The Undesired Page 17

  She managed it, though, scrubbing out her footprints on her rapid retreat to the little house. She left Lilja’s tracks untouched, since they ran behind the buildings, as if the woman didn’t want anyone to know about her nightly wanderings. Two women up and about on the same night, equally eager to pass unseen. Aldís could make no sense of Lilja’s movements. The tracks under the boys’ window must have belonged to her. But what had she been doing there?

  Aldís lifted the curtain. Outside, tiny grains of snow were falling from the sky like dust, as if someone were shaking out laundry on the roof. Three boys, Einar not among them, were walking towards the main building, laughing and jostling each other. Hákon was crossing the yard as well, his back to her, weighed down on one side by the heavy toolbox. Now and then a puff of smoke rose from the inevitable cigarette in the corner of his mouth. Just before he vanished round the corner, she dropped the curtain and moved away from the window. No one else was about. Aldís sighed as she surveyed her cheerless room. So much for her day off.

  There was nobody on the landing, as one would expect in the middle of a working day. After rinsing away the taste of alcohol with sickly sweet, minty toothpaste, Aldís splashed her face with icy water. Afterwards she felt marginally better, and she could see a ruddy glow in her cheeks – for the moment at least. She had another day off in a fortnight and would make sure she didn’t mess that one up. She met her own gaze in the mirror and said aloud: ‘Never again.’ Next time she’d get a lift to town and do everything she craved: buy an ice-cream, stroll down Laugavegur looking in the shop windows, then retrace her steps and treat herself to whatever most took her fancy. And ring her mother. Or not. After staring at herself for a while she looked away, far from convinced that the person in the mirror could be relied on to keep these promises.

  She winced as the hairbrush tore through her tangles. She’d been in such a state last night that she’d left her hair to dry naturally. Eventually, however, she managed to tease out the worst of the knots, and disguised the weird kinks in it by putting it up in a bun.

  The rumbling of her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since yesterday’s supper. As usual there was nothing edible in the little house and she regretted not having saved some of the chocolate from her last trip to town. She had two alternatives: either stay here and starve or go over to the main building and help herself to some leftovers from lunch. The coffee break wasn’t until half past three. Lilja would start preparing it half an hour earlier, so if she hurried over now, with luck she might miss her. Without pausing to think, she pulled on her anorak and went out.

  The snow crunched underfoot and the fine grains fluttering down from the sky settled on her eyelashes, making everything glitter. When she blew them away, the world turned dull and flat again.

  The kitchen was empty, as she’d anticipated. As a result, every small noise she made seemed to echo, and Aldís wished she’d waited for the bustle of coffee time. Her thoughts strayed to the evening the uninvited guest had been on the prowl, and it seemed imperative to quickly grab something to eat and get out of there. She didn’t want to hear any mysterious sounds, so she made as much of a racket as she could, banging the breadbin shut after taking out a flat-cake, jerking open the fridge door in the hope the hinges would squeak, loudly gulping down milk straight from the carton. The cold liquid felt so wonderful as it ran down her throat that she thought she’d never be able to stop. Finally, having quenched the worst of her thirst, she wiped the white moustache from her upper lip and replaced the nearly empty carton. Jars clinked together as she rummaged for the butter on the packed shelves. Closing the fridge, she turned and jumped with fright, almost dropping the butter dish on the floor.

  Einar was sitting at the small table by the door to the dining room. He must have come in while she was delving inside the fridge. Above his head hung one of Lilja’s cross-stitch samplers, which read Lamb of God. Although Aldís had never understood what it meant, she was sure the text didn’t refer to Einar. He was as far from a lamb as you could imagine. ‘I saw you coming over here. Hope no one noticed me slip out. We’re supposed to be studying.’

  Aldís was feeling too grim to be embarrassed by her appearance. ‘I just woke up.’

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Einar met her eyes and from his expression she thought he was asking something quite different – whether she was having regrets.

  ‘Terrible. But I’ll recover.’

  Einar fished a sugar-lump out of the bowl in front of him and put it in his mouth. Aldís guessed he was trying to buy time while he cast around for the right words. ‘I thought you went straight back to bed last night. After…’ He smiled awkwardly. ‘After we left the cowshed.’

  ‘I did.’ Aldís fetched a knife and began to spread butter on the flat-cake. She couldn’t be sure if it was true, but as far as she could recall she’d slunk straight back to the little house after saying goodbye to him by the dormitory. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Someone knocked on the window after I climbed in. I was back in my room by then but I heard it anyway. I didn’t dare get up to see if it was you in case the other boys woke up.’

  ‘It wasn’t me.’ Aldís folded the flat-cake and took a bite. Lilja made them herself and they weren’t bad when fresh, but several days old they were dry and unappetising. She swallowed. ‘But I think I know who it was.’

  ‘Oh? Did you see?’

  Aldís contemplated the dark flat-cake and tried to recover her appetite. ‘No. I went back out to fetch the bottle we left in the cowshed and saw tracks leading to the window that obviously weren’t yours. Then shortly afterwards I saw Lilja. She was skulking around behind the house, so it must have been her.’ Her appetite vanished altogether when it dawned on her what this might mean. ‘Do you think she could have spotted you climbing in?’

  ‘Unlikely. If she had, they’d have replaced the bars by now – I’d loosened them and they’re just propped up for show. So it looks as if everything’s OK. It must be. Don’t you think?’ He glanced at Aldís but she had no answer. ‘Anyway, it can’t have been her. I met her just now and she was her usual grumpy, miserable self, but not angry. Besides, why would she have banged on the window unless she realised what was going on? She has a key, after all.’

  Aldís couldn’t answer this. Einar must be right but that didn’t alter the fact that someone had walked up to the window and rapped on it from outside. Unless he’d imagined the incident. It wasn’t her, and if it wasn’t Lilja either, the whole thing was pretty bizarre. ‘It can’t have been anyone else. Who else would have been wandering about last night?’

  ‘I know. It does sound a bit weird.’ The sugar-lump rattled faintly against Einar’s teeth as he transferred it to his other cheek. ‘Are you positive it wasn’t you? We’d both had a hell of a lot to drink and you were a bit … you know.’

  ‘It wasn’t me.’ Aldís raised the flat-cake to her mouth but the stale smell made her lower it again. Her appetite had gone for good. ‘I woke up just before everybody else and only went out then.’ She omitted to mention the bath and its purpose. She had no desire to discuss the fact they’d had sex – or anything else that had passed between them. If neither of them mentioned it, it would be almost as if nothing had happened. In time they’d both forget and the incident would no longer exist in anyone’s mind. And that would be that. Or so she hoped. ‘That’s when I saw her. Out by the cowshed. Long after you went inside.’

  ‘Which makes it even more unlikely it was Lilja at the window. The knocking came just after I climbed in. She can hardly have been hanging around outside for hours. What on earth was she doing when you saw her?’

  ‘Singing. To a tree.’ He looked perplexed. ‘Can you come out to the cowshed with me? I’ll show you.’ When he didn’t move, she added: ‘There’s no one there at this time of day. If we sneak behind the buildings you won’t be seen.’

  He stood up with feigned nonchalance, though no doubt he’d rather have gone back to his books be
fore anyone discovered he was playing truant. ‘I’ll just say I had to go to the toilet.’

  They both knew no one would believe this excuse. Einar would be reprimanded and subjected to whatever punishment Lilja and Veigar considered fitting. Nevertheless, they hastened wordlessly through the snow to the cowshed. Light flakes were still falling. If the wind picked up it would drift and tomorrow her day would be spent shovelling snow from the doorsteps while the workmen and the boys were made to clear the slip-road to the farm. The bird joined them, flapping overhead with plaintive chirrups as if to remind Aldís that she hadn’t fed it yet, but soon gave up and turned back.

  ‘She was standing there.’ Aldís pointed to the tree, which stood a little way from the gable of the cowshed.

  ‘Was she leaning against it? Singing hymns to God? Looking at the sky, maybe?’

  ‘No. She was standing there looking straight ahead. At the tree.’

  Einar asked no further questions but walked over the soft white carpet towards the tree. ‘They’re weirdos, of course. She’s even worse than him.’ He scuffed at the snow as if searching for traces of the night’s events, perhaps trying to ascertain whether Aldís was telling the truth. Bending down, he brushed his hand over the cold ground where Lilja had supposedly stood.

  ‘Don’t you believe me?’ Aldís hopped from foot to foot behind him; she was cold and wished she were back in bed. The day was a write-off, and would only get worse.

  ‘Yes, I do.’ He seemed distracted, more interested in the snow than her. ‘Look.’ Straightening up, he held out his hand. It was red with cold. In his palm lay a small piece of wood that had been whittled to resemble a heart. ‘Think she dropped this?’

  Aldís took it carefully as if it might crumble between her fingers. It felt strangely clammy and warm to the touch, and heavier than she would have expected. ‘I don’t know. Not that I noticed.’

  ‘Then perhaps she put it there deliberately.’ Their eyes met; no further words were necessary. They had found the child’s grave. It was beneath their feet, on the edge of the farmyard. By the roots of the solitary tree that didn’t belong there any more than the little bones did. Aldís blushed with shame to think that it had ever have crossed her mind to use the corpse for a prank. Some things were unforgivable, however drunk you were. Never again.

  The temperature was dropping and Aldís realised she was shivering again, though not as badly as when she had climbed out of the bath. Hastily she laid the heart back in its place and scooped snow over it. ‘I can’t stay out here any longer. Come on.’ She glanced at Einar, expecting him to be similarly anxious. Lilja and Veigar would be apoplectic with rage if they caught them here, and it would be only too obvious what Aldís and Einar had discovered. But his eyes were not flickering nervously; they were shining with excitement and glee. There was no hint of any shame over the night’s unspeakable plans. Aldís was trembling now as badly as she had when she woke in the bath.

  Chapter 19

  The dark-red wine looked thick and oily, but slipped down smoothly enough. Ódinn tilted the long-stemmed, wide-bowled glass and watched the swirling liquid rise almost to the rim as he increased the speed. He put the glass down.

  ‘Do you like it?’ From the expression on his sister-in-law’s face, she wasn’t expecting him to say yes. Ódinn was straddling a barstool at the island in Sigga and Baldur’s kitchen, watching her fry a large pan of mushrooms. The huge heap suggested they were expecting a crowd to dinner rather than just him and Rún, but then they tended to cater generously in this house. While Sigga was slicing the mushrooms, he’d wanted to point out that, like most kids, Rún didn’t eat them, but he didn’t want to rub her nose in her childlessness. He’d never spoken to her about the couple’s problem conceiving, but from what his brother told him it weighed heavily on her. ‘Baldur bought a couple of bottles when he was abroad last summer. He’s been dying to try it.’

  ‘It’s very nice.’ Ódinn took another sip to make it look convincing. The wine had a more pungent flavour than he was used to; it was probably too good for his uncultivated palate. He felt the familiar warmth stealing through his body, though he would have preferred a beer.

  Sigga shrugged and returned to stirring the mushrooms. The butter sizzled and spots of fat beaded on the black stone worktop. ‘To be honest, I prefer white.’ The hot fat spat again and Sigga whipped back her hand, raised it to her mouth, then shook it hard. ‘Damn!’ Her sunburnt arm seemed out of place against the wintry backdrop of snow on the decking outside the French windows. Baldur was standing out in the cold, barbecuing, which didn’t fit with the season either. It was as if they were conspiring to pretend it was summer. Beside him, Rún was watching intently as he fiddled with a giant, silver-coloured grill that must have cost an arm and a leg.

  ‘Need a plaster?’ Ódinn leant over the island to see. It was a stupid question but he couldn’t come up with any better response.

  Sigga held out her slender arm to show him. ‘It’s nothing. Just stings a bit.’ She drew back her wrist with a jingling of decorative bangles, no doubt bought on the beach during her winter holiday. She and Baldur had been intending to go together but he’d been too busy. Ódinn understood why she longed for a child. In reality she was as alone as he had been before Rún came to live with him. Baldur was always working and Ódinn doubted he made any distinction between weekends and weekdays. Ódinn had been the same when he worked for his brother; after all, he’d had nothing much else to do. Baldur had different reasons for being a workaholic; he owned the company and couldn’t afford to slacken the pace if he and Sigga were to go on enjoying the luxuries to which they had grown accustomed. When it came down to it, though, Ódinn wasn’t sure Sigga would choose the trinkets and baubles of the high life over a normal home life and her husband’s presence. Still, he was no judge. He didn’t know her well enough, though she’d been part of the family for a decade.

  ‘Did you enjoy your holiday?’ He wished Rún and Baldur would come inside; it would be rude to sneak out to join them, but he’d run out of things to say.

  ‘Oh, yes. It was fine, in the circumstances.’ She had no need to specify the circumstances. ‘A bit lonely. But relaxing. Good to get away from this shitty weather.’ Ódinn secretly rejoiced that she’d mentioned the weather – that inexhaustible topic of conversation – but his joy was premature. ‘I should have taken Rún along. It would have done her good to get away for a bit.’

  ‘Maybe not quite yet.’ Ódinn watched Rún stamping her feet to keep warm. She turned to Baldur, beaming at some comment he’d made. It was so long since Ódinn had seen her smile like that that he’d forgotten she was capable of it. But she was always happy in Baldur’s company; everybody was. One couldn’t help being infected by his exuberant optimism. ‘She’s still getting over it.’ But perhaps Sigga was right; a carefree holiday might be just what the child needed. ‘We’re going to Spain together in the summer. So long as she keeps up her handball practice this winter.’

  ‘Are you kidding? You’re seriously going to cancel your holiday if she throws in the towel?’ Sigga gaped at him incredulously. Her face was as brown as her arms; her blonde hair almost white in contrast. She hardly seemed to belong here; it was as if she’d been washed up on these shores from some far-off land of perpetual summer. He couldn’t remember ever having seen her this brown before, which must mean the trip had been utterly uneventful. Wake up, lie beside the pool, back up to the room, sleep. Repeat fourteen times. He couldn’t see Rún enjoying that. Their trip would be different. If they ever went.

  ‘She’ll stick at it, so it won’t come to that.’

  ‘Really? She told me she hates sport.’ Sigga turned off the heat under the mushrooms. ‘I sympathise. I was made to play handball when I was a kid and I loathed it. You never knew when you were going to get a rock-hard ball in your face or ribs. I’ve never been so happy as the day I was allowed to quit.’

  Ódinn was about to disagree and start listing the advantages
of sport when the door opened. The cold poured inside, accompanied by a delicious smell of grilled meat from the heaped platter in Baldur’s hands. Rún was holding his wine glass, an incongruous sight with her childish orange anorak and colourful, knitted hat. ‘Aren’t you two half frozen?’

  ‘No way. What do you think we are, a couple of wusses?’ Baldur winked at Rún, laid the meat down on the kitchen table and took back his glass. He was wearing an anorak over an apron sporting the slogan: Be nice to me or I’ll poison the food – a birthday present from his employees back when Ódinn was still working for him. ‘How’s the new job? Still a complete waste of time?’

  Ódinn flushed slightly, though he didn’t know why. There was no reason to be ashamed of the fact that his job wasn’t as dynamic and exciting as his last one. ‘No, far from it. I’ve been given an interesting assignment.’

  ‘Oh? What’s that? Counting the streetlights on the Reykjanes highway? Checking if one of them’s missing?’ Baldur took a mouthful of wine. ‘God, that’s good.’ He smiled at Sigga who smiled back and took a sip too. She winked at Ódinn over the rim of her glass and he raised his in return.

  ‘No, actually. It’s to do with one of those old state-run care homes. Not like the others, though – this one was for older boys, kids who’d gone off the rails. Maybe it’s not an appropriate topic of conversation in present company.’ He nodded towards Rún, who was taking off her anorak.

  ‘I went to the office with Daddy,’ Rún told Baldur. ‘It’s not as cool as your job. Everyone just sits at computers.’