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

You’re welcome to take that, as I don’t drink much myself.’

Only then did Una realize that all her empties were lined up on the kitchen floor. She blushed dark red, but, in an attempt at nonchalance, merely said: ‘Thanks.’

XVIII

School wasn’t due to start again until Twelfth Night, and Una had almost nothing to do in the meantime. All her wine was finished; a fact that chafed at her even more than the loneliness, though she couldn’t bring herself to make inroads into Salka’s supplies, despite the generous offer.

She would have dearly loved to talk to someone, but her mother was still abroad, so she couldn’t ring her for a chat, and she hadn’t been in touch with Sara for ages. She toyed with the idea of calling her but in the end decided against it, because it wasn’t as if Sara had made any effort to contact her, even though she had Una’s number. And despite all Sara’s talk about coming to visit, she showed no signs of keeping her promise. That was a shame, as Una would have given anything to see a friendly face right now.

Una’s time in Skálar had begun to feel like a prison sentence. She had let the day pass without going downstairs to see Salka, anxious not to intrude. She had also left Thór and Hjördís in peace, apart from ringing to let them know she wouldn’t be requiring their guest room after all.

Una urgently needed to go to the Co-op to stock up on essentials. As well as basic food, she had a craving for Coke, something sugary, and a bottle of wine – just this once, as a treat. Above all, though, she wanted to pick up the New Year’s Eve edition of Morgunbladid she’d ordered, in the hope of seeing a photo of the missing man.

Admittedly, Thór had been the voice of reason when he told her she was getting carried away. Of course it was nothing but an overactive imagination, and yet she couldn’t stop thinking about the man and the brief news item on the radio. She had to be sure.

Since the papers generally arrived in the afternoon, she deliberately put off going to the shop until then. She would buy something for supper (and a bottle), then casually enquire after the paper Gudrún had promised to put aside for her.

The opening times at the shop were always a little irregular, but Una took a chance that Gudrún would be there at three, and she was right. What’s more, Una managed to catch her alone, which meant she could buy the wine unobserved by any of the neighbours, though she had no reason to suppose that Gudrún was discreet about her fondness for the bottle.

‘Oh, and I was going to pick up the paper too,’ Una said finally, once she had filled a bag with groceries.

‘The paper?’

‘Yes, Morgunbladid, the New Year’s Eve edition. You were going to keep a copy back for me.’

‘Oh, yes, quite right, dear, I remember.’ Gudrún smiled. There was a pause, then she said: ‘The papers haven’t arrived, unfortunately. It happens from time to time. After all, we are a bit out of the way.’

Una sighed. She’d been looking forward to settling the matter once and for all, so she could turn her mind to other, more practical, matters. ‘Was it just Morgunbladid that failed to turn up or was it all of them?’

‘None of the papers came today, dear. They’re always sent in one batch; if one paper’s missing, they all are. It can’t be helped. Would you like tomorrow’s paper? Assuming they deliver …’

‘Er, yes, I suppose so.’

‘It’s always good to keep up with what’s happening in the world and not let yourself get too isolated. I gather Salka doesn’t even have a TV in the house. Gunni and I have had a television for several years, ever since we decided to get ourselves a video machine. It makes such a difference. We borrow tapes from the rental place in Thórshöfn; we have a special arrangement with them, of course. They can’t expect us to bring the tapes back the next day, like everyone else. You should talk Salka into getting a TV and video, then you wouldn’t be bored.’

Una nodded. She was actually getting used to doing without a television, but she reflected that watching a good film might take the edge off her loneliness.

‘Gunni and I are glued to Falcon Crest these days. It’s very good, I must say.’

‘I haven’t seen it.’

‘Well, naturally, you’d be very welcome to borrow our tapes once we’ve finished with them. Like I say, we have plenty of leeway about when we take them back.’ It was kind of Gudrún to offer, though her generosity fell short of inviting Una round to watch.

‘Thanks,’ Una said, picking up her bag of groceries, ready to leave.

‘How is Salka, by the way?’ Gudrún asked with studied casualness as Una was on her way out of the door. Clearly she had no intention of letting such a good opportunity for gossip slip through her hands.

‘She’s doing OK, I think, in the circumstances,’ Una replied, reluctant to give Gudrún too much grist for the rumour mill.

‘It must be terribly hard for her. I can’t believe she’s come back,’ Gudrún said, more to herself than Una. ‘I wasn’t expecting it. Not with all the memories here in the village, and especially in that house.’

‘We haven’t seen much of each other. She’s downstairs and I’m up in my flat. We keep ourselves to ourselves most of the time.’

‘Quite, yes. So she doesn’t talk to you much, then?’

Worried that she’d already said more than she should, Una hastily changed the subject. ‘Maybe you could help me, since you know so much about the history of this place. The ghost that’s supposed to haunt Salka’s house …?’

Gudrún visibly brightened. ‘Oh, you’ve heard the stories, have you?’

‘You could say I’ve experienced it first hand.’

‘Well I never! Don’t say you’ve actually seen her?’

‘Thrá, you mean?’

‘Yes, Thrá.’

‘I