The Undesired Page 4

  The kitchen window stood wide open. The latch was unfastened and the large casement window was flung wide. In spite of the breeze, there was no mistaking the smell of smoke, as if someone had just stubbed out a cigarette. Ignoring the numbness creeping up his legs, Ódinn slammed it shut. Instantly, the reek of smoke evaporated and everything was restored to normal. He leant against the sink and stared out of the window. This must be due to fatigue and stress. Under great strain, people could experience all kinds of hallucinations. So why not a bad smell?

  Then he remembered what his daughter had said when he woke her that morning. She had raised her head and stared at him bemused, as if still asleep, though her eyes were wide. Then she had asked in a husky, drowsy voice if Mummy was still angry. Ódinn had exclaimed that nobody was angry in heaven. But instead of accepting this and climbing out of bed, Rún had added, eyes fixed on him, that Mummy wasn’t in heaven – she was too angry for that. Ódinn had dismissed this as nonsense, but omitted to ask whom her mother was supposed to be angry with, since he believed he already knew. No doubt Lára had hated him all those times he had repeatedly let her down. He richly deserved it. But that it should reach beyond the grave – that was absurd. To do Lára justice, she seemed to have tried to conceal her resentment from Rún; at least his daughter had never mentioned it. And if she could control herself when alive, surely she must be able to do so after death? It was just some nonsensical idea of Rún’s, the result of her nightmare.

  Yet Ódinn couldn’t shake off his sense of unease. The ball had started rolling. He had a hunch that it was linked somehow to Krókur and the two boys whose death seemed to have been greeted with general indifference. Perhaps the day of reckoning had come.

  Chapter 4

  January 1974

  Aldís was itching to find out what the new boy had done wrong. As a rule, the boys were only guilty of minor offences but, especially given what Hákon had said, she was convinced that it was a different story with this one, Einar. He was self-possessed and seemingly well brought up, quite different from the other boys. He seemed far more mature, too, as if he’d made better use of every year of his life. The other boys, in contrast, were constantly fidgeting, as if driven by small engines fuelled by all that was forbidden. In fact, the new boy seemed so out of place that she thought the system must have got the wrong person; it should have been a completely different Einar.

  She had tried asking about his past but got nowhere. Veigar and Lilja had told her to mind her own business, and the workmen knew no more than she did. All she knew for sure was that his crime must have been serious enough to take him out of circulation. But what had he done? Veigar was permanently on edge in Einar’s presence, his eyes constantly seeking out the boy, as if he needed to know his whereabouts at all times. She had witnessed similar behaviour before: her uncle owned a large dog that had once bitten his wife, and the woman used to behave exactly the same around the beast. Aldís had begun to fear the dog herself, though it had never done her any harm. But Veigar’s darting glances had completely the opposite effect on her: instead of being afraid of Einar, she became intrigued. A sneaking, malicious voice in her subconscious whispered that her interest was simply due to his appearance, but Aldís immediately rejected the idea, annoyed by the notion that she should be attracted to someone so much younger. None of the boys at the home were yet adults – they were all under seventeen. But there was no getting away from the fact that Einar stood out. Rather than being pinched and covered in acne, his face was strong-jawed, almost like that of an adult, and was out of keeping with his slim frame. He was taller than most of the others, too, though he still looked as if he needed a little more air pumped into him. And his eyes betrayed a tantalising sorrow, but that could have been her imagination, or even astigmatism.

  ‘You can call the boys in to dinner.’ Lilja stuck her head into the dining room where Aldís was finishing laying the table. She always did her best to make it look nice for them but never really succeeded. The cloths were stained and the plates and cutlery didn’t match. Yet she tried to arrange everything neatly, mindful of what her mother used to tell her about always showing respect for food. Having enough to eat shouldn’t be taken for granted: the world outside Iceland was full of people who went to bed hungry.

  Aldís had never actually left the country herself but thought her mother must have been exaggerating. The few people she knew who had been abroad hadn’t mentioned anything about poor people. Personally she’d be prepared to put up with a bit of hunger if only she could travel. She straightened a knife beside a chipped plate, cross with herself for letting her thoughts stray to her mother. She had to keep reminding herself of the grudge she had against her, keep fuelling the anger that had a tendency to mellow. Her right cheek burned at the memory of the slap that had turned her life upside down; the crack as her mother’s work-worn hand had made contact with her face.

  Aldís sniffed loudly. She had always known that things would change when a man came into her mother’s life. When it finally happened, Aldís had been so happy for her, so pleased her mother would no longer have to struggle on as a single parent, that she’d gone out of her way to be friendly to the man. But she hadn’t been on her guard. Had ignored the glances, the tendency to brush against her, until the disgusting creep had come up behind her, reeking of spirits, squeezed her breasts and whispered that he’d seen the way she looked at him and now they could finally … They had been alone at home. Aldís had violently shoved him away, stammering that she didn’t want him to touch her. Ever. He had called her obscene names that she couldn’t bear to recall, then stormed out. When her mother came home from her Women’s Association meeting, Aldís had blurted the whole thing out, assuming that she would take her side and send the man packing. But the woman who had cradled her in her arms, and worked her fingers to the bone to make a decent home for her, had stared at her with cold eyes, trembling slightly, then slapped her face, snarling that she was jealous and didn’t want her own mother to find love. Then she had clasped a veined hand over her mouth and collapsed in tears. Instead of comforting her and suggesting they throw the man’s stuff out together, Aldís had been filled with a self-righteous fury and packed her own bags. Before she knew it she was standing on the walkway outside the badly painted block of flats, looking up at the window of her room for the last time. She had neither seen nor heard from her mother since.

  Aldís sniffed again, then pulled herself together. There was no point brooding over the past; the future was what mattered. She put the last glass on the table and despondently surveyed the result. Anyone would have thought she hadn’t made an effort, but it couldn’t be helped. She hurried out to fetch the boys, almost breaking into a run since it was boiled haddock for supper and if it sat too long in the pan it would start to congeal. The poor wretches had been working their guts out all afternoon and deserved better than that. Though she wouldn’t exactly describe them as friends, and she found them intimidating at times, that didn’t mean she was heartless. You couldn’t help feeling sorry for them, stuck in this limbo. No one left here a better person, for all the supposedly edifying sermons and back-breaking toil.

  The boys’ dormitory was in an annex to the main building where the dining room and kitchen were located. There was no connecting door and the annex was locked in the evenings. To make it even more homely, bars had been fixed over the windows to prevent the occupants from running away under cover of night. Shortly after starting work here, Aldís had thoughtlessly asked Veigar if he wasn’t afraid the boys would be trapped inside if there was a fire. He had answered curtly that they weren’t stupid and were perfectly capable of calling for help. She was thankful that the same rules didn’t apply to the little house where she slept.

  As Aldís approached the dormitory, she stifled a yawn. For the past few nights she had been repeatedly disturbed by a noise outside her window, yet could hear nothing once she was properly awake. On one occasion the curtain had moved and, half asleep, sh
e had thought someone was forcing their way inside. But of course that was impossible since her room was upstairs, and, besides, there was nobody out there. But she’d had to pull her pillow over her ears before she could drop off again.

  The uproar hit her as she opened the annex door, and she was suddenly aware of how tired she was. Too tired to ignore this racket. She hesitated in the doorway, wondering if it was safe to go in. The boys were all yelling at once, apparently either urging someone on or shouting at him to stop. Clearly this wasn’t the usual boisterousness, so Aldís marched in to see what was happening. If she went to Veigar and Lilja for help, all hell would break loose and the resulting crackdown on discipline would make life difficult for the staff as well as the boys.

  The annex was not large, consisting of four bedrooms, a sitting room, and a bathroom with shower facilities and sinks. Aldís shoved aside two of the youngest boys, who were hanging back in the sitting-room doorway as if alarmed at what was happening inside. They jumped when they saw her but looked relieved, as if the Saviour himself had arrived to drive out the evil spirits. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ She had to bellow at the top of her voice to make herself heard. Apart from the two youngest in the doorway, Aldís counted four boys, and was surprised at what a din so few of them could make. They had their backs to her, eyes trained on the floor beside the battered three-seater sofa.

  Aldís’s words had an astonishing effect. All four boys turned as one and stared at her uncomprehendingly. She didn’t know what to do. Their eyes were ablaze with excitement, their mouths still open after breaking off mid-yell. She couldn’t see what they were looking at but could hear a scuffle or sounds of movement behind them. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

  No one spoke; they simply stared at her.

  ‘What on earth’s going on? Move back.’ Her voice conveyed a confidence she didn’t feel, but luckily they obeyed and stepped aside. She wasn’t sure what she’d have done if they’d turned on her.

  Two boys were grappling on the floor. The sight wasn’t uncommon; Aldís had seen more than enough fights since she’d begun working at Krókur. But this was different from the usual kind of scrap in which two boys started punching each other and ended up in a hate-filled embrace, hammering at each other’s backs.

  What was happening on the floor in front of her was no embrace.

  It was the new boy, Einar, and Keli, one of the bigger boys, who had been at the home longer than most. The younger boys feared him even more than they feared Veigar. He was extraordinarily adept at picking on their weak spots and seemed to take pleasure in tormenting those who weren’t as strong as he was. For once, however, Keli was getting the worst of it, and, now she came to think of it, Aldís never remembered seeing him in a fight before. His victims usually had the sense not to stand up for themselves, so things never went that far. Of course, that explained the noise. All the boys present had wrongs to avenge. Aldís considered her options. She wasn’t strong enough to drag Einar off Keli, but even if she’d had the strength of a man she wasn’t sure she’d have intervened. Einar’s face, usually so sad or dreamy, now appeared almost demented, his teeth bared like a dog or wild beast about to devour its prey. His eyes were filled with such violent hatred that you’d have thought they belonged to an older man.

  Keli’s features, on the other hand, were contorted with terror. Einar had him by the throat and he was turning redder and redder. Aldís swallowed. ‘Pack it in, you two. It’s supper-time.’ The words came out automatically, her voice sounded almost casual. Turning on her heel, she swept out. One of the little boys in the doorway whispered confidingly as she passed: ‘He said his girlfriend was a slag. A disgusting slag.’

  * * *

  Aldís might as well not have bothered to take all that trouble over laying the table. The boys bolted down their food as if it were a race and left the table looking as if a troop of monkeys had been at work. The cutlery lay strewn all over the place, several dirty glasses had been overturned and the cloths were spattered with grease. Yet Aldís felt no resentment; that’s how it was. They ate so as not to starve and had no time for manners. Today, however, they had been untypically quiet over their food; most sat staring blankly at their fish and spoke little to their companions. Perhaps they were still recovering from all the shouting. Aldís had helped with the serving, and every time she walked into the dining room the boys had exchanged glances, as if wondering whether to give her the cold shoulder or welcome her. Was she friend or foe?

  ‘Thanks for not telling,’ she heard a voice say behind her. She almost dropped the plate she was holding but managed to disguise her shock. She’d been so preoccupied that she hadn’t noticed Einar. ‘Can I help you clear away? It’d take no time with two of us.’

  ‘No. No, thanks.’ He was standing far too close.

  ‘I’ll help anyway. I owe you one. You could’ve got me into real trouble.’

  ‘You’re in big enough trouble already. You’re here, aren’t you?’ Aldís turned away and carried on stacking dishes. ‘I’m not sure I’ll keep my mouth shut next time I find you half murdering one of the other boys. You were lucky. And maybe Keli deserved it.’ She stole a glance at him and saw that he had moved over to the other table and was gathering up the dirty plates. It had never occurred to any of the other boys to help and, against her will, she found herself feeling well disposed towards him, forgetting for a moment how frightening he had looked as he tightened his grip round Keli’s throat. ‘You’d better watch out. He’s bound to try and get even.’

  ‘He can’t touch me.’ He put on a show of bravado. ‘But of course I don’t want any trouble – I want to go home. He didn’t report me earlier, though, so perhaps he’ll leave me alone. I hope so, anyway. I’ve got to get out of here as soon as possible.’ He had finished stacking the plates.

  The pile he held was crooked: instead of scraping the leftovers onto the top plate, he’d stacked them any old how. She blushed, suddenly conscious what a mess she must look in her old clothes, grubby from the day’s chores. He was fresh from town where her old clothes had long gone out of fashion. Her hair was scraped back in a ponytail, which she hadn’t touched since that morning, and her face must be red and shiny with sweat. As a rule she paid no attention to how she looked; the worse, the better, really. ‘Leave them. I’ll deal with them.’ All friendliness had left her voice, but only because she wanted to be alone. Alone with the washing up, like any other evening.

  ‘Don’t be daft. I’ll carry them through for you. Have you got to wash up? I’m good at drying.’ His smile was thin and did not betray any happiness.

  ‘Why are you here? What have you done?’ The words were out before she could stop them.

  Einar put down the plates and averted his eyes. Now it was his turn to flush, but Aldís couldn’t tell if he was angry or ashamed. ‘Nothing. I’ve done nothing.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ She watched him leave the dining room without saying goodbye, his fists clenched. She shuddered at herself. Why did she have to behave like that? It wasn’t as if she often had company when clearing away after meals. She heard the front door slam and was suddenly unpleasantly aware of how alone she was. Lilja had gone for the evening and wouldn’t be back, so there would be no one to break the silence. If she listened hard she could hear a tap dripping. The kitchen door swung slightly and Aldís felt her blood run cold as she listened to the drops plinking on the scuffed steel of the sink. The thought lanced into her mind that someone was standing there, counting the drops, waiting for her. When’s Aldís coming? One, two, three … She gulped and looked away from the door. Between the old, faded curtains she could see black glass and beyond it the night. She hurried over to the window to close the curtains. Instinctively she felt that if she looked out, the face she saw in the glass would not be her own.

  She no longer wanted to know what Einar had on his conscience. Nor did she want to know what had happened to the deformed child. All she wanted was to jump into bed and pull the cov
ers over her head.

  Chapter 5

  The windowless meeting room was full of a stuffy, chemical fug, a blend of all the perfumes and aftershaves those present had applied that morning. Ódinn’s nose itched; he felt as if a hole were being drilled between his eyes. To make matters worse, his feet were soaking and at the slightest movement his right shoe emitted a low squeak. Both discomforts could be blamed on office cuts. There wasn’t enough money to lay a few metres of ducts and purchase a pump to air-condition the windowless room, or to provide staff parking by entering into an agreement with the owner of a nearby underground garage. For those who drove to work, the office was in the worst possible location in the town centre. By the time Ódinn had dropped Rún off at school, the students from Reykjavík Sixth-Form College had, as usual, hogged all the free parking spaces in the vicinity, forcing him to squelch for what felt like miles through the slush.

  ‘How are you getting on with your case?’ From the silence that followed Heimir’s question, Ódinn realised it must have been addressed to him. His mind had wandered during the tedium of a typical Monday meeting to plan the week ahead, preoccupied with thoughts of Old Spice, wet feet and parking spaces. Originally, the idea had been that everyone should stand during these meetings, to keep them short and sweet, but before long they had all taken to sitting down and people were permitted to drone on for as long as they liked, since none of them had anything urgent waiting at their desks.

  ‘Slowly.’ Ódinn considered leaving it at that so the meeting would end sooner, but Heimir was always encouraging them to describe their cases in detail, so he decided to play along. ‘I think I’ve got a fairly good overview of what Róberta was doing, so the plan now is to pick up where she left off. There’s a ton of paperwork – as well as the photocopies she organised in files, there are around six cardboard boxes of original documents, most of which I’ve gone through. They include invoices, lists of residents, a few photos, and so on. She seems to have been on top of everything and already separated out the essentials. Actually, it’s a bit unsettling to see how tidily she left it all – as if she had a premonition that she wouldn’t be able to finish it herself and that someone else would have to take over.’ Embarrassed, Ódinn’s colleagues lowered their eyes or studied the faded landscape photographs on the walls.