‘I don’t know,’ Elma interrupted hurriedly. ‘I hope not.’
She rang off with the promise that she would come round to supper that evening. Then she put down the phone and stared thoughtfully at the black computer screen in front of her. It was as she had suspected. It had always struck her as suspicious that Elísabet’s mother Halla had been able to afford the rent for such a large house. But now she believed she understood. Her thoughts went to the photos of Elísabet standing in her room, looking so vulnerable. It seemed Halla’s contribution had not been sufficient to pay the rent on its own. The very idea brought an acid taste to her mouth.
Sævar was in the kitchen when Elma went in. He was leaning against the counter, nursing a mug in both hands.
‘Is it drinkable?’ Elma asked, fetching a cup.
‘No more than usual,’ Sævar said.
Elma stood beside him. It was snowing outside. It had hardly snowed at all so far this winter but now it was coming down heavily.
‘Do you think it’ll settle?’ she asked.
‘What? The snow?’ Sævar glanced at her. ‘I doubt it.’
Elma was silent and they stood there watching the flakes floating down, gradually obliterating the dark concrete outside the window.
‘Hendrik’s conscious,’ Sævar said. ‘They reckon he’ll make a full recovery.’
‘Has anyone spoken to him?’
‘No, not yet.’
For a while neither of them spoke.
‘The brothers look quite alike, don’t they?’ she said at last.
Sævar glanced up at her again. ‘What are you implying?’
‘I was just thinking about what Ása said. She said Elísabet had seen the man who came round to her house at Sara’s funeral. Tómas must have been there too, and sat in the front pew, maybe even laid a hand on Ása’s shoulder. Couldn’t a nine-year-old girl have mistakenly concluded that he was Sara’s father?’
‘Yes, it’s possible,’ Sævar said. ‘But I don’t suppose we’ll ever find out what happened.’
‘My mother told me there used to be rumours that Tómas had unscrupulous ways of extracting the rent from single mothers in difficult circumstances.’
‘What did she mean by that?’
‘He slept with them. In other words, they paid in kind,’ Elma said. ‘Do you think Elísabet’s mother was one of them?’
Sævar shrugged. ‘It’s possible, but neither Tómas nor Hendrik will say anything that gets them into trouble. They always stick up for each other and Ása’s refusing to say any more.’
‘I find it hard to believe that Hendrik would stand by his brother if he found out that Tómas had taken those photos of his daughter.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Sævar said. ‘But I very much doubt Tómas will confess to anything. We have no way of proving that he took the pictures.’
‘But someone sent them. Someone dropped them through Ása’s letterbox.’
‘Yes, true. We’ll just have to hope that the person in question comes forward.’
‘Won’t there be any follow-up in connection with Sara’s death? No investigation into what Elísabet told Ása about how she died?’
‘What would be the point?’ Sævar said. ‘Elísabet’s dead. There’s no one to charge with the crime. Anyway, she was only a child and it was almost certainly an accident.’
Elma thought about all the years Elísabet had kept silent. All the years it must have been gnawing away inside her. There was no way of knowing if Sara had really been dead when Elísabet put her on the raft. And although Elísabet wouldn’t have realised that when she was nine, it must have occurred to her later. Perhaps Sara would still have been alive if Elísabet had gone to get help.
‘So it’s only Ása who’ll have to go to prison, then,’ Elma said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. She felt a degree of sympathy for the old woman. What she’d been forced to endure wasn’t fair. Then again, it was her fault that two young boys had now lost their mother, and there was nothing fair about that either.
‘I expect she’ll be sentenced to sixteen years. Which means she’ll be out after serving ten, maybe less,’ Sævar said.
Elma nodded. She knew there was no point dwelling on it anymore. The people who could have answered her questions were either dead or refusing to break their silence. She sighed and gazed out at the snowflakes as she finished her coffee.
‘I could do with a bit of company this evening,’ she said at last, looking up at Sævar with a smile.
Magnea stroked Bjarni’s broad shoulders. He was sitting on the edge of the sofa, hunched forward, his head in his hands. Somehow they had got through the day. The seconds had crawled by, becoming minutes and finally hours in which the world seemed to stand still. But evening had come round at last. Their big house was wrapped in darkness. She looked forward to the time when its rooms would be filled with the sound of a child’s laughter; when the afternoon would consist of something other than sitting and waiting, which was all they had done today. And the worst of it was that she hadn’t a clue what they were waiting for. Magnea had played the role of the loving, supportive wife, despite feeling so weak that all she really wanted was to crawl into bed. She’d had to sit on her hands at times to hide her trembling.
The phone rang. Bjarni picked up so fast that there was no time for more than a single ring. He stood up and went aside, a habit Magnea couldn’t stand. What was it that she wasn’t supposed to hear? But she didn’t say anything, merely waited patiently for him to come back.
‘Dad’s awake,’ he said. His shoulders slumped and he dropped back onto the sofa.
Magnea sat down beside him and put her arms round him. Bjarni leant against her with his eyes closed.
‘She deserved to die,’ he whispered. ‘Elísabet murdered my sister. It was her fault that Sara died, and she kept quiet about it all these years. Can you imagine anything worse?’
‘What do you mean?’ Magnea stared at him in horror.
‘Hörður told me everything,’ he said. ‘That’s why Mum knocked that woman down. She went crazy when she heard how Sara had died. Apparently she was sent some photos of Sara too, photos that make it look like someone abused her, and somehow Mum got the idea that it was Dad who…’ Suddenly all the fight seemed to go out of him, he started silently shaking and clutched her tighter, like a small child seeking comfort from its mother. ‘Dad denies everything but I just don’t know what to believe anymore. I don’t know what the hell’s happening.’
‘Hush, darling,’ Magnea whispered, kissing him on the forehead. She’d never seen him so upset. She often cried herself and let her feelings get the better of her, but Bjarni never did. ‘It’s all in the past – we don’t need to think about it anymore.’ She took his hand and laid it on her belly. ‘Here’s the future, Bjarni. Here with us.’
Bjarni raised his head to look at her. His eyes were red but dry and he smiled faintly. As he stroked her belly, Magnea felt the tension leaving his body. She smiled and kissed him again, on the mouth this time. Her tremors were slowly but surely ebbing away. Soon the whole thing would be over and she’d be able to breathe easy again.
She would have nothing to fear anymore.
She didn’t get a room to herself. She wasn’t even in a special section. The bed was in a big, general ward on the third floor of the hospital, with only a thin curtain separating her from her neighbour.
Ásdís had left the house early that morning, sneaking out without Tómas noticing. The shame was coursing through her body. She had found the photos. She knew what had happened. Knew what he had done.
But what had happened after she posted the photos through Ása’s letterbox was a mystery to her. She couldn’t understand why Ása would believe that Hendrik had taken them. She simply hadn’t a clue what could have led her to that conclusion. And now Hendrik was in hospital. Although he was recovering, Ásdís was afraid of what would happen when he got out. Tómas had already been summoned to the police station f
or questioning and had been silent and moody when he got home. He had drunk until the early hours and refused to tell her what it was about. But Ásdís had already heard the details from her grandmother and was sure that the whole town must know what Tómas had done. She tried to make herself invisible, hardly leaving the building, tiptoeing around the flat, hoping to God that he’d never find out that it was her who sent the pictures. Who knew what he’d be capable of if he did?
‘Look at the lion. Can you remember what the lion says?’ asked a woman’s voice behind the curtain. A small child made a loud growling noise and the woman gently shushed it. ‘Yes, that’s right, darling. And look at the elephant. Can you remember what the elephant does?’ They both laughed.
Ásdís lay quite still and for some reason a hot tear trickled down her cheek. She slipped a hand inside the gown the nurse had told her to put on and placed it on her stomach. She was probably imagining it but she thought she could feel something. The warmth flowed up her arm. She closed her eyes, trying to forget where she was. She had to go through with this. She couldn’t have his child. Couldn’t do it.
Reaching for the small handbag beside her, she felt the bundle of notes for what must be the hundredth time. It was still there – the money she’d stolen from Tómas. He hadn’t a clue that she knew where he stashed all the money that mustn’t go into his bank account. Of course, it was only a question of time before he noticed that some of it had gone. But by then hopefully she would be far away. She smiled at the thought and double-checked the email on her phone as if to convince herself that it was real. The confirmation was there: a one-way ticket to Germany that evening. She would just have to be brave and take some strong painkillers if necessary.
She didn’t know why she’d chosen Germany. Perhaps because she spoke the language well. It was the only connection she had to the country. There was no one waiting for her there and that thought alone was enough to make her smile. She had enough money to stay at a cheap hotel for a while, until she found a job. Later she could rent a flat.
‘Ready?’ asked the nurse who had booked her in that morning. The nurse had asked her an awful lot of questions, questions she found difficult to answer, and the lump in her throat had grown bigger all the time. Yes, she knew who the father was. No, she had never been pregnant before. She must be two or three months gone.
She nodded and sniffed. The voices behind the curtain had fallen silent. Perhaps the child had gone to asleep, safe in its mother’s arms. It was as if the nurse could see her hesitation. She looked at her searchingly. ‘Are you absolutely sure?’ she asked. Ásdís was going to answer but the words stuck in her throat and she shook her head. Before the nurse could say another word, she was off, pulling on her clothes over her hospital gown and running out of the ward.
She wasn’t crying any longer. The relief at getting out was so great that she felt almost as if she were floating on air. The two of them could do it. Of course they could. They would make a life for themselves together in a new country – she and the little creature that was now growing inside her. She would give it a good life, a better life than she herself had ever had.
When she got back to their flat it didn’t look as if anyone was home but she knew he was there. His car was in the drive. She cursed herself for having forgotten to take her passport with her to the hospital. She had everything else she needed. Now she would have to go inside and explain where she had been, then sneak out again. With any luck he’d be asleep. It wasn’t midday yet, so there was a good chance he wouldn’t be up. She entered quietly and to her relief all was quiet inside. He must still be out for the count.
Her passport was in the wardrobe so she had no choice but to go into the bedroom. She opened the door warily, making a face when the squeaking of the hinges pierced the silence in the flat. But to her astonishment, Tómas wasn’t in bed. She glanced round nervously as if expecting to see him standing behind her, watching. All she could think was that he must have gone out somewhere.
She hurried over to the wardrobe and rooted around in the sock drawer until she found the passport. Now she just had to get herself to Reykjavík and from there to Keflavík Airport. She would have to take the bus, then the airport bus, but that was part of the adventure. How she looked forward to being free. She couldn’t wait to leave this town, this country. She had no good memories from here, though she felt a faint pang of guilt when she thought about her grandmother. The old lady had done her best, there was no doubt of that. She would just have to write her a letter. Maybe even invite her out to visit, though she doubted her grandmother would be strong enough to undertake such a long journey alone. Ásdís glanced round the flat one last time, then closed her eyes. She didn’t want to remember this place. It was a chapter of her life she couldn’t wait to forget.
She had just locked the front door behind her when she heard footsteps on the gravel. He was there in the garden, watching her. Ásdís froze, terrified he would be able to tell by looking at her that she was leaving him for good. But he didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary.
‘Fetch your passport and get in the car,’ he ordered. Ásdís snatched a look around her. Could she make a run for it? Would she be able to get away? Of course the idea was hopeless; where was she supposed to run to?
‘What are you waiting for?’ he asked when she didn’t move. ‘We’re leaving. Now.’
Ásdís shook her head slowly, feeling her eyes growing wet.
‘Why do we have to leave?’
Tómas walked towards her and she started to shake. What was he going to do now? Did he know she’d taken the money? To her astonishment, he put his arms round her, hugging her tight, then kissed her on the forehead.
‘Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? To leave this miserable dump of a town and make a new start somewhere else?’
She nodded and sniffed. She didn’t want to complicate matters by asking why they had to go so suddenly. Opening the door, she went inside and waited in the hall for a minute or two, just long enough for her to have gone and fetched her passport from the bedroom. He obviously hadn’t noticed yet that some of the money had gone. Perhaps she’d get away with it.
Tómas was already in the car when she came back out. She got in beside him and in no time they were roaring off down the road. Ásdís gazed out of the window, thinking to herself that at least she was leaving the country. She was still going away, even if he was coming with her. Perhaps it would be better like that.
Perhaps everything would be better somewhere else.
Akranes 1992
The memorial service was held at Akranes Church. Elísabet hadn’t wanted to attend but all her classmates went, and so did their teacher, so she’d had no choice. Everyone was dressed in black. There were lots of people there she’d never seen before, people who hadn’t known Sara like she did. It was all so solemn. Some of the mourners wept, others blew their noses.
Elísabet felt uncomfortable in there. She wriggled around on the hard pew and stared towards the door. She was sitting at the back of the church – would anyone notice if she sneaked out? She caught Magnea’s eye, and the other girl instantly looked away. Magnea hadn’t spoken to her since it happened. Had hardly even looked at her. Elísabet didn’t care. She was never going to make another friend as long as she lived. No one would be allowed to come near her. She didn’t care about anything anymore.
When she saw the people in the front pew stand up, she stiffened in shock. There he was – the man who owned the house; who came to visit. He was Sara’s father – the father who was always at work.
Elísabet resigned herself to having to sit through the entire ceremony. She emptied her mind, trying to think about anything but Sara. Trying to remember her stories; all the nice ones with happy endings. It wasn’t until later, at the reception, when she was sitting with an untouched piece of cake in front of her and met the eye of Sara’s mother, Ása, that she couldn’t take any more. She got up, went to the exit and ran away. R
an as fast as her legs would carry her, not stopping until she was at home in her cupboard and had shut the door. There she sat in a huddle, reciting to herself all the stories she knew. Her daddy’s stories and the ones she’d read in books. She was oblivious to the pain as her nails split on the wood and didn’t stop her clawing until blood was running down the wall.
But it wasn’t until long afterwards that it occurred to her that perhaps she hadn’t been the only one with a secret. Perhaps Sara had had a secret just as ugly as hers.
Several Weeks Later
The cemetery was covered in snow which creaked under her shoes as she walked through the dusk towards the grave. There was no other sound apart from the distant roar of traffic.
Although it was the first time she’d visited him, she found the grave at once. She stopped in front of the white cross. There was a black plaque in the middle on which his name had been engraved: Davíð Sigurðarson. Rest in peace. Nothing else. Nothing to say who he was or what he had done. It would be forgotten in the end, like everything else.
She knew he had been in a bad way for a long time. Sometimes it had seemed as if he were pursued by a black shadow wherever he went, but she hadn’t realised how serious the situation was, ignoring all the telltale signs. The nights she had woken up to find him sitting on the side of the bed, staring into the darkness. The way his eyes were sometimes so far away that it was impossible to reach him. He had hidden it well but even so she should have been able to see through him. She should have recognised the danger he was in. She, who knew him better than anyone else.
The Creak on the Stairs Page 30