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

a bit of snow might not be a bad thing. Every day dawned darker and more depressing than the last, though it was still several weeks until the winter solstice. A snowfall would have brightened things up. In fact, it could have snowed to its heart’s content, because she wasn’t going anywhere. Even if she’d wanted to, she still hadn’t got round to sorting out the worrying clattering noise in her car. She shivered, and it wasn’t only because of the cold. Her encounter with Kolbeinn had become extremely uncomfortable by the end. How was she supposed to behave towards him next time they met? Would he try it on again? Should she simply act cool and pretend nothing had happened?

As if his pass at her hadn’t been bad enough, there was the creepy story he had told of the girl who died. When Kolbeinn had hit on her, it had temporarily driven the story out of her head, but now it came back to her and she shivered. Was she really sleeping in a room where something terrible had happened? Or had Kolbeinn been pulling her leg? She would have to sleep there tonight, and not just tonight but all through the long, dark winter. Of course, she didn’t believe in ghosts, and yet she couldn’t help feeling a little spooked. She had heard so many folk tales over the years about unexplained forces, stories people had told each other down the centuries in this dark, forbidding country. And while she didn’t really believe in anything like that, you could never be entirely sure …

Besides, the fact that a little girl had died up there was macabre enough on its own.

Perhaps she should ask Salka about it and seek reassurance from her that there was nothing to be afraid of. They could have a good laugh over the silly story. Salka might be able to give her the lowdown on Kolbeinn too and tell her that he often behaved like this.

Una scrambled the last few feet down on to the rocky beach. There was no one about and yet she always felt a little twitchy there, as if curious eyes were watching her. She avoided looking in people’s windows as she walked through the village because it was such a small place and the proximity to the other inhabitants could be uncomfortable. As a rule, she kept her eyes lowered, lost in her thoughts. Only when the sea appeared in front of her did she look up and marvel at its splendour. However grey and desolate it was at this time of year, however wild the waves that pounded the shore during the winter storms, the sea was the sole reason that anyone lived here.

There were times when she felt unwelcome in the village, as if she should have stayed in Reykjavík and never have ventured out here. It was hard to work out whether the feeling was real or caused by paranoia. Apart from Guffi, no one had said anything to her face, yet there was something offputting, hostile even, about the place and its inhabitants. The only person who had actively welcomed her was Salka – and her daughter, Edda, of course. But her other pupil, Kolbrún, remained sullen. And although Gudrún and Gunnar seemed friendly, it was obvious that Gudrún had her own agenda.

Then there was Thór, of course. She couldn’t work him out, but hoped she would get a chance sooner or later.

Una stood there for a while, gazing unseeingly into the twilight, listening to the booming of the waves, wind-blown spray whipping her hair into a wet, salty tangle; her lungs scoured by the icy air. She hadn’t suffered much from homesickness, until this evening. She had needed a change of scene for a number of reasons. And although Skálar was cold and lonely, and the locals struck her as being on the chilly side, she felt oddly safe here, as if nothing bad could happen to her. And that in itself was positive. Or at least she had felt safe, until her encounter with Kolbeinn.

The truth was that she didn’t miss much from Reykjavík. None of her friends had bothered to get in touch since she moved. Her mother rang from time to time, but she was busy with her own life, and Una had discovered that she was quite content with being this far away from her mother, for the moment, at least. There was so much that remained unsaid between them, so many difficult memories, yet when they met their conversations were superficial, as if neither of them dared to open the doors to the abyss of the past and face up to the darkness and grief.

She had planned to sit down and have a chat with Salka but felt too restless to do so this evening. She wanted to be alone, to have a quiet, relaxing end to what had been a difficult day; cook a light meal in the kitchen upstairs or maybe just make herself some toast. Have a little drink; unwind by immersing herself in a book from Salka’s library.

It had come as a pleasant surprise to discover how cosy it was to lose oneself in the world of fiction, forgetting time and place, helped along with a bottle of wine. Her evening stretched out before her, a vision of peace and calm.

She would sit down over a coffee with Salka another time and ask her about Kolbeinn, and also, if she got the chance, about the girl who was said to haunt the house.

Just not this evening.

XV

Una awoke with a jerk.

She opened her eyes but couldn’t see a thing for the darkness pressing in all around her. For a panicky moment she couldn’t work out where she was, though she had the feeling she was in a strange place, not in her own bed. She stiffened with fear. She was so cold. By the feel of it, she’d kicked the covers on to the floor,