‘I know I couldn’t be persuaded to live in any of those houses,’ said Thóra. ‘My trip the other day was enough, even without what was found in the basement.’
‘My wife and I were thinking of inviting you to dinner tomorrow night,’ said Leifur as they pulled up at the hotel entrance. ‘Both of you, I mean,’ he added when he realized that he’d forgotten Bella. ‘Nothing fancy, but easier than you having to trek off to a restaurant. There actually aren’t many places to eat in town, so I expect you’ll be glad of the change.’
Thóra looked back at Bella, who shrugged indifferently. She turned again to Leifur. ‘That would be lovely,’ she replied. ‘What time?’
When everything was settled regarding dinner, Thóra and Bella said goodbye, but Leifur insisted on carrying their suitcases into the hotel and took his leave only after each of them had received the keys to their separate rooms. ‘Don’t hesitate to get in touch if I can help in any way,’ he said. ‘I know this place like the back of my hand and I can help you out if you need it. As you can imagine, I want to do everything I can for my brother.’ He handed Thóra his mobile number, turned and walked away.
‘There’s something strange about that man,’ said Bella, as she and Thóra stood by the large window in the hotel foyer and watched him get into his car.
‘Why do you say that?’ asked Thóra in surprise. She had found him extremely pleasant, if a little distant.
‘There’s just something spooky about him,’ said Bella, and walked towards the stairs without any further explanation.
Adolf turned onto his side and his stomach churned. Without opening his eyes, he knew what he would see in his bed. The odour that filled his nostrils was a blend of perfume and sour alcohol. The turbulence in his stomach grew but he fought against it, breathing through his mouth so that he wouldn’t throw up. When the discomfort had almost passed he wished he had just puked over the woman in his bed, whose name he couldn’t remember for the life of him, and thus ensured that he would never see or hear from her again. He looked at her and tried to recall what he had found attractive. It wasn’t her nose, which from close up he could see was completely covered with blackheads. Her thick black mascara had run, making it look as if he’d woken up next to Alice Cooper. Adolf considered pulling the covers down carefully to look at the rest of her naked, because it was still possible she had a great body. The shape under the duvet didn’t seem to suggest she was very fat, rather the opposite: she seemed to be very thin. It actually didn’t matter whether she was fat or thin, though – it had been a stupid mistake to bring her home. It had never been more important that he kept himself to himself. He screwed his eyes shut, full of self-loathing. Why couldn’t he ever stick to the plan? Have two beers, then stop. Go home. Alone.
The girl shifted in her sleep, and Adolf held his breath in case she woke up. He needed a little more time to compose himself before talking to this bird he could barely remember. What did she do, how old was she? He wasn’t too bothered about what she was called – he never remembered people’s names. People rarely had conversations in which their names played any real part, as he knew from long experience. On the other hand, he had to prepare himself for the unwanted affection she might show him, and at the same time work out how to get rid of her without hurting or insulting her. As it was Sunday it was ludicrous for him to pretend that he needed to go to work, so he was in trouble. He wondered what time it was. Was she likely to wake up soon? He tried to look at his alarm clock on the bedside table, but had to lift his head to see over the girl. He took care not to make the bed springs squeak. It was only ten thirty. He breathed a little easier. He couldn’t really remember when they had got home, let alone what time they had fallen asleep. The smell in the room suggested that it hadn’t been all that long since they’d finished. He also felt sure that he’d kept drinking late into the night.
Why the hell hadn’t he taken his lawyer’s advice? What was so hard about staying away from girls for a few months? The time would pass quickly, and it wasn’t as if he would actually miss them. Surprisingly, he was even getting bored with how easy it was to get them. All he needed to do was go to a club, sit down at the bar and pretend to be lost in thought. Within minutes some drunkgirl would appear next to him and start chattering away. It wasn’t exciting any more, if it ever had been. It was about as challenging as fishing with a dragnet at a fish farm. The psychologist they’d forced him to see said that he was one of those men a particular type of woman found attractive, and with that came a great deal of responsibility. Oh, sure. Why should he have to shoulder the blame? They could do that themselves. It wasn’t his fault he sent out some sort of involuntary primal signal that charmed the opposite sex.
Anyway, clearly the worst case scenario was that more women would start to press charges, or even just blog about him. Even so, he couldn’t resist temptation. He had to get a grip on himself. The money was within reach, so close he could hear it rustling. If he could just think of that and let it suffice whenever his longing for women crashed over him.
He would have little use for money if he was found guilty. And how would he get women then? Waste all his money on prostitutes? He was flooded with self-loathing again, and his headache intensified. He let out a moan, and to his horror the wretched girl’s eyelids flickered. Adolf held his breath and waited. She didn’t wake up, and he relaxed slightly – but not for long, as suddenly her eyes opened and she stared straight ahead, still woozy with sleep. He watched her eyes dart around as she tried to figure out where she was. Finally they came to rest on him, and her face broke into a wide smile as she pulled herself out from under the duvet.
‘Good morning,’ she said, her voice slightly hoarse.
‘Good morning,’ he replied.‘How do you feel?’ He tried not to let his voice betray the fact that he couldn’t care less.
‘I’ve felt better,’ she admitted. ‘Do you have any Coke?’ She gave him a look that was doubtless meant to be seductive, but which stirred no feelings in him bar irritation. He might have found it cute if she’d looked better, but the smudged make-up and lack-of-sleep-face didn’t do much for her. Maybe she was good-looking under normal circumstances; for her sake, he hoped so.
‘Absolutely,’ he said as he half raised himself off the bed. He swept his feet over the edge but had to wait for the dizziness to pass before standing up. He must stop drinking. Or at least cut down. He stood up and had to wait another moment before he could walk steadily into the kitchen. He knew without looking that the girl was staring at his naked body, and it aroused him despite how poorly he felt. On his way through the room he looked around for a cigarette and spotted a half-crumpled pack on the coffee table, next to an overflowing ashtray. As he fished a bent cigarette from the packet he made a mental note to buy a bigger ashtray. His lighter lay in a dried-up pool of red wine on the table. After several attempts he finally conjured a flame from it and lit his cigarette. He inhaled hard and let smoke leak from his mouth without exhaling. Now all he needed was a Coke, and things would start looking up. He went into the kitchen with the burning cigarette in his mouth and pulled open the refrigerator. Coke was one thing that he always made sure he had, in bottles of all different sizes. He took the top off a two- litre bottle and gulped down the cold soda, which would help to settle his upset stomach.