She looked down at the plaster covering the needle. One of its corners had come slightly loose, probably because she was sweating from the hot needle and all the calories flowing into her. She tugged carefully at the loose corner and listened in fascination as the plaster pulled away from her skin. She pulled it off slowly and watched the skin lifting away from her bones. She looked contentedly at the reddened square where the plaster had been. There was a piece of pink plastic shaped like a butterfly in the centre of the square; into one end of it went the tube, and out of the other came the needle that was burrowing under Tinna’s skin. She tore off the clear tape that held the butterfly to her skin and grimaced. How could she get the needle out without the liquid going everywhere? She thought and thought but couldn’t come up with a solution, so she just pulled the needle out slowly. There was a faint pop and a sucking sound as the needle came free from her skin, and for an instant she could see a tiny black hole in her hand, before droplets of blood welled up and leaked down her wrist. She pushed the needle and the butterfly away, but instead of whipping around the room like a hose, as she had imagined they would, they dropped straight down onto the bed from the weight of the tube. Tinna felt strangely disappointed.
She swept her feet out from under the covers and sat on the edge of the bed for a second to let the familiar dizziness pass. Her stomach rumbled, and she could feel how terribly hungry she was. That was nothing new, but because her head was fuzzy from the drugs, she wanted to eat. Usually she found it easy to handle hunger, and actually enjoyed not satisfying it. That way she was in control, not her greed. The greed that made people fatter and fatter until they burst, like the sheep. She couldn’t remember whether a sheep had actually burst or if she’d just imagined it. Tinna stood up, trying to shake off the thoughts of food that pursued her so insistently. She drifted around the room, peered out through the window- nothing worth looking at – then looked into a wall cupboard and saw her parka hanging on a hook next to the clothes she’d been wearing when she arrived. There was nowhere else to look but under the bed or up the tap on the sink, but both of them would require Tinna to bend over, which she didn’t like to do. It would scrunch up her stomach and increase her hunger.
A children’s rhyme about a cawing crow suddenly flashed into her mind. Outside sits the carrion croiv / Can you hear its croak?/ Beside the old ram’s skull and bones / I saw its woolly cloak. She mustn’t eat. She would burst, like the sheep. Why didn’t anyone understand that? Tinna suddenly felt as if she were weightless. Indifference overcame her, a feeling that she had things under control and had nothing to worry about. Calories she’d already ingested didn’t count. She smiled, then giggled. Where could she find a knife?
Dís sat deep in thought, waiting for Agúst. The last patient was in his office, a young woman who was thinking of getting breast implants. Dís had watched her walk in and bet herself that the slender girl would end up with breasts too large to be called beautiful. It was always the same. Dís thought it was tragic – women got breast implants to look better for men, no matter what they said. More often than not they justified it by telling themselves that if their breasts were larger they would be happier and more self-confident. Of course that was true, but that self-confidence was based on the woman feeling more attractive to the opposite sex. That’s why it saddened Dís that almost without exception these women chose implants that were too large, which made them more flawed, not more elegant. If the woman was married she often brought her husband to the first consultations; she would be thinking of getting much larger breasts, though the husband often expressed a preference for something subtler. Dís always tried to point this out to the women, usually to no effect: Why don’t you have a think about maybe getting slightly smaller implants? Your breasts will be larger than they are now, but the change won’t be as drastic. You’ll be happier in the long term. Neither doctor nor husband could
ever persuade the woman to change her mind. Maybe it was the desire to get as much for the money as possible, or the fear that the breasts would get smaller with age; Dís couldn’t be sure, nor did she think that the women would be able to answer the question if she put it to them. Not that she was going to start questioning her patients.
Dís looked again at her watch. Why the hell was she thinking about this now? It wasn’t her problem, since each individual made the decision, took responsibility for it and had to live with it. Besides, as far as she knew, all the women had been thrilled with their new breasts. Dís looked once more at her watch in case time was passing faster than she thought. But of course it wasn’t. Time was creeping by, as it always did when she wanted it to pass quickly. The wait irritated her for more than one reason: it served to remind her that Agúst was more sought-after than her even though she was just as skilful, if not more so, these days. He was older and more experienced, but he had started to stagnate. She kept up to date with developments in the profession, but he showed less interest. He tried feebly to disguise it, feigning interest when Dís talked about articles she had read – most recently, one about an operation on the ball of the foot that made it easier for women to walk in high-heeled shoes. Yet he didn’t need to fake his enthusiasm when it came to conferences abroad. She heard the door to Agúst’s office open and listened to him exchanging pleasantries with the patient, who he clearly intended to escort to the exit. She straightened up when she heard him lock the outer door. Finally.
‘I thought that meeting would never end,’ said Agúst as he came in to her office. ‘Sorry for the wait.’ He plonked himself down, loosened his expensive tie and undid the top button on his shirt. ‘She wants an apron removal. Just had a baby and can’t wait to get into her bikini again.’
Dís said nothing. She wanted to go swimming and then home, so she got straight to the point. ‘I feel awful about the interrogation yesterday,’ she said. ‘The police know I took it. I can feel it.’
‘Oh, come on,’ said Agúst, massaging his own shoulders distractedly. ‘What time do you need to be there tomorrow? I don’t have a patient until about ten, luckily.’
Dís seethed. He had no idea; there he sat, footloose and fancy-free, while she was falling to pieces. And it was all his fault! ‘A man is in custody for Alda’s murder,’ she said, as calmly as she could. ‘Doesn’t that bother you even a little?’ Her anger felt pure and crystalline.
Agúst glared at her indignantly.‘Why should it bother me?’ he snapped. ‘I’m thrilled the police have caught the bastard.’ He looked away from her. ‘You should be happy too – don’t get all worked up over something that’s never going to happen.’
‘Agúst,’ said Dís, gritting her teeth to keep herself from shouting. She exhaled through her nose and composed herself before continuing. ‘I removed evidence from Alda’s home, and the police suspect something. This evidence could either prove the guilt of the man in custody, or, even worse, clear his name. Of course I’m worried; only an idiot wouldn’t be.’ She hoped it was clear she meant Agúst as well as herself.
He didn’t react to the taunt.‘The police have talked to me too. There was nothing strange about their questions, considering how she died. You can’t just grab Botox off the shelf at the chemist’s.’