‘Yes, right,’ Thór said, and left it at that. They walked on up the slope.
She felt mortified and was grateful that he couldn’t see her cheeks burning in the dark. In an attempt to distract herself, she thought about the foreign soldiers who had huddled on this bleak, wind-blown hilltop during the Second World War, the elements and the isolation proving the worst enemies of all.
They went a bit further, battered by the blasts of wind, until Thór finally spoke again, raising his voice to be heard: ‘Shall we turn back soon, Una?’ As before, they were walking side by side. Although she couldn’t see his face, his tone hinted that his wishes were quite different; that he’d rather have kept going. That, like her, he’d had quite enough of the village.
‘Yes, sure, let’s,’ she said, deliberately sounding casual. ‘It was good to get a blast of fresh air, though, even if it is freezing.’ She hesitated, then spoke up again. ‘By the way, you remember the man who came to see you the day before Edda died?’ She hadn’t intended to bring up the subject now but was seized by a sudden longing to discuss it with somebody, as it had been weighing on her mind.
‘Yes,’ Thór replied. ‘What about him?’
‘I … I heard on the news that a man’s gone missing. His name’s Patrekur – I can’t remember his patronymic. Do you think it could have been the same man?’
‘What made you think that? Patrekur? No, he was called something quite different. I’ve forgotten what, but I’d have remembered if it had been an unusual name like that.’
‘There was a description of him. They said he was wearing a black leather jacket and jeans.’
Thór laughed. ‘That would apply to half the men in the country.’
‘And his age matched too, I thought – thirtyish. He had close-cropped hair as well, both the man they mentioned on the radio and the one who knocked on our door.’
‘Again, that description would fit every other bloke of that age in the country. I think you’re getting a bit carried away, Una. This place can do that to newcomers. Believe me, I remember it well. When I first moved here I was in a bad way for months. I kept seeing ghosts everywhere, hearing weird noises, getting confused by the wind and depressed by the darkness.’ He relapsed into silence, and the whistling of the gale provided an appropriate accompaniment. ‘But it gets better, Una. You aren’t planning to stay with us for long, but I can assure you that everything improves when the sun comes back. The ghosts melt away with the shadows. Perhaps the old house is haunted, what do I know …? But I have faith in the fact that things will seem better in the spring. And the missing man has nothing to do with us, though I can understand why you would think he might. So some poor sod’s disappeared in Reykjavík. That kind of thing never affects us up here, however tempting it might be to imagine our little village making it into the news.’
He had turned round while he was talking, and Una followed suit. He had a point. She ought to be careful not to read too much into things.
‘I expect you’re right. When Morgunbladid finally arrives and I see a photo of him, I’ll buy you a drink by way of apology. I feel a bit silly, to tell the truth.’
He laid a tentative hand on her shoulder as they walked. ‘There’s no reason why you should. And you don’t owe me an apology. Skálar just takes some getting used to. And the village needs a bit of time to adjust to newcomers as well. This is a place with a soul, if I can put it like that.’
‘Yes, I believe you’re right. It does have a soul.’ After a pause, she went on hopefully: ‘There’s a good atmosphere here, don’t you think?’
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Thór answered after a delay, an unaccustomed heaviness in his voice.
XVII
Salka was sitting at the kitchen table in the attic, waiting for Una, when she returned.
‘Una, I’m sorry,’ Salka said at once. ‘I don’t know what came over me earlier. I was so tired. I just don’t know what I’m doing any more. I …’
‘There’s no need to say anything, Salka. I can’t even imagine what you must be going through.’
‘Well, anyway, the thing is, of course you can stay.’ Salka’s voice was gentle, almost sad. ‘Really, I’d rather have you here. If I’m to go on living in this house, I couldn’t cope with being alone. Could you bear to stay?’
‘Of course.’ Una smiled, feeling the weight falling from her shoulders. Her worries had been unnecessary, after all. And now there would be no need to accept Thór’s kind offer. It would have been an uneasy cohabitation anyway, with the three of them living there.
‘It’ll be a comfort to know you’re upstairs,’ Salka said, and there was no mistaking her sincerity. Glancing around, she added: ‘I see you’ve already started packing. I’m sorry. I can help you put everything back.’
‘No problem. Honestly, it’s not a problem.’
The question hung in the air: Where were you intending to go?
‘You’re welcome to help yourself to anything you like from the fridge downstairs,’ Salka said, after a brief silence. ‘I’ve got some wine too, in the sitting-room cupboard. You’re welcome to take that, as I don’t drink much myself.’
Only then did Una realize that all her empties were lined up on the kitchen floor. She blushed dark red, but, in an attempt at nonchalance, merely said: ‘Thanks.’
XVIII
School wasn’t due to start again until Twelfth Night, and Una had almost nothing to do in the meantime. All her wine was finished; a fact that chafed at her even more than the loneliness, though she couldn’t bring herself to make inroads into Salka’s supplies, despite the generous offer.
She would have dearly loved to talk to someone, but her mother was still abroad, so she couldn’t ring her for a chat, and she hadn’t been in touch with Sara for ages. She toyed with the idea of calling her but in the end decided against it, because it wasn’t as if Sara had made any effort to contact her, even though she had Una’s number. And despite all Sara’s talk about coming to visit, she showed no signs of keeping her promise. That was a shame, as Una would have given anything to see a friendly face right now.
Una’s time in Skálar had begun to feel like a prison sentence. She had let the day pass without going downstairs to see Salka, anxious not to intrude. She had also left Thór and Hjördís in peace, apart from ringing to let them know she wouldn’t be requiring their guest room after all.
Una urgently needed to go to the Co-op to stock up on essentials. As well as basic food, she had a craving for Coke, something sugary, and a bottle of wine – just this once, as a treat. Above all, though, she wanted to pick up the New Year’s Eve edition of Morgunbladid she’d ordered, in the hope of seeing a photo of the missing man.
Admittedly, Thór had been the voice of reason when he told her she was getting carried away. Of course it was nothing but an overactive imagination, and yet she couldn’t stop thinking about the man and the brief news item on the radio. She had to be sure.
Since the papers generally arrived in the afternoon, she deliberately put off going to the shop until then. She would buy something for supper (and a bottle), then casually enquire after the paper Gudrún had promised to put aside for her.
The opening times at the shop were always a little irregular, but Una took a chance that Gudrún would be there at three, and she was right. What’s more, Una managed to catch her alone, which meant she could buy the wine unobserved by any of the neighbours, though she had no reason to suppose that Gudrún was discreet about her fondness for the bottle.
‘Oh, and I was going to pick up the paper too,’ Una said finally, once she had filled a bag with groceries.
‘The paper?’
‘Yes, Morgunbladid, the New Year’s Eve edition. You were going to keep a copy back for me.’
‘Oh, yes, quite right, dear, I remember.’ Gudrún smiled. There was a pause, then she said: ‘The papers haven’t arrived, unfortunately. It happens from time to time. After all, we are a bit out of the way.’
/> Una sighed. She’d been looking forward to settling the matter once and for all, so she could turn her mind to other, more practical, matters. ‘Was it just Morgunbladid that failed to turn up or was it all of them?’
‘None of the papers came today, dear. They’re always sent in one batch; if one paper’s missing, they all are. It can’t be helped. Would you like tomorrow’s paper? Assuming they deliver …’
‘Er, yes, I suppose so.’
‘It’s always good to keep up with what’s happening in the world and not let yourself get too isolated. I gather Salka doesn’t even have a TV in the house. Gunni and I have had a television for several years, ever since we decided to get ourselves a video machine. It makes such a difference. We borrow tapes from the rental place in Thórshöfn; we have a special arrangement with them, of course. They can’t expect us to bring the tapes back the next day, like everyone else. You should talk Salka into getting a TV and video, then you wouldn’t be bored.’
Una nodded. She was actually getting used to doing without a television, but she reflected that watching a good film might take the edge off her loneliness.
‘Gunni and I are glued to Falcon Crest these days. It’s very good, I must say.’
‘I haven’t seen it.’
‘Well, naturally, you’d be very welcome to borrow our tapes once we’ve finished with them. Like I say, we have plenty of leeway about when we take them back.’ It was kind of Gudrún to offer, though her generosity fell short of inviting Una round to watch.
‘Thanks,’ Una said, picking up her bag of groceries, ready to leave.
‘How is Salka, by the way?’ Gudrún asked with studied casualness as Una was on her way out of the door. Clearly she had no intention of letting such a good opportunity for gossip slip through her hands.
‘She’s doing OK, I think, in the circumstances,’ Una replied, reluctant to give Gudrún too much grist for the rumour mill.
‘It must be terribly hard for her. I can’t believe she’s come back,’ Gudrún said, more to herself than Una. ‘I wasn’t expecting it. Not with all the memories here in the village, and especially in that house.’
‘We haven’t seen much of each other. She’s downstairs and I’m up in my flat. We keep ourselves to ourselves most of the time.’
‘Quite, yes. So she doesn’t talk to you much, then?’
Worried that she’d already said more than she should, Una hastily changed the subject. ‘Maybe you could help me, since you know so much about the history of this place. The ghost that’s supposed to haunt Salka’s house …?’
Gudrún visibly brightened. ‘Oh, you’ve heard the stories, have you?’
‘You could say I’ve experienced it first hand.’
‘Well I never! Don’t say you’ve actually seen her?’
‘Thrá, you mean?’
‘Yes, Thrá.’
‘I think so.’
‘Well. Of course, I’ve heard plenty of stories. No one used to want to sleep up there in the old days, I can tell you. She haunted people in their dreams. They would wake up in the middle of the night, scared out of their wits, and pretty much run straight out of the house. That’s why I found it a bit rich when Salka stuck you up there, and charged rent!’ Gudrún laughed.
‘Do you know what happened to her?’
‘To Thrá?’ An odd expression appeared on Gudrún’s face.
‘Yes.’
Gudrún didn’t answer at once, then eventually said: ‘I’m not old enough to remember.’
Una immediately got the impression that she was lying – and not for the first time. ‘Strange about the papers,’ she remarked.
‘Sorry?’
‘Strange they didn’t arrive.’
‘You get used to it, dear. It’s not like living in the city. You just have to relax and go with the flow. Accept things as they are, adjust to the rhythm of nature and not chase every passing fad.’
Una nodded sceptically.
‘How are you finding it here, Una?’ Gudrún asked. ‘Only a few more months and you’ll be able to go home.’
Again, this made it sound like a prison sentence.
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Una said, watching the other woman’s reaction.
‘Oh?’ Gudrún raised her eyebrows.
‘I mean, I’m not so sure I’ll go home. I may stay on for another winter.’
‘Has there been any discussion of that?’ Gudrún’s gaze was sharp.
‘We’ll see. Anyway, thanks for the offer of the videos. Maybe I’ll borrow them some time when I’ve managed to sort out a TV.’
‘Of course, dear. See you tomorrow.’
‘Oh? Tomorrow?’
‘Yes, there’ll be a new Morgunbladid waiting for you. Let’s just hope that one doesn’t go astray as well.’ Gudrún smiled.
XIX
‘A village like this, Una; a village like this has a soul.’ Salka was sitting at the dining table, sipping her evening coffee. She’d found some biscuits in the freezer and brought them out with the coffee.
She was a shadow of her former self, utterly unlike the Salka Una had first met. Her gaze was empty, her voice quieter, her face leached of all colour and her manner distracted.
‘You have to adjust to the village, learn to fit in with it.’ Salka had completely stopped smiling these days. ‘People stick together here. You’ll learn. We’ve all got family links to this place.’ After a beat, she added: ‘Except you, of course.’
Una didn’t know what to say to her any more, didn’t know if it was appropriate to mention Edda at all. It had been made clear that the distant past was off limits too, especially anything to do with Thrá.
‘What, every single person?’ Una queried, knowing that Salka’s claim was an exaggeration.
‘Guffi and Gunnar grew up here, of course. And Kolbeinn’s late father was a friend of theirs. This house belonged to my grandparents, as you know. And, er … Hjördís inherited the farm from her grandparents. That’s why I moved here, Una, to make a future home for me and Edda, among people who would accept me. It’s so important to belong to a community, and that’s what we’ve got here.’
‘I think everyone would be happiest if I left,’ Una remarked, taking herself by surprise. She hadn’t intended to speak so bluntly. ‘I mean …’
‘I know what you mean, Una. And I think you’re right, up to a point. It’s not necessarily unkindly meant, but you have to learn about the place, the people. Try to be understanding.’
‘I’ve always …’ Una began, but Salka interrupted.
‘Is the coffee OK? Not too strong?’
‘What? Oh, no, it’s fine.’
‘Do you sense her? At night?’ Salka asked abruptly. ‘Do you see her?’
Against her will, Una recalled the image of Thrá and felt her flesh prickling. She was filled with trepidation at the thought of having to sleep in the attic. The question struck her as odd too, as if Salka had forgotten their previous conversation. She hesitated, then said: ‘Well, yes, I think so, like I told you before, but of course …’
‘I meant Edda,’ Salka cut in sharply.
‘Edda? I … no …’ Una rose slowly to her feet, not wanting to know where this was going. ‘Anyway, thanks so much for the coffee and biscuits. They were both delicious.’
‘I had the idea I might be able to make contact with Edda here, in this house. There’s something about this house …’ Salka put down her cup and rose to her feet as well. ‘I think I’ll go to bed. Thanks for the chat, Una. I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Yes, good night,’ Una replied.
She went into the hall and lingered there until Salka had gone into her bedroom and finally closed her door, then seized the chance to make a phone call to Reykjavík.
‘Hello.’
‘Sara?’ It was more than a month since the friends had last spoken.
‘Yes, hi, is that Una?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you know how late it is? Aren�
��t you in the same time zone up there in Skálar?’
Only then did it occur to Una that she had no idea what time it was. The unchanging darkness outside made it hard to keep track.
‘It’s good to hear from you, anyway, Una. It’s been ages,’ Sara went on warmly. ‘How was your Christmas?’
‘Oh, fine,’ Una said, her voice sounding unconvincing to her own ears.
‘It’s strange having you so far away,’ Sara went on. ‘I miss you. It was always so nice being able to pop round to yours for coffee.’ It was her turn to sound unconvincing. ‘How’s it going with your tenants?’
‘What? Oh, OK, you know,’ Una said, though in reality she hadn’t a clue. Her mother took care of that side of things. ‘Listen, Sara,’ she added. ‘I wanted to check something. Have you by any chance got any back issues of Morgunbladid ?’
‘Morgunbladid?’ Sara laughed. ‘I didn’t think you read it. I thought it was against your principles to read a conservative paper.’
In fact, the reason Una didn’t have a subscription to Morgunbladid, or to any other newspaper, was lack of money, but there was no point going into all that again.
‘Oh, the papers don’t always reach us here and I just needed some information.’
‘Sure, of course, no problem.’
‘That man who went missing just before New Year, Patrekur something … Do you remember the story?’
‘Yes, you couldn’t miss it.’
‘I need a picture of him.’
‘What? You need a picture of him? What on earth for?’
‘It’s a long story.’ Una added, rather pointedly: ‘I’ll tell you when you come and visit.’
‘OK, I’ll go and check. It was probably on the back page over New Year. I seem to remember that. Hang on a sec.’
There was silence at the other end. Una waited patiently. What on earth for? Sara had asked, and not without reason. Una wondered if she was letting herself get carried away. Could she have felt the need to invent some drama in an attempt to escape the dreary reality that confronted her up here in Skálar?
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