A mug of coffee and a bowl of cereal later and he started to feel more awake. He had spent the night playing out all kinds of bad dreams in his head, wondering what the Voice would do if he simply ignored instructions. The Voice knew so much about him and he knew absolutely nothing about the Voice, except that its owner was ruthless — and clever. Or was he? He turned over in his mind what might happen if he were to ignore instructions and he was painfully reminded that the Voice knew where his sister lived, and clearly knew where to find Lísa.
He liked her well enough and would never have wished her harm, even though she could sulk on an infuriatingly colossal scale on occasions, but discovering his fondness for her took him by surprise. He decided as he downed his second mug of coffee that he didn’t dare ignore the Voice. The pang he felt when he thought of Lísa coming to harm was an alien feeling he hardly recognized and it felt thoroughly disconcerting.
He brushed his unwelcome feelings aside as he lay on the floor and stretched an arm under the bed to find his phone, blowing the dust and fluff from it before peering at the screen and the message.
Good morning, Orri. The cafe in the shopping centre in Hafnarfjordur. Be there at 10.30. Sit facing the counter and don’t look round. Reply with a blank message to confirm.
He looked again and this time he saw that it had been sent without the number being withheld. He hit the reply button and immediately heard the electronic voice intone that the user’s phone was switched off and he should try again later. Orri dropped the phone on the bed and sat with his head in his hands. Time to call the police, maybe? Would they believe him? Could he tell them without letting them know that he had been quietly breaking into people’s houses for the past few years and making a tidy living out of it?
There was a fatigue deep inside him that he didn’t recognize and which unnerved him. He sat up, shook his head violently and stood up to go to the kitchen and splash his face with cold water, telling himself that it was time to get a grip and go to work. He’d go to the meeting and damned well face up to the Voice, whatever the bastard’s real name might be.
Alex kicked the duvet off his feet. It was hot and for a moment he wondered where he was in the darkness until he heard Emilija’s steady breathing next to him. He dozed off again and it felt like no more than a few seconds later that the alarm buzzed.
‘What the fuck. .?’ he snarled as he hauled his head from the pillow.
A shaft of light from the street lamp outside found its way through a crack in the blinds and he felt Emilija stir and sit up. She yawned, stretched her arms above her head, her thick brown hair loose for once from its plait and hanging around her shoulders like a curtain.
‘No,’ she said, slapping away a hand intent on pulling her onto him. ‘I have to go to work and so do you.’
A moment later she was in her jeans and pulling on a shirt as she left the room.
‘Sigga! Time to get up, sweetheart!’
Alex lay back and reflected sadly that single mothers really were the business: a night of action and still up for work at the crack of dawn. He was already looking forward to the mournful expression that he would expect to see on Maris’s face as he recounted Emilija’s enthusiasm in the sack when he remembered with a sinking feeling that he wouldn’t be seeing Maris for a while, and wondered how he was. Then he wondered what Maris had said, and searched frantically for his phone when he also remembered that there had been no call after he had left his message the night before.
He heard the rattling of crockery from the kitchen and Emilija chivvying the children into wakefulness. Anton was awake and chattering while Sigga was quiet and watchful as she spooned up her cereal. Eggs boiled in a saucepan and Emilija sliced bread for Sigga’s sandwiches.
He arrived in the kitchen fresh from the shower, poured himself coffee and took a seat at the table next to Sigga.
‘School today?’ he asked, trying to sound friendly.
Sigga shook her head and said nothing, while Anton chattered to himself. Emilija put eggs and slices of bread and cheese on the table. Alex helped himself.
‘It’s Sunday. Sigga goes to basketball practice and Anton’s going to my friend’s while I’m at work,’ Emilija said.
‘When are you finished work?’
‘I’m not sure. It depends how much there is to do, and I might have an evening shift as well.’
‘I’ll drop by later, then.’
‘No, Alex. I’d prefer it if you didn’t.’
His face set in a petulant frown. ‘Why not?’
Emilija sighed. ‘Alex, you’re a sweet boy, but I’m not what you want. We’ve had our fun, so let’s call it a day, shall we?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘An older single mum with a saggy bottom and two kids? Come on, Alex. Find yourself something younger.’
‘Maybe you’re what suits me,’ he said. ‘How would you know?’
‘I can see it in your eyes. Eat your egg before it goes cold.’
Emilija plaited her hair behind her neck with nimble fingers and threw it over her shoulder while Alex and the children ate in silence.
Alex drained his coffee mug and crushed his eggshell onto a plate. ‘I’ll see you tonight,’ he said defiantly, heading for the door with his car keys dangling from one finger.
‘No, Alex. Don’t.’
He curled an arm around Emilija’s back and pulled her towards him, his other hand snaking behind her to cup a buttock as he ground himself against her. ‘Don’t tell me what to do.’
Emilija squirmed out of his grasp. ‘Alex, how many times do I have to tell you? It was fun but I really don’t want you coming round here.’
‘That’s not what you said last night when you wanted me to screw you again.’
‘Shhh. The children. .’
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘You really want to know?’
Emilija took his elbow and steered him into the hallway and out of the children’s earshot. Standing by the front door, she looked earnestly into his eyes.
‘Because in five minutes there’ll be some sweet young thing along who has time to paint her toenails and who’ll catch your eye, and Alex’ll be gone. I can do without the heartbreak that goes with all that. That’s reason number one. You want the other one?’
Stunned and truculent, Alex leaned against the wall, his arms folded. ‘Go on. Tell me.’
‘Because you’re up to no good. I don’t know what you’re doing, but it’s not honest and I can’t afford to get involved in anything illegal. Ingi and I get on well enough most of the time, in spite of everything, but his mother loathes me and she’d do anything to wrench the kids away from me. Sleeping with a gangster is just going to give the dried-up old bitch the ammunition she needs. So thanks, Alex, but no thanks.’
Eiríkur patted the baby’s back and listened to it gurgle happily while Svala spooned yoghurt into the toddler, hardly keeping up with his appetite.
‘Are you working today?’
‘This afternoon.’
‘I thought you didn’t have a shift today?’
There was a note of accusation in Svala’s voice and Eiríkur felt a pang of guilt, knowing that she expected him to visit her parents with her, a Sunday afternoon ritual that was rarely broken.
‘Shall we get them ready and go and see your mum and dad this morning?’
Svala turned the idea over in her head. Both she and Eiríkur were creatures of habit.
‘I don’t know. I’m not sure they’ll be up early today.’
‘Well, I have a shift at two. Shall we go to Ikea for lunch and I’ll drop you off?’
Svala sighed. She had preferred Eiríkur as the student she had met half a dozen years ago, a man who lost himself in textbooks. She was still wondering why he had abandoned his studies to join the police, and the idea of her husband as a detective was something she was struggling to come to terms with.