The Girl Who Died, Ragnar Jonasson [small books to read .TXT] 📗

‘I thought we’d just chat and get to know each other,’ Una said.

She proceeded to tell them a bit about herself, then tried to encourage them to do the same. It proved much easier to persuade Edda to talk than Kolbrún. Edda was chatty and easy-going, like her mother, whereas Kolbrún said little, mostly answering questions with a monosyllabic ‘yes’ or ‘no’.

Edda was quick to disappear at the end of the lesson, but Kolbrún remained sitting at the dining table, writing in her exercise book. She was tall for her age, with strong features and black hair, which she wore loose over her shoulders. Her expression was absorbed and she was bending over her book, lost in her own world. She had been scribbling on and off all morning, sometimes drawing, sometimes writing, as far as Una could see, though she had tried not to pry.

‘Thanks for today, Kolbrún,’ Una said, collecting up her things to leave. Of course, it was Kolbrún’s home, but Una found it a slightly odd feeling to leave the classroom before her pupil. ‘We’ll get going properly tomorrow.’

Kolbrún didn’t react.

‘Were you happy with this morning’s session?’

Kolbrún nodded without looking up, still focused on her exercise book.

‘What are you writing? A story?’

After a pause, the girl muttered: ‘Yes.’

‘What’s it about?’

This time the girl looked up and met Una’s eye, and there was no mistaking her expression: it was none of Una’s business what her story was about. Without a word, she lowered her gaze and carried on writing.

‘Well, see you tomorrow, then,’ Una said, with no expectation of a reply. She closed the door behind her and walked slowly across the hall, thinking. Just as she reached the front door, it opened.

‘Hello, Una.’ It was Kolbrún’s mother, Inga.

Although Una had met her briefly that morning, she hadn’t had a proper chance to speak to her yet. Inga had made a rather forbidding first impression, with her dour face and remote gaze. Like her daughter, she was tall with black hair.

‘Have you finished already?’ Inga glanced at the clock, her mouth turning down with disapproval, then asked: ‘How did it go?’ But it didn’t sound as if she had any real interest in hearing.

‘It was great,’ Una replied, with a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure that the door was shut and Kolbrún couldn’t hear. ‘By the way, do the girls play together at all?’

The question seemed to take Inga by surprise. ‘Play together? No, very little. Kolbrún prefers to spend her time with me and Kolbeinn. We’re a very close family.’ She stressed the last two words. ‘I really can’t imagine why Salka moved here with her daughter – a single mother bringing up a child like that.’ Again, she radiated disapproval. She stood there, blocking the doorway, her arms folded across her chest. ‘I must ask you to treat my daughter with respect. She’s used to being talked to like an adult; to being trusted.’

‘Of course,’ Una said, rather taken aback by this conversation. ‘I treat all children with respect.’

‘I don’t know what kind of children you were teaching in Reyk-javík, but my Kolbrún is highly intelligent. She needs to be challenged in her schoolwork.’ Inga tightened her lips, then added, as if compelled to: ‘Kolbeinn and I – our family – are moving away soon. We’re just looking for the right house.’

‘Oh, that’s good to hear,’ Una said, then realized it could be taken the wrong way.

‘Our house is on the market,’ Inga went on. ‘I’m not expecting it to sell, not immediately, but that’s not a precondition for moving. Not for us,’ she said, rather smugly.

‘Well, anyway, thanks for letting us use your house for our lessons.’

Inga sniffed. ‘What else are we supposed to do? Though of course they ought to pay us something for the trouble. But, like I said, the arrangement’s only temporary, because we’ll be leaving soon.’ Although she didn’t smile, her eyes held a glint of satisfaction at the thought.

She stepped aside. ‘See you later, Una.’

VIII

The note was lying on the kitchen table in the attic when Una got home after her second day of teaching.

Would you come round and see me at five.

Gudfinnur

It made her feel distinctly on edge. Partly, it was the fact someone had entered her flat without her permission. Of course, it wasn’t her house, or attic, but she still had a right to her privacy. And it occurred to her that Gudfinnur could have left it there himself; a complete stranger invading her space. It wouldn’t seem quite so bad if it turned out that it was Salka who had popped upstairs with the note.

The message was clear: a full stop rather than a question mark. This was an order, not a request, and although Una was affronted by the high-handedness, she didn’t dare disobey. There was no doubt about who ran the show in Skálar, and common sense told her it was better to avoid falling out with the big man.

Nevertheless, she made a brief detour on the way, as if asserting her independence, and scrambled down to the shore to breathe in the sea air and put herself in a better frame of mind for the coming encounter. The beach was covered in smooth, grey rocks, which were pleasing to the eye but difficult to walk on, and here and there she saw piles of bleached driftwood lying along the high-water mark. The truncated remains of an old concrete pier towered above her on one side, while beyond it she could see a modern jetty, but no sign of any boats. Sunlight flashed and danced on the gentle waves and the ocean stretched out in all its glory. To her right, a rocky headland reared out of the sea, and far away in the distance there was another long, blue line of land. Nearer at hand, on the other side of a small cove, rose an impressive line of sheer cliffs, with the white shapes of seabirds wheeling around