‘How can you be angry with me when I helped you like that?’ said Ingileif. ‘Can you imagine how creepy it is to talk to that lecherous old man for hours, have his hands all over me, when all I’m trying to do is help you?’
‘His hands all over you?’ Magnus asked.
‘You see you are jealous.’
‘Yes, I damn well am jealous!’ Magnus shouted. ‘I didn’t ask you to do all that. I didn’t ask you to seduce Sindri.’
‘I didn’t exactly seduce him. And anyway, I can talk to whoever I want.’
‘Talk, yes. But everything else?’
‘Are you accusing me of sleeping with other men?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Magnus. But it was a question that always nagged at the back of his mind with Ingileif. ‘Maybe. Do you?’
Ingileif stared at him. ‘Do up your shirt. I’m off.’
For a moment Magnus thought of asking her to stay, but only for a moment. Under her rules she could come and go as she pleased. Then so be it.
She went, banging the door behind her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Wednesday, 23 September 2009
HARPA SMELLED THE coffee. She opened her eyes. Blinked.
Her head was heavy with sleep and she was confused. Above her, not very far above her, were wooden beams and a roof. She was lying in a sleeping bag. Next to her was another sleeping bag, empty.
But it had the familiar smell of Björn: male sweat and a hint of fish.
She leaned on her elbow. The coffee smelled good.
She was in a hut. Grey early morning light slipped in through the top of a window. She could hear someone moving about below.
‘Björn?’
‘Good morning.’
She slid over to the top of a ladder. She realized she was in a raised sleeping loft in some kind of hut. Panic overtook her, but disappeared when she saw Björn’s reassuring smile. ‘Here. Come down and have a cup of coffee. Do you want some breakfast?’
Carefully she climbed down the ladder. She was wearing a T-shirt and underpants, but the hut was warm. Wood was burning in a stove.
Her head was still muzzy. She felt as if she had just woken up from a dream, except she was waking up into a dream.
‘Björn, where are we?’ she asked.
He kissed her quickly on the lips. ‘In a mountain hut. I thought we could get away for a few days.’
Harpa blinked. ‘You know, I don’t remember coming here at all.’
‘You were very tired. You slept in the car.’
‘Did I?’ Harpa scrambled to make sense of it. She could remember Björn coming to meet her in the bakery, and then nothing. Very strange.
‘Where’s Markús?’
‘With your parents. We left them a note.’
‘I don’t remember that.’
‘Well, I left them a note.’
Harpa sat on a chair by the table and sipped her coffee. Her brain cleared a little. ‘Where is this hut, Björn?’
‘Near Grundarfjördur. It’s on the old road from Stykkishólmur to Borgarnes. But no one comes here any more. It’s very peaceful.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Harpa.
Björn took her hand over the table. ‘You’ve been under a lot of pressure recently. You need a rest.’ He squeezed it. Smiled. For a moment she was comforted by that smile.
Then she withdrew her hand. ‘Wait a minute. We didn’t talk about this, did we? We were going to the police. To tell them about Sindri and the student. Isn’t that where we were driving?’
Björn swallowed. ‘No.’
‘Björn. What’s going on here?’ Then Harpa’s eyes widened. ‘You’ve kidnapped me, haven’t you?’
‘No,’ said Björn.
‘OK. In that case let me find my phone and I’ll ring the police.’ She grabbed her handbag which was lying by the door and rummaged inside it.
‘There’s no reception here,’ said Björn.
‘Where’s my phone, Björn?’
‘You don’t need it. There’s no reception.’
Harpa looked up from the bag. ‘You’ve taken it, haven’t you. My God, you have kidnapped me. Björn, what the hell is going on?’
‘I think we should spend some time…’
‘That’s bullshit.’ A look of panic overwhelmed Harpa’s features. ‘You did shoot Óskar and Lister, didn’t you? You want to stop me going to the police!’
‘I didn’t kill anyone.’
‘Then what the hell are we doing here?’ Harpa shouted.
‘Sit down,’ Björn said. ‘And I’ll explain.’
‘You had better,’ said Harpa. But she sat down. She sipped her coffee.
‘To start with, I haven’t killed anyone,’ Björn said. ‘I promise.’
‘But you know who has?’
Björn nodded his head. ‘I know who has.’
‘And you did go to France?’
Björn nodded again. ‘Yes. I flew to Amsterdam and then rode down to Normandy to prepare the ground for someone else.’
‘Who?’
Björn shook his head.
‘Sindri? Ísak?’
‘Sindri and Ísak are involved, yes.’
‘So Frikki was right?’
Björn nodded. ‘But we did it for a good reason.’
‘Oh, come on, how can killing anyone be for a good reason?’
‘You killed someone, Harpa.’
‘Yes, and I’ve regretted it ever since!’
‘I haven’t,’ said Björn quietly.
Harpa looked at him closely. His blue eyes were steady, strong.
‘I mean the more I thought about it, the more I thought Gabríel Örn deserved to die. He was a nasty man. He treated you like shit.’
‘That’s not a good enough reason to murder him,’ Harpa said.
‘Maybe not, but ruining our country is. People like Gabríel Örn have destroyed Iceland and the people in it. The strong, hardworking honest Icelanders like me, and the thousands like me. You know how hard I worked to build up my fishing business. Why should I lose it all? Why should thousands like me lose it all? Farmers losing their farms, shopkeepers losing their shops, and yes, fishermen losing their boats. Young families losing their houses. You remember Sindri talking about his brother that night after the demo?’
Harpa shook his head.
‘Well, his brother lost his farm to the bank in the end. And killed himself. And now the brother’s wife and kids will have no home and no job. These people have worked hard all their lives. It’s not their fault! And it hasn’t even really started yet. They say unemployment will go up. We’re going to be a nation of paupers for decades. Because of people like Gabríel Örn.’
‘But it’s not just Gabríel Örn’s fault, is it?’ said Harpa.
‘Precisely!’ said Björn, and he struck the table with the flat of his hand. ‘What do they say, there are thirty people who destroyed Iceland?’
‘People like Óskar?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Julian Lister?’
‘Yes.’
Harpa frowned. ‘You’re crazy. You’re all crazy.’
‘Are we? Sure, the Icelanders protest, but they don’t actually do anything. When the Americans start a war on terror, they take out a couple of countries and kill tens of thousands of people. We should be waging war against these guys. And we’re only talking about four people.’
‘Four?’ Harpa counted them off on her fingers. ‘Gabríel Örn, Óskar, Julian Lister… who’s the other?’
Björn shook his head.
‘So Frikki was right. One more to go?’
Björn didn’t answer.
A tear leaked from Harpa’s eye. ‘I don’t understand you, Björn. I mean Sindri, I do understand. He has always said he believes in violence. He’s deluded himself into practising what he preaches. But you? You are one of the most practical men I know.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Björn. ‘But I’ve learned a lot over the last year.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as that people like my father and Sindri are right. They always said that capitalism hurts real people, people who work and save. It’s a tool for the rich to screw the rest of us. I can see now how that is blindingly obvious. But I never listened to my father. I thought he was a dinosaur from the wrong side in the Cold War. I believed in the Independence Party, that capitalism meant people like me could work hard to build a business. Boy was I wrong. But at least I realize it now. At least I am going to do something about it.’