The Undesired Page 10

  ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ Ódinn wasn’t in such a bad way that he was prepared to start knocking back the happy pills or seeing a shrink. He couldn’t face turning up regularly to sit in a minimalist room and rabbit on about himself. Though he didn’t know a lot about it, he was convinced that tranquillisers came with a whole raft of side effects, quite apart from being addictive. ‘I thought there might be some other way. Hypnosis, or whatever. Something you could offer here and now.’

  Nanna laughed sharply. ‘I’m qualified to use a variety of methods but I only treat children. Treatment in your case would require more than one conversation. This meeting is about Rún, not you. There’s no question of your walking out of here completely cured and everything going back to normal. Though I can understand if that’s what you were hoping for.’

  Ódinn didn’t bother to deny it: the desire to find a quick fix for his troubles was nothing to be ashamed of, though clearly he wasn’t going to be so lucky. ‘Do you think I’m cracking up?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Though note that I only said think. I know too little about you to be a competent judge. People crack up, as you put it, in all kinds of different ways. And you can rarely tell by looking at them. But I wouldn’t worry too much.’

  This wasn’t the answer Ódinn had been hoping for. He had asked in order to hear an unequivocal no. ‘I’m not really too worried about myself. I’ll survive, even if I have to put up with this crap a bit longer. I’m more concerned about Rún, as you know. She doesn’t talk much about how she’s feeling but she has a lot of nightmares about her mother, and I suspect she’s going through the same process as me. I doubt I’m giving her enough support, though I’m doing my best.’ He straightened his shoulders, so as not to come across as a complete wimp. ‘But I’m prepared to do whatever’s necessary to help her get over it.’ Except see a psychoanalyst. Or take tablets.

  ‘Did it start at the same time for both of you?’ For the first time in the conversation Nanna appeared to be taking him very seriously. A bad sign, surely? ‘It’s quite unusual for two people to experience the same hallucinations, especially if they began at the same time.’

  ‘Rún’s been in a bad way ever since she came to live with me. Understandably – she’s lost her mother. But it’s been different lately. She used to sleep at nights and didn’t seem as frightened as she does now, just sort of stunned.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Yes, it did start around the same time.’

  ‘Did it coincide with any other changes in your life? At the time or shortly beforehand?’ Nanna dropped her eyes. ‘A new woman in your life, for example?’

  ‘No. Nothing like that.’

  ‘What about work? Have you been under increased pressure?’

  Ódinn couldn’t help smiling. ‘Not really, but it’s not exactly overwhelming. I finally got a decent project, but actually things have been a bit slow for my liking. In other words, the situation has changed slightly – but for the better.’

  ‘Is it possible that the pressure’s greater than you want to admit – that it’s upsetting your daughter without your realising? Do you take work home with you, for example?’

  ‘No, nothing like that. There was no pressure at all before, but now I’ve got a project I have to finish by a certain date. That’s all there is to it. I was even allowed to set my own deadline, so you get the picture. Nothing to affect Rún.’

  Nanna didn’t appear convinced.

  * * *

  When he got back to work and they began their meeting, Heimir, unable to hide his curiosity, asked Ódinn where he had been.

  ‘I was at the doctor’s.’ Ódinn wasn’t about to admit that he’d been seeing a therapist.

  ‘Nothing serious, I hope?’ Heimir’s gaze was avid. He was clearly dying for Ódinn to spill the beans.

  ‘Oh, no, not serious.’

  ‘That’s a relief. It’s a bit of a worry when young men like you start having doctor’s appointments. But if you say it’s nothing, there’s no call for alarm.’

  ‘I didn’t say it was nothing; I said it wasn’t serious.’ Ódinn didn’t know why he wanted to confuse Heimir. Why would he want to nettle this harmless man? It wasn’t his fault that Ódinn’s life was a mess. On the contrary, Heimir had given him a job. God alone knew what sort of state he and Rún would be in now if he had still been working for his brother, with all the endless absences from home that would have entailed. ‘By the way, I wanted to let you know that I’m thinking of talking to some of the old boys from Krókur. If they’re willing to speak to me, that is. But I wanted to get the green light from you first. I don’t want to do anything that might be unpopular.’

  ‘Why should it be unpopular?’ Heimir looked a little apprehensive and his lazy eye darted to one side. He ran his palms over his shiny, empty desktop, as if wiping away invisible dust. As usual he was wearing slightly too smart a suit and tie, prepared, as ever, for that rare eventuality, a meeting at one of the ministries.

  ‘Suppose one of the people I interview wakes up to what it means and talks to the press afterwards. Up to now there hasn’t been a peep out of any of the old boys, so maybe it’s a bad idea to rock the boat. But the report won’t be worth the paper it’s written on if I don’t mention the residents’ experience. The documents I have at present only give the official line, and, let’s be frank, the state proved blind to what was going on at other care homes. Official papers only ever tell half the story.’

  While Ódinn was waiting for an answer he found himself tuning into the faint sounds that reached them through the closed door. He heard the secretary tapping on her keyboard, the whistle of the kettle, the irritating ringtone of a mobile phone that it seemed no one was ever going to answer. He was so relieved that he had to fight back a grin. The therapist had been right; he’d become over-sensitive to his surroundings. All the things he’d taken as a sign that he was either crazy or haunted had been nothing but normal background noises and movements that he didn’t usually register. But the longer he listened, the more uneasy he felt, until the urge to smile vanished. He wished Heimir would make up his mind. The tapping on the keyboard now sounded as if something horrible were being typed – as if the dreams of some wretched underdog were being crushed; the phone call seemed to forebode bad news: a premature death or cancer diagnosis.

  Ódinn coughed to drown out the sounds, if only for a moment. At that, Heimir finally seemed to wake up. ‘Now you come to mention it, I hadn’t considered the press angle.’ He paused, waiting for Ódinn to continue.

  ‘Well, the thing is, the press are bound to hunt out the old boys once the report’s published, and if it gets out that we’ve compiled it without investigating their side of the story, the shit will really hit the fan.’

  ‘So you want to conduct some interviews?’

  ‘It’s not a question of what I want. Their testimony is an essential part of the report – if only to confirm that the management of the home was exemplary. But, of course, it’s also possible that the public image bears no relation to what really went on at Krókur.’

  The lazy eye that had slid away was now fixed, as if it had found the answer beyond the line of sight.

  ‘Yes, I suppose it would be a good idea to talk to them. But didn’t Róberta already do that? I have a feeling she did, and I’m wondering if it’ll look bad if we go back and interview the same people.’

  ‘I haven’t found any evidence that she did, but there’s nothing to say she didn’t either.’

  ‘Have you checked her timesheets?’

  ‘No, I didn’t realise I could access them. To be honest, it hadn’t occurred to me.’

  ‘She always filled them in conscientiously, from what I remember. Provided a detailed description of the day’s tasks.’ Heimir gave Ódinn a look as if to say it wouldn’t hurt him to follow her example. ‘I’ll have them printed out for you. You can’t access them yourself. With any luck, she’ll have included any interviews she did – perhaps even with the names of her int
erviewees. That might help you track down her notes.’

  It sounded reasonable. Ódinn prepared to wrap up their meeting. ‘One more question. Did Róberta ever complain about receiving threats?’

  ‘Threats?’ Heimir was obviously taken aback. ‘Why on earth would you ask that?’

  ‘Oh, no reason. Let’s discuss it another time.’ Ódinn half regretted raising the subject, unwilling to own up to having read her e-mails. ‘By the way, who outside this office would have been aware that Róberta was compiling the report?’

  Heimir frowned, his eye slipping back into place. ‘Just a minute … are you implying that someone from the Ministry of the Interior or Child Protection Agency was threatening Róberta? Why would they?’ He huffed indignantly. ‘It’s out of the question. For one thing, we’ve never discussed who in our office was handling the assignment, either when she was dealing with it or since you took over. People aren’t exactly waiting with bated breath for the findings, you know.’

  Ódinn nodded and took his leave before Heimir could prolong the meeting. If no one within the system knew that Róberta was writing the report, the e-mails were unlikely to have originated from an insider. Which left only her interviewees. And, it stood to reason, they could only have been old boys or staff from Krókur.

  * * *

  Róberta had described her tasks briefly but succinctly in her timesheets. Ódinn had received a printout of the last six months because Heimir couldn’t recall precisely when she had told him about the interviews. Halfway through reading them, he was brought up short. One entry said: Read and checked letters. That had taken two and a half hours. The following day had the same entry: this time Róberta had spent an hour on the task. What letters were these? He hadn’t come across any letters among her documents. He made a mark against these two entries and continued reading. Shortly afterwards he encountered another entry that made even less sense. It said: Read up on anencephaly. He entered the word into the search engine and discovered that it referred to a birth defect or disease. He opted to view images with the results and seldom if ever had he laid eyes on anything so disturbing. They showed babies which at first sight seemed to have eyes at the top of their foreheads but, on closer inspection, it turned out that their eyes were correctly placed, it was the top of their heads that was missing. He clicked on ‘back’ and read an article on the condition, which explained that it was a birth defect that caused the foetus to develop without a brain. As a result, the cranial bones developed abnormally in the womb, flattening out directly above the eyes instead of forming a dome over the nonexistent brain. What possible relevance could this have for the case or for Róberta? Ódinn wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Hastily he closed the browser.

  He went to the nearest window and stuck his head out for a breath of fresh air. Perhaps he wasn’t the right man for this, after all. But his doubts were quick to pass and, returning to his desk, he began poring over the timesheets again. What a nightmare.

  Chapter 11

  January 1974

  Nobody believed her – except perhaps Tobbi, but that didn’t count because he’d been there at the time. The others stared at her blankly and either said she must have imagined it or told her not to talk nonsense. The latter group included Veigar and Lilja, who were also angry with her for frightening the boys like that. She was hysterical, they said, and had better keep quiet until she calmed down. They had gone on and on at her last night and again this morning. Even the bird, perched on the roof of the main building, turned its back on her as she walked across the yard.

  Aldís swung her legs back and forth as she sat on the rickety wooden bench behind the little house, waiting for her rage to subside. The bench had seen better days, as the three hollows worn by past backsides showed. Her plimsolls appeared from under the seat and disappeared again, appeared and disappeared, and each time they reappeared her resentment grew. Now there was a hole in one of the grubby toes. Her first task after she moved to town would be to buy herself a pair of smart new shoes. No one would offer her a decent job in these scruffy things. Air hostesses wore high heels, not flat-soled plimsolls that were falling to bits. She took a drag on the cigarette her housemate Steini had rolled for her when he saw how she was feeling. He was a man of few words and this was his way of showing Aldís that he was on her side, though he knew she wasn’t really a smoker. She exhaled a cloud of smoke that the wind instantly snatched away as if it were a plaything.

  ‘Got one for me?’ In her agitation over Veigar and Lilja’s stubborn refusal to listen she hadn’t noticed Einar approaching. But then he padded around so quietly, unlike the noisy blundering of the other boys. The quality seemed innate in him rather than studied, reminding Aldís of a documentary she’d seen about big cats.

  She suppressed a cough. ‘No, only this one.’ She held out the half-smoked, drooping cigarette and picked a flake of tobacco from her lip. She hadn’t got the knack of smoking roll-ups and the end that had been in her mouth was wet and limp. ‘Want a puff?’

  Einar sat down beside her and inhaled greedily. ‘God, I’ve missed this.’

  ‘It’s sugar I miss. I dream of big bottles of Coke and liquorice sticks.’ Aldís waved the cigarette away when Einar tried to pass it back. ‘I don’t really smoke. You can keep it.’

  He smiled and took a deep drag, the end flaring red. ‘This is fantastic. Sorry I can’t pay you back in sweets. Why are you smoking, if you don’t normally?’

  ‘I’m just so pissed off that I thought I might as well. I was hoping it would calm me down.’ Aldís didn’t know if it was the nicotine or his presence but all at once her anger subsided, leaving behind a dull torpor, like a dirty mark on her soul.

  ‘Is it because of what happened last night? Tobbi told me. He was shaking like a leaf when he finally got back to the house.’

  The wind changed direction, blowing the smoke over Aldís. She raised a hand to wave it away, then let it drop. She didn’t want Einar to think she was uncool. It was bad enough being caught wearing these shoes. She tucked her feet under the bench. ‘He deserved it. If he’d backed me up I wouldn’t have got such a bollocking.’ She licked her lips; they tasted of the cigarette. ‘He’s a total idiot. That’s the only explanation for his reaction. I’d like to belt him.’

  ‘It’s not worth it. He’s sorry enough anyway, without you giving him a beating. I’ve hardly been able to get any sense out of the poor little sod.’ The cigarette had burnt down to Einar’s fingers and he flicked the butt away. It landed in a flowerbed adorned with dirty snow and a few bare stalks left over from the previous summer. ‘What actually happened? Everyone’s talking about it but no one seems to know a thing. The story gets weirder and weirder the more the others try to fill in the gaps.’

  ‘I doubt they can make it any weirder than it really was.’ Aldís wished she’d accepted another of Steini’s roll-ups; that way she could have kept Einar beside her a little longer. He didn’t look as if he was going anywhere, but, like everything enjoyable, this was bound to be over far too quickly.

  ‘You needn’t tell me unless you want to. But if you’d like to offload, please, feel free.’

  Einar was unlike anyone else she’d ever met: he was actually interested in what she had to say, and when they talked, she felt as if she mattered. Usually she found people only spoke to her because they wanted an audience. ‘Yes, I’d like to. I’m just surprised anyone can be bothered to listen. Veigar and Lilja wouldn’t even let me finish before they started having a go at me.’

  The couple seemed to grow more uptight by the day. Aldís could hardly remember what they’d been like at the beginning. True, they’d never been exactly lively or fun, but at least they’d been fair. Now they were just perverse. Aldís had noticed that their treatment of the boys had become colder and harsher too. The loss of their baby and the money troubles she’d heard the workmen muttering about must be putting a strain on them; perhaps they faced losing the property that they’d only recently acquired. What w
ould become of the boys then? And the workmen? She didn’t really mind on her own account; she’d simply leave as planned.

  ‘They’re such bloody hypocrites. They make me sick every time they open their mouths. They’re either preaching Christian homilies or coming out with something that’s the complete opposite. I’m not sure the Jesus Christ they worship would be particularly flattered to have them on his team.’ Einar glanced at her, obviously waiting for her to begin, then said: ‘I promise to let you talk if you want to. And I’m not religious, by the way.’

  Now that she had a sympathetic audience, the story seemed terribly lame to her and she was afraid he would think so too. She was embarrassed; her fingers fidgeted in her lap and she began to swing her legs again. ‘It sounds so silly. But it didn’t feel like a joke at the time. Tobbi didn’t think so either, though he claims not to remember now. There was someone in there, someone who’d followed him or gone with him into the dining room. Anyway, I haven’t a clue how they wound up in there, or what would have happened if I hadn’t walked in on them.’

  ‘So you don’t know if it was a man or a woman?’ There was a hint of doubt in Einar’s voice, as if he found the idea rather far-fetched.

  ‘No. There was a power cut and I couldn’t see.’

  ‘Is it possible that there was nobody else there? Apart from Tobbi, of course.’

  Aldís shuddered. ‘There was somebody there, all right. I know it. Tobbi does too. He wasn’t alone when I came in – he told me so himself. I think he’d been talking to the person when I barged in, and whoever it was fled. Perhaps it was one of the other boys, but I don’t think so.’ She longed to mention the horrible stench of blood that had filled the air the instant everything went black, but stopped herself for fear he wouldn’t believe her. The same applied to the whispering that, disorientated by the darkness, she’d been unable to pinpoint the source of. She inadvertently ground her teeth as she remembered the pathetic whimper Tobbi had made, though he was normally pretty tough for his age. Aldís had had her share of frights but she’d never experienced anything like that before. Blinded by the darkness, all she had known was that somewhere nearby was a presence that wished her harm. It was just so difficult to find the words to describe it. People didn’t want to listen to anything unsettling or hard to understand. The incident with her mother had taught her that and it still hurt. And if her mother had been capable of betraying Aldís, there was no reason to think others would behave any better – however nice and sympathetic Einar might seem.