Orri knew what it was and for the first time ever he wondered if he should not have taken something. His grandmother had owned a similar collection, the clasps and chain from the ornate bodice of a set of national dress of the kind worn by a well-to-do lady of maybe a century ago, while the heavy gold tube would have formed part of the long tassel of the black cap that would have topped the ensemble. The clasps were a little worn and the rich gold gleamed dully under the single harsh overhead light in his storeroom. Someone had treasured this and kept it carefully, just as his grandmother had done, keeping hers for her own daughter in the vain hope that the girl’s inheritance would not be sold at the first opportunity and converted into a weekend’s solid partying or the down payment on a car.
Running the gold chain through his fingers and arranging the clasps in their two rows on the rough timber bench, he wondered who had owned the set. It was something he had never done before. Gold was money, and money in the bank was, supposedly, security. He cursed briefly. Laptops, fancy mobile phones and iPods had none of the patina of age and affection that the old woman’s gold had, and he decided involuntarily that this was not something for the Baltic boys to melt down.
He sighed, disturbed at his own thoughts. Orri put the clasps and chain back in the paper bag and placed it at the back of the drawer under the bench. It was certainly not something to hold on to, so he would have to find a buyer for it somewhere; someone local. Conscious that a risk accompanied this, he knew that at least this way it would probably find its way onto a set of national dress. Plus it would fetch more than it would for scrap. He had no use for the thing himself, although Lísa would admire it if she ever got to see it, knowing that she had a set of national dress that she occasionally brought out for weddings and suchlike events that he preferred to steer clear of. But then, Lísa had a proper family made up of ordinary people she got on well with, not like the untrustworthy crowd of drunks and shysters that made up his motley group of relatives.
As always, Valmira drove. Natalia sat by the window and smoked in direct contravention of company rules, her head half out of the window. Emilija sat in the middle seat of the van and wrinkled her nose as each blast of smoke-laden air wafted into the cab.
‘Do you have to?’ she demanded. ‘Can’t you wait ten minutes until you get home?’
‘Hey, don’t be like that. Just because you gave up’s no reason to stop me having one.’
‘She’s right,’ Valmira said from behind the wheel. ‘You always smoke in the van and I wish you wouldn’t. It stinks.’
Natalia threw her half-smoked cigarette away and wound the window closed, trapping the poisoned air inside while Valmira drove in silence and Natalia stared sulkily at the pavements and shop windows. She got out by the shop near her flat in Breidholt without a word and stalked away, lighting another cigarette as she walked, as if to prove a point.
‘We’ve upset her now,’ Emilija said with a sly smile.
‘Yeah. And it wouldn’t be the first time. I hope she turns up in the morning. I don’t want to see her lose her job.’
‘That’s not going to happen, is it? She just turns on the charm when she needs to and Viggó melts when she gives him a smile.’
‘It’s not something you can miss, is it? She does the same with his old man as well. Have you noticed? Still, hopefully she won’t be sulking tomorrow.’
‘You know what these hot-blooded South Americans are like. She’ll have forgotten it by the morning.’
‘I know,’ Valmira said with a sigh. ‘And it’s not going to stop her smoking in the van, is it? You OK for tomorrow?’
‘I am,’ Emilija said, yawning and stretching her hands behind her head. ‘The boys are going to their father tonight, so I have an evening to myself for once.’
‘It’s a shame you’ll be on your own,’ Valmira said, shifting down a gear and listening to the van’s gearbox complain.
‘Says who?’ Emilija asked with an arch smile.
‘What? A new guy? Tell me!’
‘Early days. But who knows?’
‘Local boy?’
‘No.’ Emilija laughed. ‘Not again. He’s a sweet guy and he’s from Latvia.’
Valmira looked dubious. ‘He’s OK, this guy, is he? Not like. .?’
‘No, nothing like him, I’m pleased to say,’ Emilija said with a shiver.
Chapter Three
‘Oh, did I wake you?’ Drífa asked as Gunna blearily appeared in the kitchen. ‘I’m sorry. I was trying to be as quiet as I could.’
‘It’s all right. You didn’t wake me up and I have to be in early anyway.’
‘I thought you weren’t at work until the afternoon?’
‘Something’s come up. Can’t you sleep?’
‘I was hungry and Kjartan needed a feed.’
There was a newspaper on the table that Drífa had been reading, scattered with the crumbs of a sandwich. Gunna poured herself orange juice, squinting at the clock and dismayed to see it was a few minutes past five and there was light outside beyond the kitchen curtains. ‘That’s both of us then. Too early to be up and too late to be going back to sleep,’ she decided. ‘I’d best make some coffee.’
Drífa watched as Gunna set the percolator to run and disappeared back to the bedroom, emerging in uniform trousers and shirt.
‘Have you heard from Gísli?’ Gunna asked
‘Yesterday. He should be back tomorrow.’
‘Already? That was a short trip, only two weeks. What did he say?’
‘He said he’s staying ashore for a few weeks now.’
Gunna nodded and listened to the percolator hiss and mutter. She was dreading her son’s return from sea, hoping that she would be able to contain the bitter recriminations she wanted to let fly at him over his having given her two grandsons in the space of a few weeks. At the same time she longed to have their old close relationship back, while admitting to herself that it could take years and effort on both sides for them to regain that old intimacy.
She knew that Laufey missed her big brother and that the two of them were in touch, something that was a comfort while she and Gísli had become estranged for the first time in their lives. There was a bond between the half-siblings that she appreciated and which was something she had missed in her own upbringing with two considerably older brothers who she felt still treated her like an irritating youngster.
‘They’re docking in Hafnarfjördur,’ Drífa said, startling Gunna from her thoughts. ‘Steini said he’d go and pick Gísli up from the ship.’
‘Oh, that’s good of him.’
‘I don’t think Steini minds. He and Gísli really get on, don’t they? Is it because Gísli. .?’
‘Because Gísli what?’ Gunna asked.
‘Because Gísli’s father was never about?’
She could see Drífa biting her lip, as if the question might be a step too far.
‘Could be,’ Gunna admitted. ‘Or it might be because Steini doesn’t have sons of his own.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Drífa said, relieved that the question hadn’t elicited a sharp reply.
‘Thanks for letting us stay the night,’ she added after a pause.
‘Don’t be silly. You’re always welcome.’
A little over a year ago a heavily pregnant Drífa had appeared on Gunna’s doorstep, deep black hair in disarray, mascara in streaks down her face and looking for a sympathetic shoulder to cry on. Since then the mascara made only rare appearances and the black hair dye had grown out as Drífa’s priorities had been forced to change dramatically.
‘Just as well,’ Gunna muttered to herself.
‘Sorry?’
‘What?’
‘You said something?’
‘It’s all right. Just thinking to myself.’
Drífa lapsed back into silence as the percolator hissed to a standstill. Gunna poured her first mug of coffee of the day and pulled back the curtains to let in the first thin hint of pre-sunrise daylight.