Someone to Watch Over Me (40 page)

‘So were you able to overcome all this?’

‘Not to any miraculous degree, but I was able to significantly reduce his repetitive behaviour, and I got him to look people in the eye and accept their presence. As I said, he still had a long way to go.’

‘Tryggvi must have undergone some other forms of treatment before you came along; how did you manage to succeed where others had failed?’

‘It’s not as if his previous teachers or developmental ther-apists didn’t do anything for him – far from it. For example, he spent endless amounts of time browsing illustrated textbooks, though he didn’t read the words. His tendency to inflict harm on himself had also already been suppressed. As a toddler he would bang his head against things whenever he could, even to the point of cracking his skull. So a lot of progress had been made. For any improvement to be possible in people as autistic as Tryggvi, it’s essential that their behavioural therapy begins very early. His parents, particularly his mother, were very concerned that he receive the best treatment available. She watched his diet very closely and followed the newest developments in that area, since in some cases the effects of autism can be reduced by changing a patient’s nutritional intake. For instance, Tryggvi stopped eating both gluten and sugar, and according to his mother it reduced his symptoms. Not that I was able to judge – I didn’t meet him until after they had been removed from his diet. Also, both his parents were very much alert to any developments in autism medication. They were kind of unique, actually, because the parents of autistic children sometimes focus on one particular factor: food, drugs or specific treatments, but few have been so aware of all the different aspects. They were terribly fond of him, but of course the same goes for all the parents of autistic children that I’ve encountered.’

‘So why did they stop the treatment, just when things were starting to look up?’

Ægir shrugged. ‘God knows. All I can think of is that the methods I was using weren’t to his mother’s liking; I didn’t exactly take the “softly softly” approach. I had to use a great deal of discipline to get results, and you’ve got to bear in mind that in this instance what we had was an individual who shunned human communication and attempted to avoid it by any possible means. So I had no other choice but to force him into acknowledging I was there. It was noisy, and must have been hard to watch. Still, I thought she realized that the end justified the means, but that was clearly a big misunderstanding on my part. It probably didn’t help either that other residents and visitors complained about it. It was a real shame, that’s for sure.’

‘How much progress did Tryggvi make under your guidance?’ The man had yet to answer the question that was really plaguing Thóra.

‘Quite a lot, but again you have to consider that we were starting from zero. He had started to draw more, pictures that seemed to better reflect what was on his mind, and he wasn’t as afraid of everything. I got him to look me in the eye and accept my presence, as well as his mother’s.’

‘But did he move around the building voluntarily? In search of company or food, for example?’

‘No, I very much doubt it.’ Ægir shrugged. ‘I suppose he
might
have left his apartment on his own, but not in search of either company or food. That would really surprise me.’

‘I know of one instance when he paid a visit to a bedridden girl who lived there. I don’t know why he went to see her, but he walked in and looked at her, in any case.’

‘You see? Progress.’ He rubbed his chin and stared around at the chattering crowd. ‘If it was one of the girls who couldn’t move, I’m not surprised he visited her rather than any of the other residents. A person who couldn’t speak would have suited him well, and maybe he was drawn by the silence in her apartment. I went with him a few times to see the girl in the coma, in order to get him used to the unknown. Obviously she was the most harmless person in the place and I didn’t want to bother those who were conscious, but she couldn’t move a muscle. A couple of times we stopped in her doorway. We had the director’s permission, of course, she was extremely cooperative, and Tryggvi didn’t do anything to the poor girl, just stared at her in fascination, probably because she was so still. Naturally, she didn’t know we were there, since she wasn’t conscious. I wasn’t aware of him ever having visited her without me.’

Thóra didn’t feel like correcting this misunderstanding; it didn’t matter whether Ægir thought it was Lísa or Ragna Tryggvi had visited. ‘How did he express himself with the pictures, anyway? I’ve seen a few of them – on a video recording, admittedly – but I couldn’t work them out at all. In them was a person lying down, and then another person holding onto a large circle which was divided into three. There were also flames in some of them.’

‘Of course the pictures weren’t the same every time, but both figures you describe were frequently involved. The person lying down was probably the girl in the coma, who he was really fascinated with, as I mentioned. She turned up in his drawings when I started my treatment, but she began to appear more and more frequently and by the time I stopped working with him she was in every picture. No matter what the subject of the picture was. As far as the other figure is concerned, it came and went and I think it symbolized his mother; I couldn’t give you a better guess than that. The ring she usually held was a peace symbol, in my opinion, but I couldn’t confirm that for certain any more than anything else in his imaginary world.’

‘And the flames?’

‘They were another thing that fascinated him, but I suspect you’re reading more into them than you should. They’re not related in any way to the fire at the residence. It’s one thing to draw fire, quite another to start one.’

‘But that did actually happen: he was caught doing exactly that some years ago. That’s not to say that he was responsible for the fire, but it certainly raises some questions.’

‘The flames in his drawings symbolized distress and fear. It wasn’t any more complicated than that. He drew fish when he was hungry and a sink when he was thirsty. Why he chose these things and not others, I don’t know. He drew every picture in one go, with one unbroken line, so to speak. And if you examine the drawings very closely, you can see all kinds of things in them that are more important sometimes than the main subject.’

‘What did
08
INN
or
OBINN
mean? It was in all the pictures and I wondered whether it was his signature or something like that. Would that fit?’

‘No, I never understood what that meant. He was angry at the letters so he connected them to something bad; he always drew them last, but I’m not sure that they stood for something that we can understand. Maybe it’s something he saw during his life that burned itself into his consciousness. He couldn’t read or write, so he saw it and copied it, in precisely the same way that he drew a house or some equipment that he came across, say. Since the text was in all likelihood a mirror image, like everything else that he put on paper, it’s hard to say what it was supposed to represent; no words begin with NN, for example. It didn’t ring any bells with his parents, either, but you never know, maybe he might have added more letters to the others over time, and the text would have become clearer. Unfortunately, this never happened, because shortly after these letters started appearing in every drawing, his parents decided to terminate the treatment.’

‘Do you still have any of the drawings?’

‘Funny you should ask. I did have a bunch of them, until today. The former director contacted me and asked whether she could have them. She always seemed a decent sort, I said yes. So I don’t have any; I took them to her on my way here and that’s why I was late.’

‘So Glódís has all of the drawings?’

The man nodded. ‘Yes, at least the ones that I had.’

The advertisement hoardings on the outside of the Kringlan Shopping Centre were trying their best to make everything appear normal; here everyone was wallowing in cash and everything was as affordable as before. The few cars that were parked outside told a different story, and although Matthew had been watching for nearly ten minutes, no one had gone in or out of the shopping centre. He clearly remembered how the place had been buzzing with life nearly eighteen months ago, when he’d gone with Thóra and Sóley to buy Sóley some trainers a week before everything collapsed. He’d felt his heart nearly stop when he saw the price on the plain pair that she chose. The trip had been torture for him from beginning to end, and he could never be persuaded to go in there again; they’d trekked through the shopping centre, where people kept bumping into each other and no one apologized. Thóra’s mood hadn’t been much better when Sóley finally chose her shoes, which of course turned out to be the first ones they’d looked at, and she paid for them without a murmur of protest, probably considering it an acceptable ransom to be able to get out of the building. Sóley had subsequently worn the shoes only twice; in the end she’d said they were uncomfortable. Maybe they should repeat the fun and see whether Sóley would make a better choice. Who knew, maybe this time they would leave the place with comfortable trainers at a reasonable price.

Matthew looked at his watch. He had arrived too early, because he’d been afraid he wouldn’t be able to find the place where he was supposed to meet the girl. He was standing across the road from Kringlan, outside Reykjavík University, where Tryggvi’s sister Lena had asked him to meet her. She’d called him out of the blue, saying that she needed to speak to him briefly – in private. Since the offer was much more exciting than watching Thóra’s parents bicker over whether to have tea or coffee, he had immediately agreed. He’d then tried to reach Thóra, but she didn’t answer either her mobile or her office phone – and Bella didn’t answer the main number, obviously. Therefore, he could only hope that he was doing the right thing in accepting, and he now waited rather self-consciously at the main entrance, a middle-aged man staring at the young people going in and out. This is why he’d been focusing his attention on the shopping centre instead; it made him feel better than being caught staring at the students.

Suddenly the flow of people out of the main door of the university increased. Several students milled around near him, happy to be out of class and trying to light their cigarettes before huddling together to generate some shelter. It wasn’t the secondhand smoke that irritated Matthew, but the fact that the gaggle of kids were now making it difficult to see the entrance. He wasn’t so good at recognizing people that he felt he could recognize Lena from the back, and he wasn’t certain she would wait around long if she didn’t immediately see him outside. So he moved away from the group, but then ended up among the crowd of people streaming out. Half the young women could have been Lena, judging by their height, weight and hair colour, but a light tap on his shoulder freed him from having to try and look into every face.

‘Hi. Have you been waiting long?’ Lena smiled, briefly revealing her beautiful white teeth. Smoke from the cigarette of a young man standing near her in the crowd drifted into her face and she frowned and waved it away. ‘Ugh, ever since I gave up I find smoking so disgusting.’ Her clothes were dictated more by fashion than the weather, which meant no hat. The wind whipped her long hair around her head but it appeared not to bother her, and she made no effort to control it. A heavy bag hung from her shoulder, making her stand slightly crooked.

‘Who’s this?’ A young woman the same age as Lena, though not quite as stylish-looking, stared curiously at Matthew.

‘Nobody you know. Call me later, maybe we can do some coursework together tonight.’ As soon as the last word was out of Lena’s mouth she made it clear that she was done with her friend and it was as if the girl was no longer standing there next to them. Yet still she remained, with a face like thunder, then turned on her heel and disappeared into the throng of students. ‘Sorry. She’s okay, but she can be a bit intense.’ A young man bumped forcefully into Lena’s shoulder, but she didn’t wince. Her bookbag swung and bumped into her thigh with a soft thud. ‘Shall we go over to Kringla so we can talk in peace? There’s a café here in the university but it’s packed at this time of day.’

‘Fine.’ They waited to cross the street while a fleet of students’ cars passed by. Matthew had never been good at making small talk, but was grateful that Lena seemed to be an expert at it. She talked constantly, not about her brother or the fire, but about everything and nothing. All he had to do was interject with a couple of banalities every now and then, depending on what the cadence of her voice suggested was required.

He was relieved when they finally found some seats in Kringla Bar. He asked for a coffee and she ordered a Diet Coke, throwing her mobile phone unceremoniously onto the table and hanging her heavy bag on the back of the chair. As soon as the waiter was gone she started talking again, now chattering away about the price of textbooks and how her friend had had to postpone his studies because of it. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, but shouldn’t we talk about the fire and Tryggvi?’ Matthew interjected. ‘Unfortunately I’ve only got about half an hour.’ This wasn’t exactly true, but it increased the likelihood that the girl would stick to the matter at hand. He was too old to be sitting in a bar, discussing young people’s problems.

‘Yes, of course.’ She smiled sheepishly and swept back her hair. ‘Of course I didn’t want to meet you to discuss the price of books. You’ll have to excuse me – I’m just a little bit nervous about this case and I find it difficult to talk about it.’

‘No problem.’ Matthew was silent. He preferred not to have to lead the conversation, because it could take him an eternity to get out of her what she really needed to say. He’d pinned his hopes on her having some specific piece of information up her sleeve that she wanted to share. When Lena continued to look at him awkwardly, he felt he had to say something. ‘Is it the investigation that’s making you anxious, or something else? There’s nothing about it that you need to fear. We’re just exploring whether any elements of the case were misconstrued.’