The Girl Who Died

by Ragnar Jónasson

  This time she knew the number off by heart.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hi, Sara. It’s Una.’

  ‘Una, well I never! This is becoming almost a daily occurrence. Did you get my letter?’

  ‘Yes, I did. I just wanted to thank you. I’m incredibly grateful.’

  ‘Did you find the man? The missing man?’ Sara’s tone was teasing. She never took anything seriously. It was one of her most attractive qualities and also one of her most infuriating faults.

  ‘We’ll see,’ Una replied. ‘Actually, I was wondering if I could persuade you to do me another favour.’

  ‘Sure,’ Sara replied after a brief hesitation. ‘Within reason, of course.’

  Una laughed. ‘Of course. But it’s slightly more complicated than the last one, so just say if it’s too much trouble. I think it might be quite important, though.’

  ‘OK, out with it.’

  ‘It’s an old incident I’m looking into – an incident that happened in Skálar.’

  ‘What on earth are you up to over there, Una? I thought you were supposed to be teaching those two girls?’

  Una was momentarily silent. Presumably news of Edda’s death hadn’t reached Reykjavík, or else Sara hadn’t made the connection. ‘I teach during the day,’ she said eventually. ‘But I have to keep myself amused somehow in the evenings.’

  ‘OK, I’ll look into it for you. How long ago did it happen?’

  ‘In 1927.’

  ‘In 1927? Are you joking?’

  ‘No. It’s connected to the house I’m living in and the woman I’m staying with. I really need to know more about it.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘A girl died – a little girl. Her name was Thrá.’

  ‘How did she die?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I have the feeling it, er … that there might have been something suspicious about it.’

  ‘And where exactly am I supposed to find that information, Una?’

  ‘Well, I thought, you know, from old newspapers or something. If it ever made it into the news.’

  ‘Did they even have newspapers in 1927?’

  ‘Oh, come on, Sara! Of course they did. Would you be able to check it for me?’

  Sara sighed. ‘All right, I suppose so, but I’m not promising any-thing. I might be able to find it in the Our Century series. Mum and Dad have got all the volumes. I’ll start there. Then I’ll see if I can go down to the National Library and plough through the newspaper archives. I know we’re friends, Una, but you have to draw the line somewhere.’ This was said in a humorous tone, and Una smiled. Sara always managed to cheer her up.

  ‘Thanks so much, Sara,’ Una said, genuinely grateful. ‘Give me a call as soon as you find anything.’ She said goodbye.

  Conscious of how few people she had on her side right now, Una felt all the more grateful for her friendship with Sara, as far as it went. Perhaps the separation had been good for their relationship, by giving them a chance to miss each other a bit.

  Una found herself wondering yet again if she would be better off back in Reykjavík; whether her decision to leave had been a mistake. After all, she reasoned, if there was a risk of her becoming suicidal, as she had sometimes feared, there would be little to prevent her here in Skálar, where no one cared about her or kept an eye on her or bothered to come round and visit. Yet in spite of this she felt that the adversity had, if anything, made her stronger and more determined. And of course she couldn’t be sure of finding work in Reykjavík at this time of year. She had taken a temporary break from her old job and without an income she wouldn’t be able to survive. It wasn’t as if she or her mother had any savings to live off. While they weren’t exactly poor, they both lived pretty much from wage slip to wage slip, and couldn’t afford any leeway. Here in Skálar, on the other hand, Una had finally been able to put a little aside from every pay cheque. Life was cheaper here than in the city, because there was virtually nothing to spend her money on and she got her accommodation for free.

  She genuinely enjoyed teaching too, though she couldn’t help wondering sometimes what it would have been like if she’d finished her medical studies and become a practising doctor, rather than an academic like her father. She certainly wouldn’t have been short of money.

  Her thoughts returned to the present. There was still no sign of Salka. Before Una went back up to the attic, she took a careful look around to make sure there was nothing to betray the fact that she had used the phone. She felt, absurdly, like a criminal hiding her tracks.

  Once upstairs she lay down on the sofa. Her thoughts returned to Hjördís. Patrekur had been looking for her and had apparently found her, from what she herself had told Una when they met in church. Una hadn’t mentioned this to the police; that could wait until an officer came out to the village. Her conscience was a little uneasy at the thought that she might be getting Hjördís into trouble, and even more so at the idea of causing any difficulties for Thór.

  Hjördís was still a bit of an unknown quantity, though Una had got the feeling, the few times they had met, that there was something the other woman wasn’t telling her. She had been notably cool when Una went over there for dinner on New Year’s Eve. It was as if she had a grudge against Una, though Una couldn’t think what she had done to deserve it. The feeling was unpleasant; she wasn’t used to being the object of someone’s resentment. All she could think was that Hjördís’s hostility must relate somehow to Thór.

  In spite of that, or perhaps because of it, Una decided to go and see Hjördís to warn her that she’d spoken to the police and give her a chance to prepare herself. It was only fair, wasn’t it?

  Perhaps she was primarily motivated by a desire to protect Thór, but there was also a chance that on some level she genuinely wanted to improve her relationship with Hjördís. She simply couldn’t tell. Glancing at her watch, she saw that it wasn’t that late. Best get it over with now.

  Una got up from the sofa, resisting the temptation to knock back a glass of wine first for some Dutch courage. She pulled on her boots and went outside into the darkness, leaving discreetly by the back door, though she was quite sure that Salka wasn’t home yet. After going a few steps, she noticed that Salka’s car was parked in its usual place, so she couldn’t have gone far.

  Una headed up the now familiar track to the farm. She took her time, mentally rehearsing her conversation with Hjördís as she walked, keen to explain her motives as clearly and concisely as possible.

  And yet with every step her confidence dwindled and she had to keep reminding herself that if no one had anything to hide, there could be no harm done. No amount of insistence that the villagers preferred to solve their own problems could hold much weight in these circumstances. It would be impossible to follow this absurd rule in every situation, and in any case it didn’t apply to her, as an outsider who had no interests to protect beyond her wish to do the right thing.

  When she reached the front door of the farm, she paused a moment, going over what she intended to say one more time. Then she knocked and waited, but no one came to the door. She knocked again, louder, but there was still no response. Though the outside light was on, the windows were dark.

  Stumped, she turned and walked over to the guesthouse, thinking they might both be there – or Thór might, at any rate. But the lights were off, the curtains were drawn and there was no sign of life. She knocked anyway, diffidently. Thór had never invited her inside – or had any particular reason to do so – but there was something about the guesthouse that made her uneasy. Again, there was no response.

  Where had they all gone? First Salka, now Hjördís and Thór? It occurred to Una that they might be together somewhere and she wondered what on earth was going on.

  Her journey wasted, she set off back down the hill to the village. The place was eerily quiet. Entering among the dim shapes of the houses, she had the odd sensation that she was alone, that everyone else had left, deliberately abandoning her;
as if she was marooned there and would never be rescued.

  Then, her stomach tightening with fear, she saw figures materializing out of the night, coming from the direction of Guffi’s house. As they drew nearer, she realized it was Hjördís and Thór, and behind them she made out Salka. Had they all been visiting Guffi?

  Una was astonished. She couldn’t decide whether to go over or to wait and see. In the end, she chose caution.

  From where she was standing in the shadows, she noticed that they hadn’t been the only ones visiting Guffi, because a short way behind Salka came Inga and Kolbeinn, and finally Gudrún and Gunnar. Apparently, the entire village had congregated at his house, yet no one had thought to tell her.

  When they were close enough to see her in the faint gleam of Guffi’s outside light, Thór bowed his head, but Hjördís looked straight at her, defiantly, as if she had nothing to hide or be ashamed of.

  ‘Una, nice to see you,’ she said, stopping right in front of her. ‘Were you looking for us or just going for a walk?’ Thór halted too but made no move to join in the conversation.

  Una vacillated. This probably wasn’t the time or place to discuss what she had been intending to say to them. Besides, she found Hjördís’s manner so grating that it removed any desire she’d had to warn her. It would serve her right to receive a surprise visit from the police.

  ‘Or was it Thór you were after?’ Hjördís added, the sarcasm plain in her voice. ‘I can make myself scarce if you two need to talk.’

  ‘I wasn’t looking for anyone,’ Una retorted, sarcastic in return. ‘I see you’ve all been enjoying yourselves at Guffi’s. He must have forgotten to invite me.’

  Hjördís smiled. ‘Guffi never forgets anything.’

  ‘As it happens, I was on my way round to see him anyway,’ Una announced, finally managing to disconcert the other woman.

  Hjördís didn’t answer straight away, just stared at Una, then turned to Thór, before eventually remarking: ‘Well, I’m sure he’ll give you a warm welcome.’ She stalked off, with Thór following a few paces behind, not even casting a glance in Una’s direction.

  So much for his support. Yet again, Una found herself baffled by their relationship. One minute he was sitting hugging her on the sofa, listening to her most intimate secrets, the next he was totally ignoring her.

  She stood there for a moment, at a loss. Having boasted that she was going round to see Guffi, she realized she had no choice, though it was the last thing she wanted to do. She dithered a while, not daring to look round. The villagers had all returned to their houses and the night seemed oppressively quiet again, but she had a horrible feeling that they were all peering out at her from their darkened windows.

  The first steps she took towards the big house felt impossibly hard, but she couldn’t back down now, couldn’t let the others see that she’d been bluffing, that she was too much of a coward to confront the man who seemed to have the entire village in his grip.

  XXIV

  Una stood outside Guffi’s imposing house, summoning up her courage, then rang the bell. She had been expecting to be kept waiting, but the door opened almost instantaneously, as if he had been waiting for her.

  ‘Una, what an unexpected pleasure,’ he said, meeting her eyes with an icy stare. ‘Won’t you come in? It’s a long time since I’ve seen you.’

  ‘Thank you. Yes, I’ve been busy.’

  ‘Is that so? My wife’s resting upstairs, as usual, so why don’t you come down to my office?’

  Una baulked at this, reluctant to re-live the claustrophobic fear she had experienced before in that cramped, windowless space. Then she reminded herself that this time she’d come here on her own initiative to confront him and it was vital not to let him wrongfoot her. Naturally, he had invited her downstairs since that was where he felt in control. And precisely because of this, because she could see through him, she nodded and said: ‘Yes, sure. Let’s talk there.’

  He led her down the stairs and she took a seat in the office chair, the same as before, to show that she wasn’t remotely intimidated by him. After all, why should she be afraid of this man? Other people in the village might owe their livelihoods to him, but she didn’t. She wasn’t intending to live in Skálar long term and, anyway, she had a signed teaching contract. He couldn’t just sack her on a whim.

  No, she told herself firmly, she wasn’t frightened of him.

  She waited for him to take the armchair, as he had last time, but, instead of sitting down he shut the door and positioned his imposing bulk in front of it. Despite her resolve not to be intimidated, Una felt unnerved. It was as if he had adopted the role of jailer.

  Her heart began to pound and she drew a deep breath, trying not to let it show. She reminded herself that she had told Hjördís and Thór she was coming to see Guffi. It was just as well that someone knew … Perhaps she was a little afraid. But if anything happened, Hjördís and Thór would side with her, they’d fetch help … wouldn’t they? Surely she could rely on them? Assailed by a sudden doubt, she felt her discomfort intensifying.

  ‘Well, Una,’ Guffi said after a weighty pause. ‘I’m not convinced you understand the community you’ve moved into.’

  It wasn’t a question, but she felt compelled to answer anyway.

  ‘Actually, I think I do.’ Her voice emerged sounding shriller than she would have liked.

  ‘I’m not so sure about that, Una – no matter how often we’ve tried to explain to you how things work, for your own good …’ He stressed the last words and she shivered at the implied threat.

  The situation felt oddly nightmarish: the airless little basement room, the dim illumination of the single wall light and the greenish glow of the desk lamp that reminded her disturbingly of the lamp in her father’s study; her exit blocked by this vile man in his dark-yellow jumper and worn jeans, with his rough hair and that nasty smirk on his face.

  Briefly closing her eyes, she summoned up the image of her father. She remembered him so well, sitting at his desk, the complete opposite of Guffi: neat, polite, always well turned out, never raising his voice. If anything, he had been a little too placid sometimes, viewing the world with a dispassion that bordered on indifference. And she had loved him so dearly that not a day went by even now when she didn’t think of him. In fact, she’d always been closer to him than to her mother, and losing him without any explanation like that had been a shattering blow from which she had never recovered.

  Guffi broke the silence again, speaking in a loud, bullying tone: ‘I hear you’re claiming you saw a man in the village, a man you think the police are looking for.’

  ‘Yes … yes, I think I did,’ she faltered, cursing herself for not being bolder, more defiant, but she was feeling too cowed. He had succeeded in creating a menacing atmosphere that had got her seriously alarmed, as he had no doubt intended.

  ‘And you’ve talked of ringing the police,’ Guffi persisted.

  ‘Why … why were you all holding a meeting this evening?’ Una asked, unable to suppress the tremor in her voice.

  ‘I’m the one asking the questions here!’ Guffi roared, and she flinched. ‘It’s none of your business why I choose to invite people to my house.’ After a brief pause to let his words sink in, he asked: ‘Why were you going to call the police?’

  She wondered if she should tell him that she had already gone ahead and done so, but didn’t dare. ‘Because the police need to know,’ she said instead. ‘The man’s gone missing.’

  ‘People are always going missing,’ Guffi said scornfully. ‘It’s got nothing to do with us. We don’t need any outside interference here – either from you or from the police. Do you understand? I’m not sure you do, Una.’

  ‘Sometimes you … you just don’t have a choice,’ she stammered in a small voice. She wanted to say: You don’t have any power over me, Guffi. What I decide to do is none of your business.

  ‘You always have a choice.’ He fixed her gaze with his. ‘For example, I�
��ve got two alternatives this evening: I can let you go home or I can walk out of this room, lock the door behind me and leave you to think things over.’

  Una couldn’t believe her ears. Her muscles tensed and she had an urge to leap to her feet and dodge round him, but she knew her limbs couldn’t be trusted to obey. ‘What are you saying?’ she asked at last, the tremor in her voice unmistakeable now. ‘Are you threatening … are you …?’

  Guffi didn’t answer. His face impassive, he stood there rock-like, blocking the door, demonstrating that she wouldn’t have a chance of getting past him. And she knew she couldn’t take him on, in spite of the age difference. He was powerfully built; his shoulders and chest were strapped with muscle under his old fisherman’s jersey.

  He couldn’t be serious. No sane man would dream of coming out with something like that except as a joke. But he didn’t appear to be joking as he glowered at her from under his heavy brows.

  ‘I’m not implying anything, Una. I just want you to understand how serious this is. We don’t like your prying; don’t appreciate the way you’re … sticking your nose into our affairs. I was dead against your coming here in the first place, but Salka got her way. That won’t happen again, I can tell you. My poor wife wanted me to give you the benefit of the doubt. She said it would be good to have fresh blood in the village, and I listened to her. We decided to let you take care of the Christmas concert.’ He paused, then added heavily: ‘And look how that turned out.’

  Una gasped at the injustice of this. ‘That … that wasn’t my fault. There’s no way I’m responsible for what happened to Edda.’

  ‘That’s irrelevant,’ he snapped. ‘Your presence here has brought us nothing but trouble. And now you want to call the police about something you think you saw – about some wretched lowlife who’s disappeared. Well, I’m telling you, we’ve always taken care of our own affairs here in Skálar.’

  Una rose to her feet. ‘I think that’ll do,’ she said, anger helping her to get her voice under control. ‘I’m tired. I’m going home now.’