selma will pay you,’ Marta said with impatience. ‘If she can afford a home help of her own, then she can pay.’

  ‘Will she pay me for cleaning your house?’ Sajee asked, pulling on her
gloves. The jeep’s horn blared even louder.

  ‘That’s what I said.’ Marta pushed the door against her. ‘Off you go. Don’t let the cold in. Ísak isn’t going to wait for you all day. Goodbye, my dear.’

  The door banged shut, leaving Sajee standing in the yard. She pulled on her hat and watched Marta through the dark brown frosted glass until the inner hall doorway shut behind her. She felt a wave of disappointment, but as she trudged through the snow to the jeep, she convinced herself that everything would turn out to be fine.

  There was a blizzard and a strong wind blew along the way from Gröf. Ísak concentrated on the road ahead, without saying a word. The engine raced and the wheels spun.

  ‘We’re not getting stuck here, surely,’ he muttered, as he reversed out of the ruts in the road.

  The jeep crawled ahead as he tried again.

  ‘There. It just needs a bit of patience,’ he muttered, gradually increasing the speed. ‘See? That’s how it’s done.’

  She tried to show her admiration. Ísak seemed more at ease in her company than anyone else’s, but he also needed respect.

  ‘You’re a good driver,’ Sajee said, trying to send a compliment his way, and a shadow of a smile flashed across his face for a moment. ‘Marta said your mother would pay me for cleaning,’ she added.

  ‘Yeah, well. No problem,’ he mumbled, swinging the car to avoid a patch of ice.

  ‘Right away?’ she asked.

  ‘Soon,’ he replied as he turned the jeep onto the main highway. ‘That’s better. A decent road at last.’

  The drove in silence.

  ‘So when?’ she asked, twisting the gold ring on her finger.

  ‘What, what?’ he replied peevishly.

  ‘When will I be paid? If I clean a house, I should be paid for it. That’s how it is, isn’t it?’

  The snow on her boots had begun to melt, leaving pools of water on the floor of the car.

  ‘Give it a rest, can you? It’s not as if there’s anything out here in the countryside to spend money on,’ Ísak grumbled. ‘Take a look around you, girl. The clouds are lifting. Take a look at the mountains and how beautiful it is around here.’