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

‘Of course, it can help to wile away the long winter nights when you’re on your own. Drink a fair bit, do you, Una?’

‘No, only the occasional glass,’ she replied, suddenly feeling as if she was in the middle of an interrogation, suspected of committing a crime. ‘Just every now and then.’ She didn’t dare lie outright, though she tried to make the situation sound better than it was.

‘Sometimes have a drop to drink in the evenings, do you, Una? A nightcap before you go to bed? Before you see the girl?’

‘Sometimes, yes, but definitely not always. I’ve seen her when I haven’t been drinking as well,’ she insisted, trying to remember if this was true. But she couldn’t be entirely sure. She hadn’t connected the two things until now. After all, she’d often had a drink when living in Reykjavík and had never seen a ghost or heard creepy lullabies in the night. But could there be an element of truth in it? Had the alcohol made her see things that weren’t there? She felt a sudden twinge of doubt.

‘What about when the man knocked on the door, Una? Had you been drinking then?’

‘I don’t remember,’ she said, which was true. She genuinely couldn’t recall. Perhaps that was a sign that her drinking wasn’t as under control as she liked to think.

‘So, a man came round,’ Hjalti said kindly. Una thought again what a nice person he seemed, despite the unpleasantness of the situation. ‘And you both saw him. He was looking for somewhere to stay.’

‘That’s right,’ said Una.

‘I see. And neither of you knew him. Then a photo of Patrekur appeared in the papers and you believed you recognized him, Una. Is it possible that you just wanted it to be the same man, to liven things up a bit? Could that be what happened, Una?’

Una felt sure it wasn’t possible, and yet a seed of doubt had been sown in her mind. Surely she had seen Patrekur? Why wasn’t Salka backing her up? She wondered if she could really have started imagining things, unhinged by the isolation.

A silence had fallen. Hjalti waited patiently, apparently in no hurry for her answer. She had to say something, and preferably something that they could all agree on. Was it possible that she hadn’t heard any lullaby? Could the man she met have been different from the one in the newspaper?

‘Una, could that be what happened?’ Hjalti repeated, without the faintest hint of accusation in his voice. As if they were just old friends having a chat.

‘Er, yes, maybe,’ she faltered, not knowing what to think any more.

‘I see,’ Hjalti said. ‘That would shed some light on the matter – provide us with a natural explanation for the whole thing.’ He smiled good-naturedly. ‘The most obvious explanation is often the right one, in my experience. There’s no reason to complicate things unnecessarily.’

Una nodded, then immediately regretted it, and regretted the fact she’d said yes to Hjalti’s question. Of course she was sure. Of course she’d seen Patrekur. She couldn’t have got so badly confused about something as important as that, could she? The doubts came crowding in again. She couldn’t bring herself to contradict Salka outright, though she gave her an accusing look. Salka averted her gaze.

‘Never mind, it was still a pleasure to meet you both,’ Hjalti said. ‘It breaks up the week, you know.’

‘It was nice to meet you too,’ Salka replied politely. ‘Won’t you have another cup?’

‘I think I’d better leave it at that,’ he said. ‘Best get back in good time.’ Then, as an afterthought, he added: ‘It would certainly have made things interesting for us if the blessed man had turned up here before he vanished, but I’m guessing the truth is simpler. He’s quite an ugly customer, from what I’ve heard, who’s been mixing in some bad company over the years.’

‘Well,’ Salka said, rising to her feet to signal that the visit was over.

Hjalti followed suit.

Only Una remained sitting there, left numb by the conversation. She didn’t feel anything except an insidious craving for just one quick drink.

XXVIII

Una had gone straight upstairs after Hjalti left. She had barely exchanged a word with Salka, but then it appeared that neither of them had any desire for further conversation.

Una was feeling shell-shocked. She couldn’t understand what had happened or why Salka had lied like that. What’s more, the conversation had undermined her confidence to such an extent that she was no longer even sure that she was right about the man being Patrekur.

She suspected that Salka wanted to avoid talking because she was guilty about the lies she had told. At least, Una hoped that she had a scrap of conscience left.

She didn’t feel she could go on teaching, not now. In fact, she could hardly see how she could stay on in the village now that everyone had turned against her; even Salka, who had been responsible for getting her the job here. It would probably be better if she just headed back to Reykjavík, resigned herself to being unemployed for a while, and moved in with her mother. She could try to make ends meet in the short term with the rent she was earning on her flat. It would be an admission of defeat, but she supposed that was unavoidable in the circumstances.

Right now she couldn’t care less about that wretched Patrekur. She had only tried to do the right thing, as her father had taught her, but it had backfired on her. She no longer gave a damn why the man had come to Skálar or why he had gone missing. People were forever going missing.

Hannes and Hilmar haunted her nightmares every night, their lifeless bodies lying side by side in a fissure in the lava-field. She didn’t know where, but her dream always conformed more or less to the scenario the police had described for her. It wasn’t something she could remember and, despite her confession, she wasn’t at all convinced