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

not to make her happiness too obvious. ‘I look forward to it. I’ve got half a bottle of red wine to go with the ptarmigan.’

‘Half? That won’t do for Christmas. I’ll bring one with me.’

She felt a flutter in her stomach at the thought, and it hit her that she hadn’t only been afraid of being alone but also of the drink running out.

VII

Una had no idea where the evening might lead, but she wasn’t getting her hopes up for anything other than some much-needed company.

She and Thór had taken a seat in the sitting room downstairs, among the old books and antique furniture. The chandelier threw a soft illumination over the scene, and Una had lit some candles as well. She didn’t feel guilty about making herself at home down there since she knew Salka wouldn’t be back any time soon and there was no need for her ever to know about Thór’s visit.

‘It’s terrible news about Edda,’ Thór said, once they were seated a polite distance apart on the sofa. The bottle of red he had brought with him was open on the coffee table and they had filled two of Salka’s special crystal glasses. It had felt a shame not to use them, seeing as it was Christmas.

Una had laid the table too, helping herself to the contents of Salka’s cupboards and taking out the best seagull china. The ptarmigan looked delicious and seemed very generous for leftovers. Clearly, Hjördís and Thór had done themselves proud.

‘Yes, it still hasn’t sunk in,’ Una replied. ‘And no one seems to have any idea what was wrong with her.’

‘No, so I heard. You must have been quite close to her after teaching her and living in the same house all these months?’

‘Yes, quite close, though it takes a bit longer to really get to know your pupils, even when there are only two of them.’ Una smiled dully. ‘She was a very open-hearted, lively little thing. Talented too.’

‘Unlike Kolbrún, I imagine,’ Thór remarked drily.

Una hesitated, reluctant to speak ill of a pupil. Choosing her words carefully, she replied: ‘She’s, well, a bit more reserved, a different type altogether. I have to admit I don’t feel I know her at all, despite having taught her all autumn.’ After a pause, she asked: ‘Do you … do you think Salka will come back?’

Thór pondered a moment. ‘I’m not sure, to be honest. She’d only moved here fairly recently, but on the other hand the village seems to exert a strong pull on people, and those with roots here stick together and look out for one another.’ There was a faraway look in his eyes. ‘It’s almost like they don’t let people leave, if you know what I mean?’

Una understood all right. Her thoughts immediately flew to Gunnar and Gudrún. It was obvious that Gudrún would have liked to live somewhere else but that Gunnar wouldn’t hear of it. And then there were Kolbeinn and Inga, always on the point of leaving, of starting a new life somewhere else, but would they ever actually do it? Eventually Una nodded. ‘That just leaves us two, as the guests in the village.’ She smiled and raised her eyes to his. ‘The migrant workers.’

He looked away. ‘I expect I’ll be here longer than you,’ he said. ‘I don’t really have anywhere else to go.’

‘Oh, come on, you could work anywhere …’ She broke off. She didn’t want to come across as bossy or inquisitive. Perhaps there was something going on between him and Hjördís, or there had been once and he still had hopes of reigniting the embers …

‘It’s not such a bad place,’ he said, sounding as if he felt he had to justify himself to her. ‘We make jokes about it, you know? About living in the back of beyond, that sort of thing, but it’s peaceful, there’s a good atmosphere, nature on your doorstep, and it gives you time for your hobbies …’

A silence fell. Una didn’t know how to fill it.

Thór saved her the trouble by saying: ‘I’d like … actually, it’s my ambition to study history one day.’ She could tell from his voice that he was serious and, from the way he said it, she got the impression that he hadn’t confided this dream to many other people. ‘I’d probably write a dissertation about the war years here in Skálar. I’ve been giving it a bit of thought, making notes of various facts and stories I’ve come across. And I do a lot of reading about the 1940s, about what conditions were like in this area, and so on. I’ve even sat down with the old blokes here and made a tape-recording of them reminiscing about those days. It’s important to preserve sources like that for posterity.’

His eyes were oddly bright, though whether from sorrow or happiness, Una couldn’t tell. Both, perhaps.

‘You should go for it,’ she said. ‘Go south to university in Reyk-javík.’ Then she realized that she didn’t even know if he had finished his school exams.

‘Ah, it’s not quite that simple,’ he said, so perhaps that was the problem. ‘There’s the cost and the hassle of having to find somewhere to live, giving up my job here, all that kind of thing.’

Although these sounded like excuses to her, she decided not to comment on the fact. ‘You’ll do it later, when the time’s right,’ she said instead, and smiled at him. ‘But don’t give up on the idea. Promise me that.’

‘I promise,’ he said, embarrassed.

She took a mouthful of wine; it was far better than the cheap bottle she had bought. Thór and Hjördís could obviously afford the more expensive stuff. She tried the ptarmigan. Its strong, gamey flavour wasn’t what she was used to, but she said: ‘Delicious food, really delicious. Thanks so much for rescuing my evening.’

He smiled but didn’t say anything.

Una sensed that it was time to change the subject. Talking about his dream of studying history seemed to have left him depressed.

‘Listen,