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

food at our neighbours’ houses, even up at the farm. Everyone likes her, though I say so myself.’ She dropped her voice slightly. ‘Kolbrún’s … a bit more reserved, not quite as sociable.’

Una got the feeling something wasn’t being said.

‘Anyway, I’ll make that coffee.’ Salka left the room.

Una stayed put, taking the opportunity to close her eyes for a moment and rest after the long, at times nerve-racking drive. Her task for the next few months would be to take charge of the education of these two girls, Edda and Kolbrún. And judging from Salka’s description, which was bound to be partisan, Una guessed she would probably have an easier time with Edda, though of course she mustn’t let herself think like that. Hopefully, the girls would help her adapt to her new circumstances.

The sound of Salka’s voice made her jump – she must have nodded off.

‘Do you take milk or sugar?’

‘Just black, thanks,’ Una replied, a little sheepish about being caught napping.

Salka handed her a cup, then sat down herself.

‘Well, what do you think?’ Salka asked. ‘Based on what you’ve seen so far?’ She smiled. ‘I know you can’t really say much since you’ve only just arrived, but one often gets a sense of a place straight away.’

Una paused to choose her words tactfully. The truth was, she was feeling rather demoralized. Maybe she was just exhausted from the drive and stressed about her car. She had to give the place a chance; it wouldn’t do to start by being critical, so she replied: ‘I really like what I’ve seen so far. Of course, it’s quite remote and everything, but I’m optimistic that I’m going to enjoy it here. I’m sure the locals are a good bunch.’

Salka’s reply was disconcertingly slow in coming, and, when she did speak, Una was almost sure it was against her better judgement: ‘Yes. Yes, a … a good bunch of people.’

There was an odd note in her voice.

Una told herself firmly that she was reading too much into it. Changing the subject, she asked: ‘How long have you and your daughter lived here?’

‘A year and a half now. We’re still newcomers, really. Everyone else in the village has lived here for decades. Some of them all their lives. It’s an old, established community and no one moves here any more. That’s why I’m so pleased you’ve come.’ She smiled again.

‘Yes, I’m quite excited about experiencing what it’s like to live out here. It must be so relaxing; quite a change for me. It’s good to get out of the hustle and bustle of the city – everyone’s always rushing around in Reykjavík, life’s a constant rat race.’ With me always bringing up the rear, she wanted to add. In a place like this, money was bound to be less important; people wouldn’t be as obsessed with owning the newest car, the latest TV, the best stereo or VCR. Una doubted there was even anywhere to rent videos.

‘Yes,’ Salka agreed, ‘it’s very quiet here, which is great if that’s what you’re after. If not, I expect it would be a difficult place to live. It suits me, though. I’ve got used to it, but then, I’m the quiet type. An old soul, as they say.’

‘What do you do for a living? Sorry, I should probably know, but it didn’t occur to me to ask before.’ Una tried to suppress a yawn, finding it increasingly difficult to fight off her weariness. ‘You’re involved with the school, aren’t you? Didn’t you say you were on the local council?’

‘Well, “school” is a bit of an exaggeration; we alternate between holding the classes here at my house and at Kolbrún’s parents’ house. The community’s too small to justify having a separate school building. But yes, I’m on the council. It covers Skálar and the neighbouring district. I’ve been fighting for us to advertise for a proper teacher, someone with teacher training. The others thought it would be fine for us to carry on home-schooling, but I wasn’t happy about that. We have a duty to provide the children with a proper education. They shouldn’t be disadvantaged just because they live out here.’

‘Then I suppose I have you to thank for the job.’

‘Better wait and see if you want to thank me,’ Salka said with a humorous arch of her eyebrow. ‘Give it a week or two before you decide …’

‘OK, you’re on …’ Una took a sip of coffee. ‘By the way, are you sure it’s all right for me to stay here? I can live somewhere else if that would be better; I mean, better for you and your daughter.’

‘Oh no, it would be nice to have you here. The public sector pays your rent, which is great for me as it means a bit more money coming in every month. The house is too big for the two of us, but this is the first chance I’ve had to get a lodger. People aren’t exactly queuing up to rent rooms in Skálar, as you can imagine.’

‘So how come you and your daughter live here? Did you decide to move to Skálar because you were on the local council?’

Salka laughed. ‘Not directly, no. I inherited this house from my mother. She grew up here but later moved to Reykjavík and it stood empty for years. It’s such a beautiful house, though, that I decided to try living in it, so I sold up and moved out here with Edda. It’s cost a small fortune to do it up, but I’m getting there, slowly.’ After a moment, she added: ‘As a matter of fact, I’m a writer.’

‘Oh, really?’ Una said, then immediately regretted it, thinking perhaps she should recognize Salka’s name.

‘Yes, it’s three years since my last book, but I’ve got another one coming out fairly soon.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t read much,’ Una confessed, then worried that this might not sound very good coming from a teacher. ‘That is, I don’t read many novels.’

Salka laughed. ‘Don’t