Garðar opened his mouth as if he were planning to say something; maybe to ask when they’d become so neurotic, but he stopped and merely nodded. He grabbed the crosses and took them to a little space between the kitchen and the back door, where someone had put up some makeshift shelves for provisions. The shelves were mostly empty; they’d arranged their tools on the bottom one, but otherwise the only things on them were some dusty, empty wooden crates, as well as the cardboard boxes containing the things whose ownership they’d been puzzling over. They managed to put on their outerwear in the narrow space without bumping into each other too much. Garðar took the crosses with him, Katrín a crowbar and hammer, while Líf settled for a can of fizzy drink that she’d grabbed from the kitchen. The air outside was pleasantly clean and fresh and Katrín couldn’t help but stand there and enjoy the feeling of filling her lungs again, allowing her sore muscles to rest for the final push in the day’s repairs. In the meantime, Garðar set off for the hollow to return the crosses, with Putti at his heels, while Líf sat on the porch sipping her drink. They watched Garðar in silence as he inched his way through the angelica that swallowed Putti as soon as they stepped into it, then vanished when he bent down to replace the crosses in the clump of weeds. Katrín’s heart beat faster when he didn’t reappear immediately. What would she do if he vanished entirely? Líf would certainly lose her mind and she wasn’t sure that she herself wouldn’t do the same.
But Katrín didn’t need to wonder about this for long, because suddenly from the brush emerged the dark blue jacket for which she’d paid a large sum as his Christmas present two years earlier. Then Garðar swept his hat off his head, smiled at them and held up his other hand, thumb raised. Katrín was relieved but still felt uneasy inside. Her discomfort at being alone in this place refused to slacken its grip, just as the last withered leaves on the branches beside the house stubbornly refused to fall. She smiled back and waved, determined to go with him next time he and Líf climbed the hill in search of a mobile phone signal; the hike could hardly be any more unbearable than how she would feel if something happened to them or they got lost up there.
‘Well, then. That’s that out of the way.’ Garðar’s breath was visible, as was Putti’s, though less so. ‘Shall we work on the porch while there’s still enough light to see?’ He kicked at the corner of the porch, jolting Líf, who was sitting on the edge of it just next to him. ‘This is probably all completely rotten.’
‘Then should we tear it up, if it is?’ Katrín stepped from the porch onto the grass. Líf was jolted again, and this time a little bit of her drink splashed from the can. ‘We don’t have the wood to replace it.’
‘If we’d brought along everything we needed, we’d still be carting stuff up from the pier now. I guess we’ll have to come back later, maybe even bring a carpenter with us.’ He put his hand out for the crowbar Katrín was holding.
‘A carpenter?’ Katrín stopped kicking at the porch. ‘We can’t afford a carpenter. I thought the material and the things we’ve already bought would be enough.’ She felt a sudden flush of panic. They were a whisker away from going bankrupt; all the money Garðar had scraped together from securities trading had vanished in the form of worthless stocks, leaving behind nothing but debts. In fact, they were technically bankrupt, but the banking system kept them afloat thanks to some tricks that Katrín didn’t completely understand and left Garðar to deal with. But these solutions were only superficial; the clock was clearly ticking, and soon the life raft would be set adrift. Her income and Garðar’s unemployment benefit might have sufficed if they’d been debt-free and got around by bicycle. But they’d spent the money that was supposed to ease their payments over the next few months on renovations to this house, and there wasn’t a króna remaining. The notion that they could afford to hire a carpenter to work so far from civilisation, on a full-time wage plus special location allowance, was about as realistic as them tearing down the house and building a new one. ‘We can’t afford it. You know that.’
As so often during their conversations on this topic, Garðar ignored her protests, since there was more to it than simply not being able to hire a skilled worker. No less than their entire future was at risk; their hopes and dreams would come to nothing, even though their plans hadn’t been particularly ambitious: a house, two cars and, later, children – no more than the usual. Though it might prove painful, Katrín could just as well live without these things, but Garðar seemed incapable of dealing with the reality. She was starting to think that he felt everything would be doomed if he said a single word about their situation now.
‘Let’s just try tearing up one damaged corner and we’ll see,’ he suggested. He stuck the crowbar beneath a worn-out plank and stepped on the shaft. Creaking and cracking sounds hindered further conversation as he struggled with the wood.
Katrín stood at a distance and watched, too angry to participate in this demolition project. She was cold again.
‘Don’t worry about the money,’ Líf, who had stood up, whispered in her ear. ‘If we need to hire a carpenter, I can see to that. We’re all in this together and I have plenty of money.’ She placed her hand on Katrín’s shoulder, but then let it fall again awkwardly. ‘Einar converted most of our assets into euros just before the crash and he had life insurance, too, so I’m doing okay. And I don’t fritter it away, do I?’ Katrín looked at her and smiled. She could think of few women who spent as much as Líf did on clothes, haircuts, bags, shoes and other necessities. And although Líf might be well off at the moment, Katrín doubted that her resources would be enough to maintain the lifestyle to which Líf had accustomed herself while Einar was alive. At least not for long. As the CEO of one of the biggest companies in Iceland, Einar had had a very good income before the crash, and when the company had changed hands he was given a handsome severance payment, no doubt leaving him potentially worry-free for the rest of his life as far as money was concerned. But brokerage accounts were one thing; a steady income quite another. The former could take some serious hits if investments weren’t managed properly, and she couldn’t envision Líf paying attention to such things – any more than she could envision her getting a job. ‘Thanks for the kind offer. But it’s better if we try to manage these repairs ourselves. It’s good for us. For you, too.’ She smiled warmly at Líf, since her offer had been gracious. But Katrín had no interest in taking money from her, even if the gesture was well intended, unless they were able to match Líf’s contribution. She had even less faith in the idea that Garðar could live with accepting charity from Einar’s widow.
‘Well, let’s see. If it all goes pear-shaped, you know the offer still stands.’ Líf took a sip of her drink, looking fairly relaxed. She watched as Garðar worked relentlessly away at his demolition project. ‘I’m so happy that I get to be here with you. I hate always being alone.’
‘Well of course.’ An icy wind blew around the house and Katrín felt the cold air slip in beneath her jacket. The chill it gave her, however, was quickly forgotten when a long plank that Garðar was working on came free, providing a glimpse of the earth that had lain untouched beneath the porch for decades, maybe even an entire century. At first glance it was unremarkable, merely dark and indistinguishable, but after a moment she noticed yellowish stripes in the black soil. ‘What’s that?’
Garðar put down the broken plank and looked into the gap. ‘I don’t know.’ He bent down and poked at the soil. ‘These are bones. Bird bones, it looks like.’ He brushed away the dry soil and pulled out two little bones, the size of fingers.