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

‘Well. Of course, I’ve heard plenty of stories. No one used to want to sleep up there in the old days, I can tell you. She haunted people in their dreams. They would wake up in the middle of the night, scared out of their wits, and pretty much run straight out of the house. That’s why I found it a bit rich when Salka stuck you up there, and charged rent!’ Gudrún laughed.

‘Do you know what happened to her?’

‘To Thrá?’ An odd expression appeared on Gudrún’s face.

‘Yes.’

Gudrún didn’t answer at once, then eventually said: ‘I’m not old enough to remember.’

Una immediately got the impression that she was lying – and not for the first time. ‘Strange about the papers,’ she remarked.

‘Sorry?’

‘Strange they didn’t arrive.’

‘You get used to it, dear. It’s not like living in the city. You just have to relax and go with the flow. Accept things as they are, adjust to the rhythm of nature and not chase every passing fad.’

Una nodded sceptically.

‘How are you finding it here, Una?’ Gudrún asked. ‘Only a few more months and you’ll be able to go home.’

Again, this made it sound like a prison sentence.

‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Una said, watching the other woman’s reaction.

‘Oh?’ Gudrún raised her eyebrows.

‘I mean, I’m not so sure I’ll go home. I may stay on for another winter.’

‘Has there been any discussion of that?’ Gudrún’s gaze was sharp.

‘We’ll see. Anyway, thanks for the offer of the videos. Maybe I’ll borrow them some time when I’ve managed to sort out a TV.’

‘Of course, dear. See you tomorrow.’

‘Oh? Tomorrow?’

‘Yes, there’ll be a new Morgunbladid waiting for you. Let’s just hope that one doesn’t go astray as well.’ Gudrún smiled.

XIX

‘A village like this, Una; a village like this has a soul.’ Salka was sitting at the dining table, sipping her evening coffee. She’d found some biscuits in the freezer and brought them out with the coffee.

She was a shadow of her former self, utterly unlike the Salka Una had first met. Her gaze was empty, her voice quieter, her face leached of all colour and her manner distracted.

‘You have to adjust to the village, learn to fit in with it.’ Salka had completely stopped smiling these days. ‘People stick together here. You’ll learn. We’ve all got family links to this place.’ After a beat, she added: ‘Except you, of course.’

Una didn’t know what to say to her any more, didn’t know if it was appropriate to mention Edda at all. It had been made clear that the distant past was off limits too, especially anything to do with Thrá.

‘What, every single person?’ Una queried, knowing that Salka’s claim was an exaggeration.

‘Guffi and Gunnar grew up here, of course. And Kolbeinn’s late father was a friend of theirs. This house belonged to my grandparents, as you know. And, er … Hjördís inherited the farm from her grandparents. That’s why I moved here, Una, to make a future home for me and Edda, among people who would accept me. It’s so important to belong to a community, and that’s what we’ve got here.’

‘I think everyone would be happiest if I left,’ Una remarked, taking herself by surprise. She hadn’t intended to speak so bluntly. ‘I mean …’

‘I know what you mean, Una. And I think you’re right, up to a point. It’s not necessarily unkindly meant, but you have to learn about the place, the people. Try to be understanding.’

‘I’ve always …’ Una began, but Salka interrupted.

‘Is the coffee OK? Not too strong?’

‘What? Oh, no, it’s fine.’

‘Do you sense her? At night?’ Salka asked abruptly. ‘Do you see her?’

Against her will, Una recalled the image of Thrá and felt her flesh prickling. She was filled with trepidation at the thought of having to sleep in the attic. The question struck her as odd too, as if Salka had forgotten their previous conversation. She hesitated, then said: ‘Well, yes, I think so, like I told you before, but of course …’

‘I meant Edda,’ Salka cut in sharply.

‘Edda? I … no …’ Una rose slowly to her feet, not wanting to know where this was going. ‘Anyway, thanks so much for the coffee and biscuits. They were both delicious.’

‘I had the idea I might be able to make contact with Edda here, in this house. There’s something about this house …’ Salka put down her cup and rose to her feet as well. ‘I think I’ll go to bed. Thanks for the chat, Una. I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Yes, good night,’ Una replied.

She went into the hall and lingered there until Salka had gone into her bedroom and finally closed her door, then seized the chance to make a phone call to Reykjavík.

‘Hello.’

‘Sara?’ It was more than a month since the friends had last spoken.

‘Yes, hi, is that Una?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you know how late it is? Aren’t you in the same time zone up there in Skálar?’

Only then did it occur to Una that she had no idea what time it was. The unchanging darkness outside made it hard to keep track.

‘It’s good to hear from you, anyway, Una. It’s been ages,’ Sara went on warmly. ‘How was your Christmas?’

‘Oh, fine,’ Una said, her voice sounding unconvincing to her own ears.

‘It’s strange having you so far away,’ Sara went on. ‘I miss you. It was always so nice being able to pop round to yours for coffee.’ It was her turn to sound unconvincing. ‘How’s it going with your tenants?’

‘What? Oh, OK, you know,’ Una said, though in reality she hadn’t a clue. Her mother took care of that side of things. ‘Listen, Sara,’ she added. ‘I wanted to check something. Have you by any chance got any back issues of Morgunbladid ?’

‘Morgunbladid?’ Sara laughed. ‘I didn’t think you read it. I thought it was against your principles to read a conservative paper.’

In fact, the reason Una didn’t have a subscription to Morgunbladid, or to any other newspaper, was lack of money, but there was no point going