The Girl Who Died Ragnar Jonasson (free ebook reader for ipad txt) 📖

Thrá, where are you now?

Thrá.

It struck Una that Thrá was the only one in the village who had ever cared for her.

XVI

The morning was pitch black, with no grey rim on the horizon to suggest the approaching dawn. When the nights were at their longest like this, the winter darkness seemed heavier and more difficult to bear than anything Una had experienced in the city, the few lights in the village only serving to heighten the unrelieved murk beyond.

Defying the buffeting wind, which made it hard to snatch a breath between gusts, she battled up the slope to the farm, peering for the light of its windows through the inky blackness. As usual, the guesthouse showed no signs of life, so she headed to the main house. Only when she got there and was standing at the front door did she stop and wonder what she was going to say to Thór.

‘You’re becoming a regular visitor,’ Hjördís said drily as she opened the door.

Una had been fervently hoping that Thór would get there first. ‘What? Me?’

Hjördís nodded, her expression unreadable.

Una was stung by the unfairness of this. She wasn’t a ‘regular visitor’ and it wasn’t as if anything had happened yet between her and Thór, not really. She was struck by the paranoid fear that they all wanted to get rid of her, not just Salka. Maybe it would be simplest to do what they wanted and leave. The children could easily be home-schooled again, Una thought, then mentally corrected herself: ‘the child’, not ‘children’ – there was only one pupil left. But she wasn’t accustomed to giving up. She’d always been the determined type, with a considerable amount of willpower, except, she admitted to herself, where drinking was concerned. Once she started, it was as if the alcohol sapped her of all her drive.

It had been the same when her father died; she had lost all her energy and her ability to concentrate and had fallen behind at school. Everyone had said they understood: the teachers, her mother, her friends. No one had dared criticize her.

‘I’ll fetch him,’ Hjördís said shortly.

It was only too obvious that Una wasn’t welcome here. It occurred to her to turn round and leave. She would go and finish packing, then get in her car and head back down south. To Reyk-javík and home.

‘Hi.’

She snapped out of her thoughts to see Thór standing at the door. In spite of her fears, the familiar smile was there, lurking behind his beard and eliciting an answering smile from her.

‘You’re up early,’ he said. Then, apparently noticing her distress: ‘Let’s step outside. It’s a while since we went for a walk up to the old air station, isn’t it?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, far too long.’

He already had his coat on, ready to go. Putting an arm round her shoulders, he gave her a quick hug, before letting go almost immediately, as if he didn’t want to go too far. As if he wanted to keep a certain distance between them. ‘Come on, then.’

Her spirits rose a little.

Neither of them spoke for several awkward minutes as they followed the same path up to the ruins as before, staggering from time to time as they were hit by powerful gusts of wind. These were no conditions to go for a walk in, but Una felt she could endure anything for the sake of having a chance to speak to Thór in private.

‘Salka’s back,’ she blurted out at last. She hadn’t meant to speak first but the silence between them was becoming oppressive. She had to break it somehow.

It was too dark for her to see his expression and, as usual, his voice gave nothing away: ‘I wasn’t expecting that – not this soon. In fact, I doubted she’d come back at all. I thought she’d want to make a new start somewhere else.’

‘She may move away; she’s not sure.’

‘How did she seem? Was she bearing up OK?’

‘Yes, fairly well, I think, in the circumstances. But our conversation was very strange. She wants …’ Una broke off, her voice threatening to crack, then, controlling it, said: ‘She wants me to move out.’

‘She wants you to move out?’ he repeated in a neutral tone. Una had been expecting a stronger reaction. ‘And go where?’

‘Either home or somewhere else in the village. I don’t really know how to take it. Whether it was just something she said in the heat of the moment – after all, she must be shattered – or whether she’s deadly serious. And …’ She heaved a deep breath, the icy air filling her lungs.

Thór shot her a glance. ‘You know it’s thanks to Salka that you got the job here? She fought to get them to hire a proper teacher.’

‘Do you think I’ll be sent home?’

‘It’s a bit late now.’

‘I’d like a chance to finish the school year, even though Kolbrún’s the only pupil left.’ For a moment Una allowed herself to think that her teaching this term would have been less of a trial if Edda had been the one to survive … Then, turning her mind away from this ignoble sentiment, she filled the awkward silence by putting the question that she had come here to ask: ‘I hear that you and Hjördís have a spare room where you sometimes put up tourists …’

‘Yes,’ Thór said. ‘Hjördís’s farmstay.’

Una said quickly, before he had a chance to add anything else: ‘You’d get some money for putting me up – not from me but from the local authority. Salka told me they pay her something.’

‘That’s not the issue,’ Thór said, though Una guessed it probably would make a difference for them. Here in the village the fishermen clearly earned a decent wage, but for the others it must be a struggle. ‘But, sure, of course we can sort something out. I’ll have a word with Hjördís. We won’t send you back to Reykjavík. Not yet, anyway.’

Although it was a relief to hear his answer, it occurred