Someone to Watch Over Me (35 page)

‘What’s wrong with me? Of course!’ Her mother was embarrassed. ‘Where did your father go?’

Lena shrugged. ‘He went out somewhere. He didn’t say where.’

‘Oh?’ Her mother seemed almost insulted. ‘Not to work, surely?’

‘He didn’t want to interrupt you while you were on the phone; he can’t have gone far. Maybe he’s just washing the car, now that the weather’s good enough.’ If she had to name one hobby of her father’s, it would be washing the car. He would probably be happier if he’d gone to work at a carwash instead of going into law and taking a job at the ministry. ‘Have you heard anything more from the lawyers who came to see you? About that Jakob, and the fire?’

A flash of anger crossed her mother’s face but she managed to suppress it and return to her usual persona: the noble, elegant woman enduring great hardship. ‘No. Nor do I expect to. It’s utter nonsense and I don’t understand why they’re opening old wounds for all the victims’ relatives.’

Lena just restrained herself from shrieking at her mother. ‘It’s hardly fair to let the wrong man rot in prison just to protect a few people’s feelings, is it?’ How could her mother, who pretended to be so good, not let such a thing bother her? Lena felt bad enough herself.

‘Oh, darling, come on – that’s enough.’ Her mother walked to the window and pushed the net curtain aside. ‘He’s not in the driveway. But the car’s there, so he hasn’t gone far.’

‘Maybe he went out for a run, Mum. Jesus. If you’re so worried about him, spend more time with him and less on the phone.’

‘You’re one to talk.’ Her mother’s mask had slipped now and she made no attempt to hide her anger. ‘Where did you go last night?’

‘Out with my friends.’ Lena looked at her curiously. ‘You already knew that.’

Her mother grabbed her earlobe and rubbed it energetically. ‘Yes, that’s right.’ She plonked herself into a chair opposite Lena. ‘I’m really not myself. Your father’s acting a bit oddly these days and I don’t know whether it’s because of work or the reopening of the case.’ She feigned interest in the book between them. ‘He went to work last night after you left. He hasn’t worked in the evening in years, let alone at the weekend.’

‘He’s super-busy right now. You know that.’

‘Yes, yes. But I’m still concerned. He’s reached the age when his heart could give out and he should think about slowing down, even if things are frantic.’

‘If he had a study here at home he wouldn’t need to go to work at the weekend or in the evenings.’ Lena spoke carefully, knowing this was a sensitive issue. Although the house was large, there was only one spare room – Tryggvi’s old room. Everything in it had been left undisturbed, as if they were still expecting him to come home on weekends, as had been the idea when he moved to the unit. After he died, the door to his room had been shut and Lena never went inside; nor did her dad. She didn’t know how many times her mother had looked in there but twice she’d found the door open and seen her mother crying on the bed. Both times Lena had crept away unseen. She knew very well her mother’s tendency to dramatize every little thing and had quickly suggested to her dad that they clean out Tryggvi’s room and turn it into the study her father had long dreamed of. She didn’t attempt to gloss over the reason for her suggestion, and together they’d been trying slowly but surely to make it happen, while her mother always deftly avoided taking the final decision.

‘Yes, we need to think about that.’ In other words, discuss it endlessly.

‘Why can’t we just do it now? Nothing’s going to change in the near future. I know it’d make Dad very happy.’

‘Yes, I’ll speak to him about it tonight.’ Another delaying tactic.

Lena sat up. ‘How about we just take a look at the room now? Go over what you want to do with his things? I’m not saying we have to start boxing them up tonight.’

Her mother opened her mouth and closed it again. Her slender fingers stopped rubbing her ear. ‘Well, I’m not feeling well enough to do it now, Lena. You have to understand that I simply haven’t recovered yet.’

‘Maybe because you still have to work through it properly. I think sorting out Tryggvi’s room would actually do you good. There are so many people having a difficult time at the moment, who could make good use of a lot of what’s in there.’ Lena prepared to stand up. ‘Come on – Dad will be so pleased, and if you really are worried about him having a heart attack or whatever then surely you can see that this will help.’ She wriggled to her feet. ‘Come on, it’ll take fifteen minutes, max.’

‘We’re not going to start packing anything? Just have a look?’ Lena nodded and her mother sighed deeply. ‘I really can’t be doing this. I still need to do the shopping, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg.’ It would be difficult to squeeze as much as a child-sized carton of chocolate milk into the jam-packed fridge, but Lena let it go; it was a major victory to get her mother to consider this at all.

The air in the room was heavy; it was much hotter in there than in the rest of the house and the smell was different. It was as if they were entering someone else’s home, where the heating was turned up to tropical levels. ‘Shall I open the window?’ Lena didn’t wait for an answer. However, the fresh air didn’t seem to have much effect. ‘Well, where do we start?’

Her mother was still standing in the doorway. ‘We’ll never manage to finish this in such a short time. Shouldn’t we start on it after I’ve done the shopping and the cooking?’

‘No, Mum. Let’s start now.’ Lena opened the wardrobe. In it were countless hangers, one suit and a pile of old jumpers and T-shirts that had been left behind when Tryggvi went to the residence. ‘This, for example, could go to the Red Cross. The suit is almost new and I’m sure there’s someone who could use it.’

‘It’s brand new. He was supposed to wear it at Christmas.’ Her mother’s voice was devoid of all emotion. ‘I’m not sure I want to give it away. Or the jumpers. Your late grandmother knitted one of them.’

Lena shut the wardrobe slowly, though what she really wanted was to slam the door as hard as she could. ‘Okay. What about the books?’ High shelves full of illustrated books about animals, cars and astronomy stood at the opposite end of the room. ‘I doubt any of us will read them.’

‘I was taught never to throw books out. Don’t you remember how he used to look at them for hours? There’s something horrible about the idea of getting rid of them.’

‘Yes, Mum, of course I remember.’ This was going to be more difficult than Lena had expected. ‘We don’t need to throw them out or give them away; we can box them up and store them.’

‘It’s all the same in the end.’

Lena wasn’t going to give up that easily. ‘We can put the ones on the shelves into storage, at least. They haven’t been opened since I don’t know when.’ Lena pulled out the smallest drawer in her brother’s sturdy desk, yanking it so forcefully that she was lucky not to pull it completely off its runners. In it were all sorts of things: crayons and other stationery, a deck of cards Tryggvi had used to build cardhouses and dice he’d loved playing with. At the back of the drawer was a bright red cigarette lighter she wouldn’t have noticed if she’d opened the drawer normally. She decided not to say anything and shut the drawer again without mentioning its contents. ‘We can probably give most of this away.’

‘It depends what’s in there, of course.’ Lena’s mother leaned against the doorframe, clearly not intending to actually enter the room . ‘Even if things aren’t in constant use, that doesn’t necessarily mean they should be recycled.’

‘Who said anything about recycling?’ Lena opened the next drawer. It was larger and heavier than the previous one, and she had to use some force. ‘Although we shouldn’t rule it out.’ The drawer was full of stones and pebbles, but not the kind of stones she’d imagine someone wanting to keep, She remembered a trip to a mineralogical museum where the stones had been beautiful and eye-catching, in every colour imaginable, many of them sparkly. These ones were all grey, irregularly shaped and uninteresting – just rocks. ‘Where did he get these stones?’

‘From outside. I let him keep them in there.’

‘Did he used to just pick them up off the ground? I never noticed him doing that.’ She’d taken countless walks around the neighbourhood with her brother, and he’d never shown any interest in stones – insofar as he’d shown an interest in anything.

‘It was a new thing for him. He began doing it just before he moved; you’d just started university and you didn’t have time to go out walking with him any more.’ Her words weren’t accusatory at all; the family had perfectly understood the change in Lena’s situation after she’d started classes. Lena picked one up and rolled it in the palm of her hand. ‘Still, shouldn’t we get rid of them? They’re just rocks; they can’t have any sentimental value.’

‘For me they do.’

This was a huge step forward and Lena was so happy she had to turn her back to hide from her mother how triumphant she felt. It gave her hope that their home life would return to normal over time – or as normal as it could be, at least. She let the stone drop back into the drawer, where it landed on top of the pile and rolled down until it hit the back of the drawer with a thunk. The drawer was hard to shut again but after she’d managed it Lena pulled out the next one, prepared to find more rocks. Instead, the drawer held a stack of loose papers. The top sheets were blank and Lena picked up a few of them to check whether they were all like that.

‘What are you two up to?’ Her dad’s voice came from the hallway, sounding strange.

‘Nothing special.’ Her mother finally entered the room. ‘Lena suggested we go through Tryggvi’s things if we want to set up the study that you’ve been talking about.’

‘Really?’ Her father walked in and looked around. To Lena’s knowledge he hadn’t set foot in the room since Tryggvi had died. ‘Oof, the air is bad in here.’ He went over to his wife and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Thanks, you two.’

‘Where did you go?’ asked Lena’s mother, adding a tiny white lie: ‘Lena and I were worried about you.’

‘I was out in the garden. The snow’s melted and I wanted to pick up the rubbish from the New Year.’ He turned to Lena. ‘How’s it going?’

She didn’t reply straight away, as she was too absorbed in browsing through the drawings on the back of all the sheets of paper. They were all alike, showing a figure which could either be standing or lying down, depending on how you turned the paper. It was rather grotesque, with no eyes and no nose, just a big open mouth, which Lena interpreted as a symbol of despair. Tryggvi had added something new to this figure, that she hadn’t seen in other drawings of his: some sort of dark sheet coming from its black, gaping mouth cavity. Lena suspected what the picture was meant to show, but when her father asked what was on all these sheets of paper she just turned one of the drawings towards him in silence.

‘Where did you find this?’ Her father ripped the drawing from her hand abruptly. He examined it for a few moments, his face grim, then took the rest of the pictures from Lena.

‘In the drawer.’ She pointed to the stack. Her father immediately started to gather up the sheets.

‘I don’t like this at all.’ He put the papers on the desk when he couldn’t fit any more in his hands. ‘I’ll deal with this room. There are lots of things in here that people don’t need to see.’

Fanndís and Lena watched in surprise. Her mother, who hadn’t seen the drawings, rubbed her ear feverishly.

As her father tore the sheets of paper to shreds in front of Lena, she felt dreadful. She was starting to suspect that the calm, normal family life she longed for was just a crazy dream that would never come true. Could this violent reaction be connected to the lawyer’s investigation? He must have known about the pictures but not been disturbed by them until now, when the fire was being reinvestigated. She still had the lawyer’s German friend’s phone number somewhere; maybe he could tell her how the investigation was going. Clearly her parents weren’t about to. A white scrap of paper fell off the desk and drifted to the floor.

‘I need a pay rise.’ Bella’s tone made it clear that this was more of an order than a request, and Thóra felt like laughing out loud. If she hadn’t been late for a meeting with Glódís at the Regional Office for the Disabled, she would have enjoyed continuing this discussion with her secretary.

‘There’s a recession, Bella, and pay rises aren’t on the agenda, not in this office or anywhere else in Iceland. Did you mean a pay
cut
, maybe? Then we can talk.’

‘Cigarettes have gone up, petrol has gone up, everything’s gone up, so now wages should go up.’ Her order of priorities was clear.

‘Sorry, Bella. I really am.’ Although there was little love lost between Thóra and her secretary, Bella’s feelings were understandable in light of the recent price increases, and when you added increased taxes into the equation her wages must have been stretched even further. ‘We’ve been hit by inflation too, so there’s no room to improve the terms of anyone’s contract – yours
or
ours.’

‘Then pay me cash in hand.’

Thóra was in no doubt that Bella was entirely serious. ‘I can’t; you know that.’

‘Why not? Then I can claim unemployment benefit and still work, which is like a pay rise, but you don’t have to pay it.’

‘It’s illegal, Bella, and the state needs the money to pay those who are actually unemployed. Think for once before you speak.’

‘All the state’s money goes to fuck knows where, so I don’t see why I can’t have some of it. It’s up to the people in this country to make a stand.’ Bella exploded in misplaced indignation. ‘So I’m going to leave early today. I’m going to protest, and I promise they’ll regret having made me angry. Arsehole politicians.’

Thóra frowned. She was quite sure that Bella would carry out her threat, and she hoped the riot police shields were sturdy enough. To her knowledge there were no demonstrations planned, but her secretary alone would doubtless be a match for pretty much anyone in that department. Especially now that there was nothing but instant coffee in the office. ‘You’re not going in your fleece with the company name on it.’ That would be a great photo on the front page of
Morgunblaðið
: Bella foaming at the mouth with their logo on her chest.