‘So you didn’t actually see anyone?’ Einar’s voice conveyed neither mockery nor doubt. His question sounded genuine.
‘No. But I heard footsteps and breathing and mumbling that sounded like gibberish. Almost like growling.’ At first, when everything went black, it had crossed her mind that it might be a wild animal. Ridiculous though it seemed now, the noises and stench had suggested as much. ‘And there was a disgusting smell of blood.’ Aldís decided she might as well say it, even if he laughed.
But he didn’t; he frowned and looked at her seriously. ‘Blood?’
‘Yes. The smell. Not actual blood. Just the smell of it. Foul. Stinking.’ The wind had blown a strand of hair over her face; she tucked it behind her ear. ‘When the power came back on and Steini, Hákon and Veigar arrived, we searched everywhere but there wasn’t a drop to see. Neither Tobbi nor I were bleeding, so the smell must have come from the burglar or whoever it was. Because it vanished at the same time as the intruder did.’
‘Do you think he was wounded?’
‘I don’t know. There wasn’t a single drop of blood on the floor or anywhere else in the building. Perhaps the smell came from bandages or dressings.’
‘Are you positive it was the smell of blood? Could it have been something else?’
‘No.’ Hearing how sharp she sounded, Aldís stopped herself. When she spoke again her voice was much softer. ‘I work in a kitchen. I know what blood smells like.’ She didn’t want to admit that it had reminded her of the reek after Lilja gave birth; the reek of the poor, malformed little baby and of the room she had been made to clean.
‘Of course.’ Einar grimaced slightly as if he could see into her mind and glimpse the white skin of the deformed newborn, wrapped in its sheet. ‘Did they find any footprints? Or had the snow drifted over them?’
Aldís shook her head. ‘There were no tracks visible but that doesn’t mean anything. Lilja and Veigar took it as proof that I was talking rubbish, but it was sleeting and even my footprints had disappeared.’ She looked resentfully skywards, as if the heavens were to blame. ‘If that stupid little jerk Tobbi had told the truth it wouldn’t have mattered. But he wouldn’t speak and just shook his head when they tried to interrogate him. Now everyone thinks I’m nuts.’ She looked at him. ‘But I’m not.’
‘I believe you. If that helps.’
It helped a great deal: one person was all she needed. ‘Thanks.’ She didn’t like to say any more for fear of sounding sentimental.
Einar turned his gaze to the flowerbed where the cigarette butt had landed. ‘God, I’d kill for another fag.’
Aldís was silent as there wasn’t much she could do about that. He’d probably only said it to change the subject. She was relieved in a way, as there was not much more to tell. She’d told him the facts; the rest was speculation, which would add nothing to the story. ‘There are some cigarettes in a box in Lilja and Veigar’s sitting room. I clean it every other week. I could pinch one next time.’ Of course it was unwise, but she didn’t care. They’d never notice that one was missing; neither of them smoked, and as far as Aldís knew they never had any visitors. The cigarettes were bound to be dry and past their best anyway. She could probably get away with stealing several.
‘Don’t. Not on my account. But I’d be grateful for a packet if you’re going into town any time soon.’ He fished a worn leather wallet out of his back pocket. ‘I’ve got money. Enough for one, anyway.’
‘Are you allowed to have a wallet?’ According to the regulations, the boys had to hand over all their belongings on arrival. Battered suitcases were unceremoniously confiscated and the couple went through their clothes, books and whatever else they or their parents had deemed necessary for their stay. Aldís had often witnessed this and seen how painful it was for the boys to relinquish the only thing that connected them to home and their old life. But the rules were understandable when you considered that the boys were perfectly capable of smuggling in booze, porn mags and anything else they wouldn’t have access to at Krókur. She was fairly certain that Lilja and Veigar didn’t allow them to keep any money they’d brought with them. Not that they had the opportunity to buy anything here, but they might sneak to a call box to ring a cab and run away. Or pay one of the others to do something forbidden, like stealing from the storeroom. She was aware that Veigar held back the meagre wages they earned for casual labour at the fish factories and didn’t hand them over until they left.
‘I didn’t tell them. Just lied when the old man asked if I had anything on me.’
‘How do you know I won’t report you?’
Einar stiffened in the act of opening his wallet. ‘I just know.’ He tried to catch her eye but all her attention was fixed on the photograph in the plastic pocket of his wallet.
‘Who’s that in the picture?’ she asked, peering at it.
Einar snapped his wallet shut. ‘No one.’ He seemed annoyed, but she must have been mistaken because the next moment he looked at her and smiled. ‘My mum. Bit corny, really.’
‘No, not at all.’ Though it was. They both studied the brown wallet in his palm until he stuck it back in his pocket and folded his arms.
‘So you’d like me to buy you cigarettes?’ Aldís asked warily.
‘No, not now. Later, maybe.’ He didn’t explain why he’d changed his mind and their conversation was suddenly stilted and awkward, though Aldís couldn’t work out what had changed. He said goodbye and left her sitting there, feeling even worse than before. The wind whipped the hair from behind her ears, whirling the strands up around her head as if they were trying to break free. She struggled to hold them down but eventually gave up and sat for a while with a writhing mass of locks flying in all directions.
Rage and misery struggled for dominance inside her and she wondered if it wouldn’t be best if she simply died of exposure here on the bench. It was cold enough. The world would be indifferent to her death, but those who had treated her badly would be sorry and regret not having made up with her. Like her mother, for example. She’d deserve it. But Aldís wasn’t born yesterday and realised that life wasn’t like that. Most people would merely shake their heads and tut that it was typical of her; she’d always been a silly girl. Lilja and Veigar would unquestionably take that attitude.
In the end, she grew fed up with being fed up. Why was she letting other people upset her? She had been in the dining room yesterday evening, not the people who thought they knew better about what had happened there. It was ridiculous to let their stupidity get to her. She needn’t doubt herself. Feeling more cheerful, she pulled her hood up and her wild hair was instantly calmed and returned to its place as if nothing had happened. With her vision restored, she spotted Einar’s brown wallet under the bench as soon as she stood up.
Aldís picked it up, turned it over in her hands and dusted some snowflakes off the back. She stood contemplating it, wondering whether to run after Einar and return it to him or seize the opportunity to take a peek at the picture he hadn’t wanted her to see. Having checked there was no one in sight, she opened the wallet. There was the photo behind the scratched, matt plastic. It was not of his mother. The picture showed Einar with a young girl who was beaming at the camera and had her arms wrapped round his neck. She was arrestingly beautiful: wide eyes fringed with thick lashes, high cheekbones, and full lips parted to reveal large white teeth. She looked more like a model from a fashion magazine than anyone Aldís had ever met, and her radiance seemed to have infected Einar, who appeared even more handsome in the picture than in person. Yet it was at his girlfriend that Aldís found herself staring. Her beauty nettled Aldís, foolish though that was. It was none of her business if Einar had a girlfriend; she should have been pleased that she was gorgeous and not some minger. And yet … She longed to know the girl’s name, who she was and if they were still together. His reaction when Keli had called her a slag certainly suggested they were. Surely no one would fight for the honour of an ex.
Before she k
new what she was doing, Aldís had begun to go through his wallet. One of the first things she pulled out was his ID card. The copper stud which fastened the plastic pocket had worn a groove in the leather and dented the ID card. She resolved to put it back in exactly the same place. But the thought evaporated when she saw the last two digits of his year of birth, printed in red in the top right-hand corner.
No wonder Einar appeared more mature than the other boys. He was eighteen, closer in age to her than to the youngest boys. Aldís held the card up to the watery winter sun to check whether the year had been tampered with – it wasn’t uncommon for underage kids to flaunt forged ID cards to get into nightclubs – but it hadn’t. The forgeries rarely stood up to daylight, though they were good enough to get their owners past the doormen in dark clubs. She lowered the card, convinced it was genuine.
So Einar was eighteen, going on nineteen, nearly three years older than he should have been, according to the rules. This place was intended for troublesome boys who were too young to be treated like adult criminals. A boy who was eighteen when he committed an offence should have been sent to prison.
Aldís pushed the ID card back into its place with trembling hands and closed the wallet. Then she replaced it carefully under the bench. She didn’t want him to know she had picked it up or he’d immediately guess that she’d looked inside. No, it was better like this. He would discover that he didn’t have his wallet, come back and find it lying there, without suspecting her for a minute. She breathed easier. He must never know she had looked in his wallet.
Chapter 12
The old lady could hardly manage her bags as she struggled to open the door that the wind was equally determined to hold shut. Leaping out of the car, Ódinn ran over, grabbed the heavy door and held it for her so she could squeeze past him inside. ‘What a gale!’ Without waiting for an answer he shouted to Rún to hurry up. She picked her way gingerly from the car, only staying on her feet with the greatest of difficulty. It was hardly surprising since she had insisted on wearing her summer shoes that morning. Ódinn had long since given up trying to influence what she wore, having come to the conclusion that she would eventually learn from her mistakes. Or at least he hoped so, though he knew full well that tomorrow morning they would be faced with the same dilemma and by then the previous day’s mistake would be forgotten.
‘How’s your little girl? Isn’t it lonely for her here, with no other children in the area? Hardly any adults either, for that matter.’ The old lady watched as Rún let go of the concrete bollard and began to battle her way across the last few slippery metres to warmth and shelter.
‘She’s fine, thanks.’ Ódinn waved encouragingly at Rún. Of course he could have gone and helped her but he felt it would convey the wrong message. She had chosen those shoes in spite of his warnings and now she’d have to pay the price. ‘I’m not sure it’d suit her any better to be surrounded by kids all day. Not while she’s still coming to terms with her loss. It might be a problem later on, but by then hopefully more people will have moved into the area – into the building, too.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ The old lady didn’t sound convinced. But she seemed glad of a chance to catch her breath and have a bit of a chat, since she showed no sign of moving. Perhaps she was hoping for help with her bags. ‘Tell me, Ódinn, are you having work done at the moment?’
Ódinn turned his gaze from Rún, who had only a few steps left. ‘Me? No. Why did you think that?’ The memory of the open window and whiff of cigarette smoke came back to him and his heart began to pound.
‘I heard tramping on the staircase this morning after you’d left, and knocking on the pipes. Or that’s what it sounded like. But when I looked out onto the landing I couldn’t see anyone and no one answered when I called. I thought you’d probably got some tradesmen in. Up to now there’s always been a note in the mailbox when your brother’s got people coming round. Perhaps he forgot this time.’ The woman’s watery blue eyes met his. Age had merged the colour of her iris with the whites. ‘That’s likely to be it, don’t you think? It can hardly be tramps. We’re far too out of the way, and anyway there’s nothing to steal.’
‘I’d be very surprised if it was.’ Ódinn tried to smile. ‘I’ll ring Baldur and ask. I expect he just forgot to let us know.’
Rún took a leap that almost ended badly, and hurtled in through the door. Without a word, she brushed the snow from her shoulders, shook the flakes out of her hair, then stamped her feet. By the time she had finished a small puddle had formed on the floor.
‘Dear me.’ The old lady smiled at Rún, who didn’t look up. ‘Don’t you have any winter shoes, dear? Aren’t those a bit slippery?’ This would hardly encourage Rún to join in the conversation. Ódinn intervened.
‘We have to suffer to be beautiful.’ He took the old lady’s bags, which weren’t as heavy as they’d looked when she was struggling with the door. ‘I’ll pop these inside for you.’ He turned down a cup of coffee, claiming weariness after a long day.
‘Perhaps you’d let me know what your brother says,’ the old lady added before they parted, the anxiety plain in her voice.
‘I’ll do that.’
‘I’m thinking of calling the police if it carries on like this. It’s very uncomfortable being alone in the building with strangers thundering around.’
On the way upstairs Rún asked what the woman had been talking about. Ódinn tried to hide the effect their only neighbour’s words had had on him. ‘Oh, apparently there were some workmen here today – probably finishing the other flats. She was a bit upset by the noise.’
‘Have they got hammers?’ Rún was several steps ahead of him as usual. She was lighter of foot and generally in more of a hurry. ‘I haven’t heard any hammering.’
‘Apparently they were mainly thundering up and down the stairs. Anyway, you wouldn’t have noticed since you weren’t home at the time.’
‘Maybe I’ll hear them tomorrow.’
‘Oh?’ Ódinn wished she’d stop prattling while they climbed the stairs. He was out of condition after sitting behind a desk for months, and although he hadn’t put on weight, he didn’t have the breath to race upstairs and talk at the same time.
‘There’s a staff training day at school.’ She slowed her pace and looked down at him. ‘Don’t you remember? I gave you a note last week.’
‘Yes. Of course, of course. I’d forgotten.’ He remembered putting down the note without reading it. ‘Damn, we should have dropped by the shop. I’m not sure there’s much for you to eat tomorrow. Perhaps I’ll only do a half-day and bring you home something for lunch. How does that sound?’
‘All right.’ Ódinn couldn’t tell whether she liked the suggestion – perhaps she’d been looking forward to spending the day alone at home. At her age he’d have preferred to be left to laze around in peace rather than have his father constantly in his hair, looking for ways to amuse him.
‘It’s up to you. I’ll do whatever you like. As ever.’ It was no lie.
Rún snorted as she sprinted up the last few steps. Ódinn didn’t ask how he was supposed to interpret that. Her mother would probably have known but he did his utmost to avoid any comparisons with her; he knew perfectly well what the outcome would be. Rún wasn’t a bit out of breath as she waited on the landing, nor did she seem to be giving any thought to her father’s offer. She pulled off her coat, dropped it on the floor and went into her room without a word. As usual. One day he’d have to sit her down to talk about her untidiness, but right now other aspects of her upbringing were more important.
The flat was dark, cold and uninviting. Ódinn hastily switched on the lights and the television, although he wasn’t intending to watch anything. Then he fetched the phone and rang Baldur’s number, afraid he’d forget to call him as he’d promised the old lady. It rang for a long time and Ódinn stood patiently at the sitting-room window, gazing out at the bleak landscape.
When his brother answered the noise on the phone w
as deafening and it was hard to hear over the screeching static. ‘What’s up? I’m a bit busy.’
‘I’ll be quick. Dísa on the ground floor heard some people in the building. She asked me to check if you’d had men in doing some work.’
Baldur laughed. ‘No, mate. We’re racing to finish a warehouse and we’re already into danger time. If any of my boys had been round at yours instead of pulling their weight here I’d sack him on the spot.’
‘I see. Perhaps it was an estate agent showing people round?’
‘Unlikely. They don’t have keys to the building.’ The high-frequency whistling intensified and Ódinn had to hold the phone away from his ear until the worst had passed.
‘What a bloody racket. Aren’t you going deaf?’ Unable to think of any other plausible reason for the noise in the building, Ódinn was unwilling to involve his brother further. He didn’t want Baldur, who knew him better than anyone, to sense that something was wrong. Not so long ago Dísa’s words would have had no effect on him. The last thing he wanted was to let on to Baldur that he was suffering from mental exhaustion and seeing a shrink.
‘What?’
‘I said, aren’t you going deaf?’ bellowed Ódinn.
‘Hey, take it easy, I was joking.’ Baldur called out an order to someone behind him, then added: ‘I’ve got to get on, but listen, why don’t you and Rún come to supper on Friday? I know Sigga’d be delighted; she’s a bit pissed off with me these days because I’m so rarely home. Maybe Rún’d like to come for a sleepover? She’d be company for Sigga if I have to pop in to work. It’s good for her to be around women sometimes. They can go to the mall at Kringlan, or whatever it is girls like doing.’
The Undesired Page 11