The Fox Read online

  He gazed out of the window and saw the rusty grey handrail of a bridge, a rushing river and the endless sands beyond that stretched down to the sea as if they were fleeing the looming mountains.

  ‘It’s good,’ she said, her thoughts more on payment that the landscape.

  ‘Just a bit! It’s magnificent,’ Ísak said and seemed for a second to be downcast. ‘I can tell you that I’ll never leave this place. There’s no bank or foreigner going to take my land. Never!’

  ‘So when do I get paid for cleaning at Gröf?’ she asked once again. ‘And I thought you would pay me at the end of every week.’

  The wheels juddered as he slowed the car down suddenly, and Sajee instinctively raised her hands to protect her face. Ísak laughed.

  ‘You don’t give up, do you?’ he sneered. ‘Take it easy. Not just anyone can drive in these conditions, but you’re safe with me. And will you stop worrying about being paid? When we get back I’ll draw up a written contract for you, setting out generous terms for payment, board and lodging. You’ll be paid in full on the first of April. Is that good enough for you?’

  Sajee looked at him suspiciously, and nodded in agreement.

  ‘Or do you have a better offer?’ Ísak asked, switching on the radio. He seemed pleased with the idea of a contract and sang along with the music. ‘Has anyone ever offered you a contract before?’

  Sajee shook her head. She was about to ask exactly what a generous payment would amount to in money, before he interrupted her before she could speak.

  ‘No! I thought as much,’ he said, and turned the radio up as a new song began and his out-of-tune voice warbled along with it.

  Sajee giggled, and put her hand over her mouth. Ísak barked with laughter, and sang ever louder, even more out of tune with the music, and she couldn’t help laughing, relieved to have a moment’s truce. So far she hadn’t been paid anything, and hoped she could expect a decent amount when it came. The thought made her feel more relaxed and she closed her eyes for a while. She seemed to be constantly tired these days, with a heaviness in her head.

  ‘Press that button if you want to lean the seat back,’ Ísak said, pointing out a switch.

  The leather seat was warm, and she alternated dozing and watching the landscape through the window for the rest of the journey. There wasn’t a light or a sign of life to be seen anywhere.

  10

  Guðgeir had been determined to sleep as long as possible, but found he was wide awake before eight in the morning. The dark brown blinds weren’t enough to keep out the brightness of the day outside. Rays of sunshine leaked through the gaps, casting a sharp pattern of bars of light on the bedroom floor. He pulled the duvet up, adjusted the pillow under his head and tried to lose himself in sleep for a few more minutes.

  Thoughts of his relationship with Inga had kept him awake the night before, and now he felt those doubts returning. She needed more time, understandably, and he knew he couldn’t afford to allow himself to be obsessed with regret and loneliness. That would be a sure road to speculation and jealousy, as had happened the day before. This Crossfit legal guy was naturally nothing more than a decent colleague in Inga’s eyes; or so he told himself.

  Finnur was a helpful person who happened to have the strength to help her with the garden chores, and it didn’t have to be anything more or less than that – just as Linda was for him. He fidgeted in the bed that had come with the apartment, which the couple upstairs had described as ‘weekend width,’ an expression he found to be dismal.

  His dark thoughts returned, so he kicked off the duvet and stretched out. It would be all about patience, common sense and consideration if he wanted to win back Inga’s trust. That would be his only route to regaining what had been lost.

  The sunshine on the floor had almost reached the wardrobe, so it was time to be on his feet. The bathroom mirror highlighted dark bristles on his cheeks, but instead of shaving he carried a damp towel with him along the corridor and quietly opened the door to the shared utility room. His running gear was by the washing machine and there could hardly be anyone up and about on the day that Jesus had been crucified. He swung open the door, straight into Matthildur’s bottom, where she was on all fours in front of him, busily cleaning out the washing machine’s filter.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ Guðgeir said, even more surprised than she was. ‘Did I hurt you? I didn’t think anyone else was awake.’

  Matthildur stood up, the filter in her hand, and began scooping the grey gunk from it. Her eyes wandered shyly up Guðgeir’s frame, which he found awkward as he stood there in nothing but his boxer shorts. He dropped the towel into his washing basket and took the few steps to the washing line where he pulled down his track suit bottoms, a singlet and a running jacket. Pegs pinged from the line.

  ‘In top form, I see. That comes of running all the time,’ she said, hands on her hips. ‘Can’t you persuade my Svenni to join you?’ she asked, a plaintive tone in her voice.

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ Guðgeir said, retrieving two of the stray clothes pegs from the floor before deciding that it might be best to first put on his clothes.

  She eyed him as she wiped spilled water from the floor. The detritus from the filter went into the bin in the corner.

  ‘Do what you can with my Svenni, won’t you?’ Matthildur said. ‘Just do it right and drop the idea into his head a little at a time, but you have to stay with it,’ she said with a mawkish smile, and he wondered what he had got himself into.

  ‘I can invite him to come for a run with me, a couple of times. But I don’t put pressure on people. Either he wants to come or he doesn’t.’

  She looked doubtfully at him.

  ‘Sometimes you have to persevere,’ she said with a hint of reproach. ‘It seems to me that you could do with some company. You’re on your own down here so much that you must be lonely,’ she added and the concern in her voice was clear. ‘There’s plenty going on here in Höfn. There’s all kinds of social activity. You just have to look for it.’

  It had to happen, Guðgeir thought to himself. It went without saying that people must have noticed that he kept to himself. Matthildur stood still, expecting an answer, amicably but still insistent. He wondered if she really expected him to tell her all his secrets. He had to turn the conversation around and change the subject.

  ‘Speaking of Svenni, did he mention to you the Asian woman who washed up here during the winter, expecting to work in a salon? Do you know if the woman got a flight back to Reykjavík? From what Svenni told me, she was broke and didn’t know what to do.’

  ‘Yes, she just had a one-way ticket because she thought there was a job waiting for her here, but I suppose she must have gone back south somehow,’ Matthildur said, as she finished rinsing out the filter. She crouched down in front of the washing machine to slot it back in place. Guðgeir watched, and decided it was odd of Sveinn to refer to her as ‘the old woman.’

  ‘Well, I hope at least that someone was looking out for her.’

  ‘I’ll ask Svenni to check. He’ll definitely remember when that was. About two months ago, wasn’t it?’ Matthildur asked, obviously anxious to do whatever she could for the lonely detective.

  ‘More like six weeks. And yes, it would be interesting to know what became of her. I suppose she could have taken a coach to Reykjavík,’ Guðgeir said, relieved that the conversation had taken a new direction. ‘It goes a couple of times a week, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It does. But in the winter I think you have to book it the day before, otherwise it doesn’t run all the way out here. And it doesn’t help that taking the coach all that way is so expensive, and the weather this winter was dreadful,’ she said, emptying the washing machine as she spoke.

  ‘Sveinn mentioned that she had trouble reading Icelandic. So she might have had trouble finding her way,’ Guðgeir said, noticing a feeling of disquiet growing inside him.

  ‘Somebody must have helped her,’ Matthildur said with conviction. ‘People
normally manage to sort themselves out.’ She lifted the basket brimming with clean clothes and squeezed herself past him. Guðgeir quickly opened the door for her. ‘But I’ll ask Svenni,’ she said as she disappeared up the stairs. ‘Come and have dinner with us on Easter Monday if you’re alone,’ she said, her voice becoming fainter as he heard her open the door to the flat upstairs.

  ‘Thank you,’ Guðgeir called after her, and thought for a moment. ‘I’ll do that.’

  In his basement flat he took a banana from the fridge and ate it as he dressed. The sun shone as he jogged towards the Nature Path.

  11

  ‘Marta said you would pay me,’ she said when she got back.

  ‘It’s exhausting listening to you nagging,’ Selma complained, patting her steel-grey hair. ‘Stop it, will you? I can’t be dealing with this endless moaning.’

  ‘She said you would pay me, and Ísak said I would have a contract,’ Sajee insisted.

  There was a clear flash of anger visible on Selma’s face. Her grey eyes turned cold and her cheeks with the broken veins flushed as she seemed to barely manage to control her temper.

  ‘You work here and have no business being elsewhere. I should never have…’

  ‘I need to know what I’m being paid so I can make plans, organise things,’ Sajee tried to say, but got no further before Selma cut her off.

  ‘You’re obsessed with money,’ she snapped. Her head trembled, the loose skin of her throat shook and this was followed by a peal of wild laughter. She snatched up a cloth, used it to polish the gleaming new coffee machine, and moved the old one aside. Sajee watched in astonishment as Selma went through the same movements three times before saying anything.

  ‘There. You can go upstairs and get some rest,’ she said in a tone that made it an instruction rather than a request, and her eyes flashes, at odds with the neutral words she chose with care. ‘I’ll go and get my boy and he’ll bring the contract up to you in a little while. You ought to calm down a little,’ she said, hobbling away and muttering under her breath that it was downright impertinence to be bothering a busy man with something so trivial.

  Sajee hurried up the stairs.

  A little later Ísak appeared with sheets of paper and handed them to her. Her hand shook as she took them. The lettering was tiny and the lines were crammed close together into black smudges on a white background.

  ‘I’ll leave one copy with you,’ he said. ‘Bring it with you down to the kitchen when you’ve read it and signed.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I don’t know how long I’ll be staying here.’

  Her eyes scanned the sheet of paper from top to bottom.

  ‘It’s a contract up to Easter. It’s just a formality. Mother and I want everything to be correct, so we’re not accused of any wrongdoing. It sets out that you get payment, board and lodging while you’re here at Bröttuskriður,’ Ísak said. ‘It ought to answer all your questions.’

  ‘How much will I be paid?’ she asked, about to explain how much she had been paid for cleaning people’s houses in Reykjavík, but Ísak raised an impatient hand and pointed at the sheet of paper.

  ‘Don’t make things difficult. Like I said, it’s all in there. Just read through it all carefully. If there’s anything you want to discuss, then make a note of it so we know where we stand. You know, it’s sometimes harder to understand you than other foreigners because of…’

  He touched his own upper lip, looking pointedly at her mouth. Then he patted her shoulder.

  ‘You see, Sajee, it’s better if you write everything down, so nothing is left in any doubt between us,’ he added, his tone gentler.

  ‘But, I can’t … I don’t know how…’

  The words formed on her lips, and for a second she was about to tell him the truth, but stopped short. That wouldn’t be a smart move. Her clear lack of literacy would leave her even more defenceless out here in this place. She couldn’t trust them to understand. No, the simplest thing would be to sign her name on this lousy piece of paper, whatever the writing on it meant, even if the payment was going to be something less than the usual rate. The main thing was to get some money and regain her independence, and a few thousand krónur either way would hardly make a difference while she wasn’t paying for food or rent. She gave him a courteous smile of agreement, held up the sheet of paper and looked at it as if she were giving it her full attention.

  ‘Fine,’ Ísak said and she sighed with relief as he left the room.

  Five minutes later she stood by the closed kitchen door with the paper in one hand and her phone in the other. She could hear mother and son talking.

  ‘There’s something about her, I feel a strong connection,’ Selma said. ‘It’s not just her mouth.’

  ‘Sure,’ Ísak said, sounding distant.

  ‘Could there be something?’

  ‘Anything is possible.’

  ‘But her colour?’ Selma said.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘A different colour … but apart from that there’s such a resemblance to your sister. It was so painful to lose her.’

  ‘Relax, mother,’ Ísak said reassuringly. ‘Now you have Sajee.’

  ‘She massaged my feet yesterday and she did it wonderfully,’ Selma said.

  ‘There you are. She helps you relax and she’s company for you,’ Ísak replied. ‘She’s a real Godsend but you’ll have to behave yourself, and no more lending her to those people at Gröf. I don’t want to see their faces here again. You hear me?’ Ísak said, his voice rising.

  ‘It was just once, and I like to see visitors once in a while,’ Selma complained. ‘I don’t want to be here alone. They promised to keep it to themselves if she cleans for them as well. What else was I supposed to do?’

  ‘Well, now you have company and help, so you can stop complaining and behave.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And if you hear from them, you can tell them that she’s gone. You know we don’t want visitors here. Just get rid of them all.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is that crystal clear?’ Ísak’s voice was cold and hard. ‘Well?’

  ‘You mustn’t take her from me. I’m like a prisoner here.’

  There was a note of desperation in Selma’s voice.

  ‘Not if you do as you’re told.’

  ‘I don’t want to be alone,’ she wailed again, her helplessness plain. Low sobs could be heard through the door.

  ‘There, there. It’ll be fine,’ she heard Ísak say. ‘You can keep her a while longer. But you can moan at her and leave me and Thormóður in peace.’

  The floorboards creaked and Ísak’s voice sounded closer. Sajee quickly moved away from the kitchen door. She just managed to get to the stairs as the door swung open and she shook as she sat on the steps, while his heavy footsteps receded into the distance. She tiptoed back upstairs and thought over everything she had heard. This bizarre conversation had left her agitated, and she decided it was time to tell Hirumi the whole story. The phone rang a couple of times and then she saw that the battery was practically flat, so she pulled her suitcase from under the bed and felt for the charger that she kept in the pocket. It was nowhere to be found. She emptied everything from the case, searched under the chest of drawers, hunted through the whole room – without success.

  In a panic she picked up the phone and called the first number she saw. It was answered after two rings. She tried frantically to explain where she was, before the woman politely interrupted her. She recognised the voice as Hulda’s, someone she had cleaned for.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sajee,’ Hulda said. ’I found another cleaner.’

  12

  As the pool had been closed, Guðgeir took a shower at home. Satisfied with his seven-kilometre run, he scrambled eggs, reflecting that at this rate, he could be ready for the Reykjavík marathon in August. He fetched cheese from the fridge and dropped slices of bread into the toaster. The endorphins were still coursing through him, but were slowing down,
and his thoughts became more grounded. A half-marathon, at least, he decided. At the very least, a ten-kilometre run. He should be able to complete that in a respectable time, and with any luck, by then he’d be back in Reykjavík and back at work.

  His outlook brighter than he remembered for a long time, he opened the local paper and scanned the pages as he ate. Just as he forked up the last mouthful, Inga called. She was in a good mood and it was good to hear her voice.

  ‘You know, I’m looking forward to your long weekend off,’ she said, and Guðgeir felt a surge of wellbeing.

  ‘So I get to stay at home?’ he quipped. A knot of concern immediately tightened in his belly and the muscles in his neck stiffened. It was a ridiculous question, and it was painful that it had to be asked.

  ‘Well, of course. You’re hardly going to get a room somewhere for a couple of days,’ she replied and Guðgeir felt the tightness at the back of his neck disappear and the muscles in his back relaxed.

  ‘I’m looking forward to being home,’ he said tapping his empty plate a couple of times with his fork as he spoke. ‘How’s the garden looking? Was Finnur much use,’ he asked, unable to hold back the question.

  ‘Just a bit! He was brilliant and went back and forth to the dump with his trailer, and then we went for a meal at that new place that just opened along the street. Lovely food there. I had the fish and Finnur had lamb and we both decided it’s worth going there again.’

  Guðgeir was silent for a moment.

  ‘Together?’ he asked at last, and the hesitation in Inga’s voice was almost palpable.

  ‘No, of course not. Don’t be like that. He’s just helping me. He’s a really decent guy and he does a great job at the office,’ Inga said hurriedly.

  ‘That’s good to know,’ Guðgeir said drily as he felt his mood change. It was surprising how this smooth guy who talked too much had made an impression on Inga, who normally saw right through Finnur and his type.