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

‘Oh, well, then you’ll be fine.’ He flashed his attractive smile again.

‘Is Kolbrún good about doing her homework?’ Una asked, trying to steer the conversation round to his daughter. ‘Does she take an interest in it? She always seems well prepared when she comes to class.’

‘Oh, yes. She’s very hard-working. Always has been conscientious. The girl’s quite clever, you know. But she’s not very outgoing – she takes after her mother in that. They’re both happiest when they’re alone. That’s why I’m not sure a community this small is good for her development. Of course, in some ways it’s perfect: there’s no pressure to make friends or fit in since there are only the two girls here and, well, they’re mates. Sort of. At least, they get on OK. But the thing is, Kolbrún can get away with being withdrawn and antisocial here. But I’d prefer it if she was in a bigger community, a bigger class, where she would be forced out of her comfort zone. Do you know what I mean?’

Una nodded. She understood exactly what he was getting at. She hadn’t been so different herself as a child; paralysed by shyness until she had eventually changed schools and found herself in a class of friendly kids, where she had begun to emerge from her shell a little. But not long after that the cataclysmic blow had fallen and she had reverted to type, shutting herself off from the other kids. She’d had to learn all over again how to make friends and trust people.

‘Yes, I do. I’d thought maybe Kolbrún and Edda were friends outside school, but I gather that’s not the case.’

‘Well, there’s not much we can do about it. We can hardly force them to play together, and there’s the age difference too, of course.’ He got up and moved to a chair closer to Una, and lowered his voice confidingly: ‘I just wanted to share this with you and let you know that she needs special attention. If you think of anything …’ He laid a hand on Una’s shoulder.

‘Naturally, I’ll keep an eye on the situation. Not all children develop at the same pace, as I’ve learned from experience, but then you don’t usually have a chance to pay this much attention to individual kids. I have to say, it’s one of the advantages of having such a tiny class.’

She was acutely conscious of his hand still resting on her shoulder.

‘I’ll try and meet you – you and Inga – from time to time to keep you updated,’ she went on. ‘I’ll organize a formal parent–teacher meeting before Christmas. Your wife didn’t want to come with you today?’

He shook his head. ‘I’ll take care of this.’

He removed his hand at last.

‘Are you sleeping OK in Salka’s house?’ he asked casually.

The question confused Una. ‘What? Er, yes. Why do you ask?’

‘Oh, because the house has a reputation for being haunted. I thought you knew.’

‘Er … No, I didn’t, actually.’

‘Salka was aware when she moved into the place, but she said she didn’t believe in ghosts and I reckon that’s what’s kept her going. It all comes down to your attitude, I suppose. What do you think?’ He smiled teasingly.

Despite her reluctance to hear any more, Una couldn’t resist the temptation to ask: ‘Why, what happened here?’

‘A little girl died. Some time around 1930. People say she haunts the house and …’ He paused dramatically: ‘And they say the problem’s worst up in your room. It used to be hers.’

‘Seriously?’ Una was shaken, in spite of herself.

‘Yes, I’ve heard lots of stories from the old days about people staying there for one night, then never again. Of course, they’re only stories, and not necessarily first hand, but I believe there’s a grain of truth in them. I’m not saying I believe in ghosts, you know, but there’s no doubt people have had some odd experiences there.’

‘Like what?’ Una could feel herself breaking out in a cold sweat.

‘Oh, they see the girl. She appears in the room – dressed in white, of course.’ He paused to let the impact of his words sink in. ‘But you don’t need to worry, I shouldn’t think. Not if you haven’t noticed anything.’

Far from having the desired effect, his words of comfort achieved the exact opposite. Una found herself remembering the dream in which Edda had appeared to her. And the girl she had seen in the window. Had it definitely been Edda?

He placed his hand on her shoulder again, edging even closer.

Next minute, his arm was sliding round her shoulders.

She sat there rigid, not knowing how to react.

‘I can go upstairs with you now and check, if you like,’ he said, in a low voice.

She stood up so fast her chair almost fell over backwards. ‘No, that’s fine, thanks. I need to … I think it’s best you go now.’

He rose unhurriedly to his feet, then smiled at her. ‘Sure, I get the message. I’ll see you around, Una.’

XIV

Una sat without moving for a long time after Kolbeinn had gone.

Although he hadn’t said so in plain words, there was no doubt in her mind that he had been coming on to her. He had put his arm round her and angled for an invitation to go up to her bedroom. There was no way she could have misunderstood him, was there? He was a married man, for God’s sake, and she was his daughter’s teacher. It could hardly have been more inappropriate.

Eventually, she rose to her feet and put on her shoes and coat, desperate to get some air and clear her head. It was bitingly cold outside, even colder than it had been earlier, and the wind was gusting hard, but fortunately it wasn’t raining yet. Someone had told her it didn’t snow much in the village and at first this had sounded like good news – no chance of the roads becoming impassable or problems of that kind – but she had begun to realize that