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

what was obviously his Sunday best: a grey suit, slightly too tight, a blue-checked shirt and a broad, stripy tie. He was visibly ill at ease in this get-up, clearly missing his usual overalls.

‘How pretty you’ve made it, dear … both of you, I mean,’ he said. ‘Hello, Una. Nice to see you. You must both have worked very hard. The whole village is looking forward to it, from what I hear.’

‘Is everybody coming?’ Una asked.

‘Oh, yes, I think so,’ Gudrún cut in. ‘No one’s ever missed it, as far as I can remember. People generally make the effort to come along, even if they’re on their last legs.’

‘Now you’re exaggerating, dear,’ Gunnar said. ‘But it’s a popular event. There’s not much in the way of entertainment in Skálar. It was better when the army was here. Did I tell you about the film shows they used to hold up at Melar?’ He was looking at Una eagerly, clearly longing to tell her again.

‘Yes, you told me. It’s a great story.’

‘That was the life, Una, in those days. There were four of us boys here, me and Guffi, and our two mates, who’ve left now. Four best friends. Blood brothers, you could say. We used to look out for each other. That’s why it’s never entered my head to work for anyone but Guffi. The bonds you make in your youth never break. Though I expect you know all about that yourself.’

She didn’t, in fact, though she wished she had friends she was that close to. Perhaps life was different nowadays and it was harder to form such close bonds in the city. She hadn’t exactly had a conventional upbringing either, for much of her childhood. None of these factors had helped. And perhaps she just wasn’t very sociable by nature, in spite of having chosen to become a teacher.

Making her excuses, Una left Gudrún and Gunnar in the back room and took a seat in the front pew of the church. She hadn’t needed to turn up this early since she had no particular task to perform. The couple carried on talking, the sound of their voices carrying into the nave, but Una tried to ignore it and savour the temporary respite of sitting there with nobody bothering her, enjoying the warmth of the candles. She raised her eyes to the altarpiece. Salka had described it as really special, saying it looked as though Christ was reaching out of the frame to embrace his congregation. It was certainly large, featuring a carefully executed oil painting of the Saviour against a wider background, but to Una’s eyes it was no more than a pretty picture. It didn’t speak to her in the way Salka had mentioned.

Closing her eyes, Una let her mind drift. She wanted a moment to compose herself before everyone arrived. She had been a little apprehensive, unsure if she would enjoy the evening, acutely conscious of feeling that she didn’t belong among these people. But now she was determined not only to put a brave face on things but to have fun. She found herself wondering yet again if Thór would show up.

She jumped at the sound of the church door opening. She must have nodded off, though for how long she didn’t know.

Turning her head, she saw Inga and Kolbeinn advancing up the aisle with Kolbrún drooping in tow. The girl looked as if she would rather have been anywhere else. She had on a black anorak over her white dress and wore a sulky expression. Kolbeinn shot a glance at Una, his face blank, as if he were seeing her for the first time. Their eyes met briefly, then he looked away and made some remark to his daughter. At the same moment Inga sent what could only be described as a venomous glare in Una’s direction. Did she know her husband had tried to hit on her? Or did she suspect he had? If so, surely she should be angry with him, not Una?

Una averted her eyes and remained where she was, concentrating on the altarpiece, hoping the family wouldn’t sit near her. Her wish was granted. When she eventually stole a glance over her shoulder, she saw that they had taken a seat in a pew two rows behind, as if deliberately avoiding her. ‘Hello,’ she heard Gudrún saying, ‘how nice to see you. Kolbrún dear, are you all set?’

Una didn’t catch the answer. No doubt the girl had just nodded, as uncommunicative as ever.

Peering round again, she saw that Gunnar had now emerged as well and was talking to Kolbeinn, while Gudrún was chatting to Inga. The conversations flowed together in a pleasant background murmur of voices and Una was struck once again by the melancholy thought that she didn’t belong here. Everybody knew everybody else. Even Salka, who had only moved to the village relatively recently, had deep roots here. Una felt keenly aware of her position as the only real outsider, apart from Thór.

Again the church door opened. She heard from the greetings that Hjördís and Thór had arrived. Her heart beating a little faster, she curbed an impulse to look over her shoulder and kept her eyes lowered, trying to be unobtrusive.

‘Hi, Una, sitting all alone?’ Thór asked, and suddenly there he was, right next to her, smiling his shy smile. Next minute he was sliding into the pew beside her. ‘It’s … er, it’s looking great. This must have taken a lot of organization.’

She hesitated, then said: ‘Well, Gudrún and I did it together. She’s had practice, so everything’s gone very smoothly.’

‘Are the girls as good as ever? I remember they did a lovely job last year.’

‘Very good. They’re both really promising kids.’

Hjördís joined them before Una could say anything else. ‘Hello, I’ll sit with you two. Best to be at the front.’ She took a seat beside Thór. ‘It all looks very festive, like every year.’ They were both neatly dressed in clean clothes, though not in