Why Did You Lie? Read online

  ‘I’m not going over till later this evening.’ It occurred to Nína to ask if Kata would like to stay and finish her tepid Coke but she knew there was no point. Her sister-in-law wouldn’t be persuaded to linger and couldn’t provide any answers about the past.

  When Nína came back into the sitting room after seeing her sister-in-law out, Berglind was on her feet by the window, watching Kata leave. ‘God, I could kill you. Couldn’t you have warned me you hadn’t told her about Thröstur yet?’

  ‘I really needed to have you here. She might have bawled me out if you hadn’t been. I couldn’t have coped with that.’

  ‘Why should she be angry with you? It’s her brother she should be furious with.’

  ‘It’s all so complicated. She can’t possibly be angry with Thröstur, so I’m the obvious target.’

  Berglind’s face softened. She wasn’t the type to lose her temper. As a result she had always been popular when they were children, whereas the more stubborn, volatile Nína had had more trouble maintaining friendships. It wasn’t until she’d met Thröstur that she had made a real friend – apart from her sister, that is. Like her, he was capable of going off the deep end in spectacular style, but they had agreed about almost everything. After they’d got together Nína’s temperament had softened; it wasn’t as tempting to fly off the handle if the person you were talking to agreed with you. Most people liked Berglind but her niceness drove Nína up the wall at times. She had to restrain the urge to provoke her sister into expressing some kind of indignation. It was typical that when she had confided in Berglind about her problems at work, Berglind had immediately tried to see the matter from all sides. That was not at all what Nína had wanted to hear. The only side that mattered to her was her own. Other people were welcome to view the matter from all angles and write long academic treatises on human behaviour. Not her. As a result, Nína had avoided any further discussion of the issue with her sister, which meant she’d had no one to talk to at all, and now she regretted not having confided in Thröstur straight away.

  ‘Do you really think the incident from Thröstur’s childhood is relevant?’ Berglind had her voice well under control now. Her anger had evaporated.

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Nína smiled weakly at her sister. ‘I hope so. Because then I can stop wondering what I could have done differently.’

  Berglind opened her mouth to speak, changed her mind and went over and gave her sister a hug. Then she took their half-full glasses into the kitchen.

  Surveying the room, Nína saw there was not much more they could do there. Everything had been packed and all that remained was to empty the flat and clean it. But what should she do with the contents? Although she wanted to speed up the move as much as possible and was even prepared to buy a property unseen if necessary, it wasn’t that simple. She couldn’t complete the purchase of a new flat until she had sold this one. And since it had been in her and Thröstur’s name, it would be impossible to sell it without legal hassle.Everything would be easier once he was dead, painful though the thought was.

  When Berglind suggested they call it a day, get a Chinese takeaway and take it home to her place, Nína made no objection. She realised her stomach was aching with hunger; for once she actually had an appetite. That must be a sign of improvement.

  They had used the trip downstairs to take out some of the stuff that was destined for the dump. Nína was standing with a bulging bin bag in her arms, preparing to lock up, when the door of the ground-floor flat opened. Her elderly neighbour was standing there. He must have been lying in wait for her as he couldn’t have been on his way out, dressed as he was in knitted sleeveless jumper, frayed shirt, corduroy trousers and felt slippers. On his head was a pair of gold-framed reading glasses. Nína would have liked to shove a pipe in his mouth and hand him a leather-bound volume of poetry to complete the picture. Though they’d rarely spoken, Nína knew he was a widower who had lived in the house for years. On high days and holidays the place filled up with his offspring. As she studied the thin figure she couldn’t help wondering if this was to be her fate: to live alone for decades. Her circumstances would be even more pitiful than his, though, as she couldn’t look forward to any visits from her children’s families at Christmas. That reminded her of the Christmas tree. Perhaps he was going to tell her off for failing to take it to the recycling depot herself.

  ‘I’m so glad to have run into you at last,’ the old man said. ‘I was beginning to think you’d moved. It would’ve been understandable. I lost my wife when I wasn’t much older than you and it was hard enough even though she didn’t die by her own hand.’

  This struck Nína as rather an unlikely prologue to a ticking-off. ‘I’ve been at the hospital,’ she explained. ‘Or work.’

  ‘I see. I heard it’s not looking good.’ The old man stepped aside as if to make room for them in his hall and Nína saw Berglind’s horrified expression; she was clearly afraid they would be invited in for coffee.

  Nína wondered where the man had heard this but then realised it didn’t matter. ‘That’s right.’ She smiled dully at him. ‘The whole thing’s pretty awful. But it’s only right you should know that I’ve decided to sell up. As you say, it’s not really feasible for me to go on living here.’

  ‘No. I understand.’ The man shook his head. ‘It’s a terrible business.’

  Nína rubbed her hands together. ‘Anyway, we’re going to be late for supper.’ Out of the corner of her eye she saw Berglind’s shoulders relax.

  The old man was in no hurry. He nodded slowly, hugging himself to keep out the worst of the chill. He gave the impression that there was something he needed to get off his chest. About the Christmas tree, no doubt. ‘It’s been on my mind for ages,’ he began, ‘and I’m not sure we’ll have another chance to speak before you move.’ A twinge of pain crossed his face. ‘When you’re my age nothing’s certain. But never mind that.’ In contrast to his wrinkles, his eyes were youthful, with bright whites and clear blue irises. ‘I didn’t like to mention it when the business with your husband happened, but since then it’s been weighing on my mind. Maybe I’m being ridiculous but I feel you ought to know.’

  ‘Know what?’ Nína shuffled her feet. Her stomach rumbled and Berglind was nudging her discreetly.

  The old man stroked his cheek. ‘It’s about something that happened in this street thirty years ago.’

  ‘What?’ Nína’s voice was hoarse; she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to hear any more.

  ‘There was a couple living here at the time who went through almost exactly the same thing as you and Thröstur. Their names were Stefán and Thorbjörg. Stebbi and Tobba.’

  ‘Oh?’ The names meant nothing to Nína.

  ‘The man committed suicide. The woman was left behind like you. Though actually they had a child so she wasn’t strictly alone, but I don’t think that made much difference. She was devastated, as I’m sure you are. And the boy was equally badly affected – he and his father had been terribly close and it knocked the ground from under the poor child’s feet. Just as much as his mother’s.’

  ‘Let me get this straight: you’re telling me that a couple used to live here in the neighbourhood and the man killed himself like Thröstur? Thirty years ago?’ Nína’s face darkened; she could feel her rage churning. What was this bullshit? She had enough of her own problems without having to hear about someone else’s. ‘Well, I don’t suppose there are many streets in the old part of Reykjavík where there hasn’t been a similar kind of tragedy, if you care to look.’

  The old man’s eyes widened in astonishment. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I obviously didn’t make myself clear. The thing is, they lived in your flat.’

  Nína started. ‘Upstairs?’

  The man nodded. ‘The man was a journalist like Thröstur.’

  ‘And?’ The bag in Nína’s arms seemed to weigh more heavily with every detail that the old man added. She wanted to throw it down in the garden and leave it there like the Christmas tree.
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br />   ‘The thing is, he hanged himself too. He didn’t take an overdose or walk into the sea. He hanged himself in the garage.’

  The world turned black before Nína’s eyes. ‘In the garage?’

  The old man grew embarrassed. He rubbed his hands together, looking from Nína to Berglind. ‘I don’t know if it makes any difference. But I felt I had to tell you. Perhaps it was wrong of me.’ He swallowed. ‘And there’s more, since I’ve started. If you’d care to hear.’

  Nína put down the bag, pretending not to notice the sour expression on her sister’s face. Berglind was shivering with cold. ‘Yes, please. I’d like to hear everything you can tell me.’

  Chapter 15

  27 January 2014

  The temperature has dropped again and the cold sneaks in round the badly fitting door with the gusts of wind. It was slightly warmer up until a moment ago but the sleeping bags and clothes they had stuffed into the cracks around the frame for insulation are there no longer. Ívar was like a rat in a trap and had to get out. And there’s no point putting it all back only to have to tear it down again when he gives up on the conditions outside and wants to come in.

  ‘Do you think he can hear us?’ Heida whispers, as if she believes that, far from being outside, Ívar is hiding under the pile of bedding by the door.

  ‘No need to whisper. The most he’ll be able to hear over that wind is the echo of our voices.’ Helgi closes his eyes again, leans against the wall and tries not to think about the cold that is clutching at his back. Ívar must be perishing out there, but he insisted on rushing outside when Heida told him what they had seen in the fog. The man flushed dark red and breathed hard through his nose when she started repeating the story about the dead coming back to haunt those who have done them wrong. Fearing Ívar was going to have a heart attack, Helgi wondered what to do. He didn’t know any first aid and Heida didn’t look as if she was any more clued up than him. When she saw Ívar’s reaction, she piled it on even thicker, telling him that it wasn’t only fog that summoned the dead but bad weather too. Like the storm that was brewing. At that point Ívar sprang to his feet, flung some comment at her about fucking bullshit old wives’ tales, and looked ready to go for her. Then he stormed out of the door.

  Helgi listens to the wild screaming of the wind. It sounds as if the weather is seeking an outlet for its fury, though there is no knowing what has caused it. ‘This is no ordinary gale. I hope the guy’s being careful out there and doesn’t get blown off.’

  ‘I can’t agree.’ Heida raises her voice slightly. ‘For all I care he can be blown to kingdom come.’

  Helgi opens his eyes and stretches. He looks at Heida, who is resting her face on her knees. She has been sitting hunched up like that ever since she came back inside, as if to avoid any physical contact with her companions. ‘I don’t believe you really mean that.’ Helgi immediately regrets his remark; how should he know whether she means it or not?

  ‘You can try and kid yourself into believing whatever you like but I know what I saw. Tóti’s sleeping bag was covered in blood. Ívar must have stabbed him or something.’ She has forgotten to whisper but even so Helgi can hardly hear her over the wind. ‘I don’t care what you think. I know he killed him.’

  ‘There are a number of possible explanations. I find the idea of Ívar murdering him the least likely.’

  Heida uncurls and stares at him. Her tousled hair is sticking out from under her hat and her cheeks are a hectic red. Helgi studies her. It’s extraordinary how rough the tidiest people can look when the going gets tough. He himself is hardly God’s gift but his appearance seems the least affected by the trip. If they are forced to sit here until evening, Heida will end up unrecognisable.

  ‘You come up with a better explanation then.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know.’ Helgi is finding it hard to think straight. His back is so cold that he can’t focus on anything else. ‘Perhaps Tóti went walkabout last night and injured himself but didn’t realise he was bleeding. He got back into his sleeping bag, then started feeling ill and got up again, then passed out from loss of blood and fell over the rail.’

  ‘And plunged over the cliff into the sea?’ The sarcastic look says it all.

  ‘You know what it’s like here. If you lose your footing, it’s certain death.’

  Heida’s expression resembles that of a spoilt child. She ignores Helgi’s reasoning. ‘All right, if you’re so clever and have it all worked out, tell me how he injured himself last night? He went to bed at the same time as us.’

  ‘Perhaps he went for a pee and bumped into something.’ Helgi closes his eyes and leans his head against the wall. The rough surface hurts the back of his skull.

  ‘There’s nothing to bump into here.’

  ‘No. Maybe not.’ Helgi decides to change the subject in an attempt to keep the peace. Things are bad enough as it is: Ívar’s on the verge of cracking up, and Helgi knows he won’t be able to control himself much longer if Heida keeps getting on his nerves. ‘Do you know, is it good to shiver when you’re cold? Or should you try and avoid it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ snaps Heida. From her reaction, anyone would have thought Helgi had made an indecent proposal. ‘And I don’t care either. I just want to get out of here.’

  ‘You will, before you know it. You’ll be right as rain.’ Helgi rises to a crouch and pulls out a sleeping bag from the pile by the door. Space is so tight in the lighthouse that everything is within reach. He stuffs the bag behind his back and feels better at once. ‘Strange phrase, “right as rain”, isn’t it? How can rain be right?’

  ‘What the hell are you on about?’ Heida lays her head on her knees again. ‘I can’t cope with your nonsense right now. I’m freezing and I feel terrible.’ She glances up briefly to check if Helgi is hurt. ‘Sorry. I don’t mean to be a bitch but this is doing my head in.’

  ‘It’ll be OK. Just you wait and see.’ Helgi looks over at the door, which is rattling in the wind. ‘They’ll come and get us and someone else’ll be given the job of finding out what happened to Tóti.’

  ‘But what if they don’t come till tomorrow morning? What’ll we do tonight? I can’t sleep with that man in here. What’s to stop him attacking us as well?’

  ‘Why would he do that? Anyway, they’re going to fetch us later this afternoon or this evening. The repairs must be finished soon and the helicopter will be ready the moment the wind drops. I guarantee it. In the worst-case scenario we’ll have to abseil down the cliff to a boat, but we’ll get out of here, one way or another.’ Helgi’s stomach churns at the thought of the slippery chain dangling down the rock face. He hasn’t yet made himself lie on his stomach on the ledge and peer over at this means of descending but he remembers catching a glimpse of it when the helicopter originally approached the lighthouse. He will not be taking that route except in the direst necessity.

  ‘What if he’s lying? What guarantee do you have that he was speaking to the coastguard earlier? He could have been playacting.’ Heida sits up suddenly, frees her legs and rises onto her knees. She is gaping at Helgi as if frightened by what she has said.

  ‘He made the call. I could hear the other person’s voice.’

  This does nothing to pacify Heida. After all, Ívar could just as well have rung a friend or the speaking clock and merely pretended to be talking to a rescuer. The fact that Helgi heard someone on the other end means nothing.

  ‘But why would he have pretended to make contact?’ Helgi reasons. ‘If they don’t rescue us, he’ll be in the same mess as we are. Our food’s running out and there’s not a lot of water left either.’ On reflection, this was a stupid thing to say but it’s too late now: he’s given her even more reason to be worried.

  ‘How long does it take to die of thirst? And people hardly live any time without food either, do they? Three days? Two?’

  ‘Now it’s my turn to say please stop asking questions.’ Helgi smiles, hoping she’ll recognise the absurdity of their situation.r />
  Heida hesitates, then returns his smile, showing the merest hint of teeth. But a moment later she’s off again. ‘I can’t stay here any longer. I can tell it’s going to turn out badly. What the hell was I thinking of to let myself be talked into coming?’

  ‘It’s your job. We’re prepared to put ourselves through all sorts of things for work. It’s not as if we’re here on holiday.’ The door shakes as if someone who has never seen a handle before is trying desperately to break in. The wind has gained force and is battering anything in its path. ‘I’m going out to fetch him.’ Ignoring the protests from his frozen knees, Helgi stands up.

  ‘Please don’t!’ Heida gazes at him imploringly and it occurs to Helgi that she might be close to the edge. ‘Just leave him. He’ll come in when he’s ready.’ She moves as if to grab Helgi’s leg to prevent him from leaving, but stops herself. ‘I know it was him.’

  Avoiding her eye, Helgi takes tight hold of the handle and braces himself for a violent buffeting. Before he opens the door, he looks round and sees Heida glaring at him as if he is breaking a sacred trust. ‘If you’re right, other people will deal with him shortly. But we can’t let him stay outside alone. We won’t feel any better if he has an accident.’ Helgi turns the handle and, although he is prepared for the worst, the door flies back with such force that he is lucky not to dislocate his shoulder. After a struggle he manages to close it behind him, unsure if Heida uttered a parting comment.

  He gasps as he turns to face into the gale. It fills his mouth with a nauseating taste of salt but he knows if he tries to spit it out, it’ll be blown straight back into his face. Disconcerted, he loses concentration briefly and the next gust flings him against the wall. He thanks his lucky stars it didn’t blow him down the steps and over the edge. As he clings for dear life to the window recess, he reflects once again that it’s obvious why they blocked it off. Yet it would be absurd to imagine this is the worst storm that has ever battered Thrídrangar. Land is invisible; a blizzard appears to be raging just beyond the rock. It will hit them any minute: he must persuade Ívar to go inside.