The Undesired

by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

  Hearing a squeak from the trapdoor, Aldís stopped breathing.

  Not until her lungs were bursting did she exhale and take another breath. She fought the urge to back away from the door, as if the darkness would be thicker at the back of the cubbyhole. Staying very still, she concentrated on breathing steadily, and felt slightly calmer. But when she put her ear to the door and heard the wooden steps groaning under the weight of descending feet, she thought her final hour had come. Light appeared under the door and through the keyhole, and she thanked God she’d taken cover. By the unsteady glow, she guessed it was a torch rather than the ceiling light, which suggested that it wasn’t Lilja or Veigar but someone who had no more business down here than she did.

  The beam of light falling through the keyhole illuminated a small patch of her anorak sleeve. She felt an illogical regret that she hadn’t chosen a more brightly coloured one; yellow or red would have been a more cheerful counterpoint to the all-encompassing darkness than dull blue. With infinite care, she knelt down, every nerve taut with fear that she might bump into something. But nothing happened and she was able to put her right eye to the keyhole. Although limited, the view was better than nothing. The rough concrete floor hurt her knees, but the pain was comfortingly mundane, like the stinging of her lip. Even the dank cold felt almost invigorating.

  The torch beam appeared to be methodically sweeping the cellar. It passed to and fro across Aldís’s field of vision, but the person wielding it remained out of sight. If only she could catch a glimpse of a shoe, some hair, a trouser leg, anything, she might be able to work out who it was. After doing all that laundry she knew the boys’ clothes as well as her own. If it was one of them, she wouldn’t hesitate to leap out and scare the living daylights out of him, find a release for her pent-up emotions. Unless it was Einar. In that case she hadn’t a clue what she’d do. Probably just close her eyes and hope he wouldn’t find her.

  For the last couple of weeks she had avoided being alone with him, and on the rare occasions when he’d managed to corner her she had pretended nothing was up, claiming to be so busy with her English studies that she couldn’t get out in the evenings. The lie about a possible proficiency test and interview for an air-hostess job with Icelandic Airlines had dropped so easily from her lips that she almost believed it herself. But Einar obviously sensed she was avoiding him. It was a good thing he didn’t try to test her on her English, as she hadn’t actually opened the textbook in weeks.

  She could just discern the steps at the far end of the cellar and cursed herself for not having peered through the keyhole sooner. If she had, she’d have seen the person descending – if not their face, then at least their legs and body. At that moment, to her horror, she noticed a pale rectangle by the bottom step, and groped instinctively for her mother’s letters. Even as she felt the thick bundle in her pocket, it dawned on her that it was probably the letter to Einar that she had just finished reading when she first heard the footsteps. By some lucky fluke the visitor hadn’t spotted it, but Aldís might not be so fortunate when he or she turned round.

  The increasing light warned her that the person wielding the torch was drawing near. The bouncing glow showed how difficult it must be to clamber through all the junk. Aldís hoped with all her heart that the person wasn’t heading for the little storeroom. So far the torch hadn’t been trained directly on the door, but the further inside the cellar the person came, the more likely it was that she’d be discovered.

  The silence was shattered by a loud crash as some large object fell over. Aldís almost jumped out of her skin but managed to clamp a hand over her mouth to stifle her scream. Through the keyhole she saw a cloud of dust rising through the torch beam. And for the first time she could hear the mysterious visitor whispering frantically, as if cursing his or her own clumsiness or the clobber on the floor. She couldn’t distinguish the words but the voice sounded frightened, as if they were both in the same predicament. The torchlight flashed back and forth, suggesting the person was in a hurry to check that there was nobody in there.

  ‘Is there someone there? Come out, wherever you are.’ Aldís’s heart lurched. The whispering voice was female but there was no way of telling if it was a girl or a woman. ‘I know you’re in here.’ But there was a slight hesitation, the pauses between words lasted a fraction too long, as if the speaker wasn’t sure. Automatically Aldís repeated her prayers, though they did little to boost her courage. ‘Come out. I’ve got something for you.’ The offer didn’t sound remotely tempting. ‘By the time I’ve finished with you, everyone’ll know what a slut you are. What a bitch.’ Aldís closed her eyes tight. ‘Come on. I’ve got a knife. A sharp little knife. Size isn’t everything, you know.’

  Silence fell. A tear trickled down Aldís’s cheek and stopped at her hand, which was still clasped over her mouth. She had nothing to defend herself with, but even if the little storeroom had been full of machetes and guns, she wouldn’t have dared fumble for them for fear of betraying her hiding place. In a futile attempt to see better, she pressed her face to the keyhole so hard that her eye would probably bear the mark for days. But the pressure of the cold metal and two screws wasn’t painful enough to distract her. There was still no sound, and when the torch beam was directed away towards the stairs, she almost laughed with hysterical relief. She bit her lip so hard that it split again and the familiar taste of blood spread over her tongue. The girl was leaving. She’d given up or convinced herself that Aldís wasn’t down there. Now all Aldís had to do was sit tight and wait until she heard the trapdoor, then the front door, closing.

  Taut with suspense, she focused on the steps and the envelope that was standing on end between the bottom step and the floor. The torch was pointing down, as if to light the visitor’s path to the steps and all seemed to be going well. Up you go, up you go! Then the light paused on the envelope. Legs appeared in her line of vision, a figure bent and she saw a swirl of long dark hair. A profile appeared and vanished before she could decide if it was the girl from the photo in Einar’s wallet. But she was sure it was a girl or a young woman; her movements and the slim legs were not those of an adult. The envelope was picked up off the floor and the torchlight pointed upwards, so Aldís could hardly see a thing. Then it was aimed at the floor again, as if in search of other letters. It stopped at the box and Aldís saw the girl lift the lid and heard the rustling of paper, followed shortly afterwards by a low gasp. Minutes passed. Finally, the box was closed again and Aldís saw the legs retreating up the steps. All went black and Aldís welcomed the darkness, rejoicing at being alone and invisible. She wasn’t going to stir an inch until the girl had unquestionably gone.

  * * *

  Aldís was so stiff she could barely move when she woke to find herself lying in the foetal position on the concrete floor of the storeroom. She must have curled up like that in her sleep because the last thing she remembered was her head nodding as she sat propped against the wall. She had decided to spend the night down there, feeling it was safer to wait until other people were awake, then emerge from the cellar as if she had just turned up to work. It was lucky that she’d come out fully dressed last night, instead of merely pulling on her anorak over her pyjamas. No one would notice first thing if her hair was unusually tousled or her teeth hadn’t been brushed. She could always nip over to her room later on for a quick tidy-up.

  There was no way of guessing the time in the pitch-dark cellar, but she had the feeling it must be morning. She didn’t dare open the trapdoor, though, until she heard the sound of ordinary activity upstairs. Before long, footsteps crossed the floor in at least two different places and the faint echo of voices reached her. She could have wept with relief. Nevertheless, she opened the door of the storeroom warily, still not quite believing she was safe.

  Her toes ached with the cold and she could hardly feel the fingers of one hand but her eyesight was sharp after long hours in the dark. Stiffly, she rose to her feet, joints clicking. She emerged from the cubbyh
ole, impervious now to the smell of mould; she probably smelt the same herself. That gave her pause; she hoped no one would notice or question her about it. At the top of the steps, she waited until she was sure no one was near, then swiftly climbed out of the cellar. The light and warmth were so wonderful that she wanted to fall to her knees in gratitude, but instead she closed the trapdoor and dusted herself down.

  There was a tap on her shoulder. ‘Where did you spring from?’ Turning, she saw Einar gaping at her in astonishment. ‘What’s happened?’

  Aldís ran a hand over her tangled hair and tried to appear nonchalant. Meeting his gaze, she determinedly ignored the thick dark lashes and chiselled cheekbones. ‘Nothing, I just overslept and didn’t have time to get myself ready.’

  Einar looked sceptical but asked no further questions. ‘I miss you. We never seem to see each other.’

  ‘I told you, I’ve been busy studying.’ Aldís’s voice was as hoarse and dusty as if it had just been unearthed from a box in the cellar. She coughed. ‘I don’t want to be stuck here for the rest of my life.’

  When he smiled, she remembered why she’d fallen for him. It had nothing to do with their situation. He was simply so much better looking than anyone else at Krókur – but then he would stand out anywhere. ‘Me neither.’ Gently he pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over her cheek and tucked it behind her ear, then dropped his hand. ‘What about taking a little break this evening? Just for an hour or so. We could hole up in the cowshed and chat for a bit. This place is doing my head in.’ There was no doubting what he really wanted.

  ‘Maybe. I don’t know.’

  ‘When do you think you will know? I’m not going to risk sneaking out if you’re not coming. Veigar’s got it into his head that there’s someone creeping around at night and he’s all jumpy about it. He gave us a bollocking yesterday, as if it was one of us.’

  Aldís couldn’t bring herself to smile or respond. She was still too overwrought, and besides, she wasn’t sure she wanted to reveal what she knew about the girl. Not unless she could use it to drag his story out of him. ‘I’ll let you know at coffee time.’

  She hurried out without saying goodbye. The sky was overcast; the morning unrelentingly dark. Aldís almost ran to the little house. She wanted to wash her face and brush her teeth. And throw up. Suddenly she felt horribly sick.

  Chapter 28

  ‘I worked out where I knew the name from.’ Diljá was standing over Ódinn, hand on hip. As always, she was a little too dolled up.

  ‘What name?’ Ódinn gaped at her, aware of how dopey he must look. Since coming back from the geriatric ward he had been staring unproductively at his screen, perplexed by the endless stream of questions running through his mind. For the first time he felt grateful for the dullness of his workplace: no one had disturbed him or asked why he was sitting as if he had turned to stone in his chair. Until Diljá appeared.

  ‘Eyjalín. I had the feeling I knew the name, remember? Now I know where from.’ Diljá held out a sheet of paper, still warm from the printer. ‘She wrote an obituary for Róberta.’

  Ódinn tried to focus on the text. It was brief and gave no reason to suppose that the women had been related or particularly close. Apparently Róberta had lent Eyjalín a helping hand when others had turned their backs on her, and for that she would be eternally grateful to the dead woman. ‘This doesn’t really tell us anything.’

  Diljá looked miffed. She snatched the paper back, the sudden movement causing a jingling among the tangle of necklaces that hung down to her waist. ‘What did you expect?’ She frowned. ‘Are you all right, by the way? I was told you were behaving a bit oddly – just sitting in front of your computer.’

  ‘I’m all right. I was just thinking.’

  ‘Then put your mind to this.’ She waved the page at him. ‘How about ringing this woman and asking her about her relationship with Róberta?’ She shook her head in exasperation, causing her necklaces to rattle loudly again. ‘Or do you want me to do it?’

  Ódinn didn’t know what he wanted. He was finding it impossible to get his head round the two different aspects to this case, particularly when one affected him so personally. ‘Yes, please.’ He tried and failed to smile. ‘Since when have you been so interested in this case, anyway? I thought you believed it would bring bad luck or some crap like that.’

  ‘I’m bored. Simple as that. And it looks to me like you could use some help. You’re in a bit of a mess, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re right.’ Ódinn chucked a pencil at the pen jar on his desk, but missed. ‘If you wouldn’t mind ringing her, that’d be great.’

  ‘OK.’ Diljá seemed on the point of adding something, then spun on her heel with one last jingle and returned to her desk. Just before she disappeared round the corner, she glanced back, their eyes met and he thought he detected pity in hers. He bristled; he couldn’t stand it when people felt sorry for him. They were welcome to like or dislike him, but pity him, never. His anger brought him to his senses. What was he thinking of to let this shake him so badly? If he found it odd that Rún’s grandmother hadn’t said a word about the fact she’d worked at Krókur, he should go ahead and ring her and demand to know why. Staring blankly at his screen wouldn’t solve anything. There might be a perfectly natural explanation for her silence. In fact, that might be why she’d been behaving so oddly towards him lately: she’d missed the opportunity to tell him about the connection when it first came up and afterwards had been unable to find the right moment. She must have twigged when Róberta introduced herself, since she knew the name of his office. Perhaps there was a reason why she hadn’t mentioned it then, but he couldn’t understand why she hadn’t admitted it last time he took Rún round to see her and the subject of his new assignment came up. Was she ashamed of being linked to the place or afraid that her connection would disqualify him from the task? The more he thought about it, the more likely this seemed; in these times of austerity his ex-mother-in-law might well have been afraid he’d lose his job, with repercussions for her granddaughter. A rather dramatic reaction, maybe – but not inconceivable.

  Ódinn’s colleagues looked up as he headed to the small meeting room for some privacy. It was freezing in there and he closed the window before selecting his mother-in-law’s number. While waiting for her to answer, he inspected a framed poster that had not been on the wall the last time he’d used the room, and wondered if it had been put up as a joke or if Heimir misunderstood its meaning. It depicted a magnificent eagle soaring through the sky, with the caption: Leaders are like eagles: you won’t find either here. Ódinn’s gaze moved to the whiteboard which someone had finally got round to cleaning. Even the faint shadows of the writing that had been left there undisturbed for so long had now vanished – before he’d had a chance to work out the significance of the dates.

  ‘Hello.’ Rún’s grandmother sounded as if she’d been taking an afternoon nap. She sighed as he introduced himself. He derived a certain amount of pleasure from finally being able to turn the tables; this time she was in the wrong. He got straight to the point.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you used to work at Krókur?’ There was no response. ‘Wouldn’t it have been logical to let me know, under the circumstances?’

  He waited, giving her a chance to recover her composure. When at last she spoke, her voice was higher, her tone less abrasive than usual. ‘Would it have mattered? I worked there as a cleaner for a few months. I wasn’t responsible for the boys.’

  ‘But you knew what went on there?’

  ‘So did lots of other people.’

  ‘Most of the people who worked there are dead. You were probably the youngest member of staff.’

  ‘How was I supposed to know that, Ódinn? After I left, I never gave the place another thought. I know nothing about the people who worked there before or after me.’

  ‘You should have told me anyway. Now I’ll have to report that I’m related by marriage to a former emp
loyee of the home and explain why I didn’t reveal the fact straight away. If you’d only told me at the beginning it might not have been a problem, but now it’ll look suspicious. Or at least very odd.’ This wasn’t strictly true: Heimir would have removed the case from him immediately if the connection had been established at the outset. Despite the fact that, as an engineer, he could be trusted to take a rational approach, as Heimir had put it.

  ‘How did you find out?’ Her tone was accusing, as if someone had betrayed her trust.

  ‘Never mind.’ Ódinn had no intention of sharing any confidential details, even if she was his former mother-in-law. Another person would have to take over the report now and he didn’t want to compromise it for them. If there was any justice, it would land on Diljá’s desk. She’d have her hands full dealing with this prickly woman. ‘Since it’s out in the open now, would you be prepared to tell me when you were there?’

  ‘Can’t you find out for yourself?’

  Ódinn now bitterly regretted having apologised to her for his shortcomings; the woman didn’t deserve it. ‘Yes, I could, but I thought you might want to spare me the effort. If it’s not too much to ask.’

  There was a short pause at the other end. ‘I started there in September ’73 and stayed until February or March ’74.’

  ‘So you were there when the accident happened?’