Katrín stopped and grabbed Garðar. She shushed Putti, who whined as he snuggled up close to her legs. Then he stopped. At first nothing could be heard but the crunching of the pebbly beach beneath Líf’s feet, but then Katrín heard a low weeping with no obvious place of origin. She held onto Garðar even tighter and whispered: ‘Did you hear that?’
Líf was still a short distance from them but near enough to realize that not everything was right, and she stopped. ‘What? What’s wrong?’
‘Come here, Líf. Don’t stop.’ Garðar tried to appear calm but Katrín could tell that he was alarmed. Although he hadn’t answered her, it was clear he’d heard the sound as well. ‘Get over here.’ Líf didn’t move. The beer can in her hand looked slightly bizarre, as if she were at a festival in high summer. ‘Don’t stand there like a lemon, hurry up!’ He had to shout to make himself heard over Putti, who was now barking as loudly as his little body could manage. The weeping was no longer audible through the noise.
When Líf finally came to her senses and started running towards them, Katrín saw what had elicited this reaction in Garðar; not the low sound of someone crying, but a person standing at the top of the beach just behind where the can had been lying. Katrín gasped. Despite the uncomfortable near-certainty that there was someone else in the area, the tiny bit of scepticism that she’d still harboured had kept most of her fear in check. But now there was no longer any room for the slightest doubt. The twilight prevented Katrín from seeing clearly, yet she grasped that the person stood with his cap-covered head hanging down to his chest and his arms dangling; she’d never seen anyone stand like that before. It was as if the person had surrendered to the injustice of the world. Without pondering this any further, she realized that the weeping had come from this pitiful figure. However, it was impossible to understand why it stood there alone, crying. The vague outline of a raincoat made it hard to tell whether it was a man or a woman, but suddenly the person moved, causing Katrín to realize that they were standing even closer than she’d first thought. ‘Jesus.’ She squeezed Garðar’s arm with all her might. ‘It’s a child.’
Garðar freed himself from her grasp, walked over to Líf, grabbed her shoulder and positioned her forcefully next to Katrín. She was still holding the beer can. ‘Stay here.’ He didn’t wait for an answer, but ran towards the child as fast as the loose pebbles allowed, paying no heed to his sore foot. Katrín was too late to stop him and could only watch him tear off in the direction of the top of the beach where the child was standing. But as he drew nearer it turned on its heel and disappeared into the darkness – with Garðar behind it. The sound of footsteps above the beach faded as the pursuit grew distant. Instead the only sound was Líf’s whimpering. Putti was unusually silent as he lay meekly on his stomach between them.
She had to do something, so Katrín raised her hands to her mouth and desperately shouted Garðar’s name. But the wind carried her cry out to sea. ‘Come on!’ Katrín let her hands drop. It was useless yelling her lungs out; they had no other choice but to wait on the cold beach for Garðar to return. Despite the fact that she got along well with children, and was generally a kind-hearted person, she sincerely hoped that he would be alone.
There was something more than a little wrong with this child. And whatever it was, they couldn’t possibly be capable of solving it.
Chapter 10
Contrary to all forecasts, the weather deteriorated. This didn’t surprise Freyr; in fact it was remarkable how mild it had been recently. He had thought a lot about the weather before finally deciding to move west. He had never been much of a one for winter sports, but he knew that Ísafjörður was a true skiers’ paradise; after the króna crashed his friends in the south had suggested going for a holiday there instead of Austria or the Italian Alps. But because of the unusual warm spell, these friends still hadn’t shown their faces, even though they’d made plans for their visit before Freyr had headed west in the autumn. He hadn’t decided whether he was disappointed or relieved at their postponing the trip. Immediately after moving he’d looked forward to their visit, but over time he’d started to fear being reminded of his former life and stirring up memories that he wanted to leave behind, some for good. Regular phone conversations with these friends in the south always featured uncomfortable questions about his future and his life over the next few years. On bad days they conjured up mental images of himself still in Ísafjörður in the hospital’s forlorn single-family residence, watching television far into the night. Alone.
The sleet hit the windscreen with increased force and the windscreen wipers were nearly powerless against it, no matter how fast they moved. Freyr held unnecessarily tightly to the steering wheel but consciously relaxed his grip after entering the town limits. The car was old and inexpensive, since it had been all Freyr could afford after his divorce, when he had left to Sara whatever they’d managed to acquire. He had started off with a clean slate and over time would scrape together what he needed, while it was unlikely that Sara would ever be in a condition to work full-time again. In any case, leaving her almost everything freed her from most financial problems, though she still had plenty to deal with. The only condition that he’d set when they divided their possessions was that the house be sold; he knew it wasn’t healthy for Sara to roam about the empty house where she would be constantly reminded of Benni and the past. Sara had invested in a decent apartment downtown, although he’d recently heard from a concerned friend of hers that Sara was planning to put the apartment up for sale and buy another one in Ártúnsholt – closer to their old home, no doubt to continue her endless search for their son in the neighbourhood. But as far as that was concerned, he had little say, things being as they were.
The discussion on the radio seemed to be drawing to a close; the entire way over he’d been listening to a depressing interview with an economist who offered an extremely bleak outlook on the nation’s financial state. When, by chance, the conversation took a more positive turn, it seemed to surprise the speakers completely, and they nearly shouted each other down trying to get the conversation back on course. Freyr had no idea why he was putting up with this depressing exchange; it wasn’t as if there were a shortage of radio stations. However, there was no need to change stations at this point; the hospital was just around the corner. Freyr hadn’t intended to end his journey there; he’d only gone for a drive in order to clear his mind, but he’d decided to head there after driving aimlessly up and down the fjord. The television hadn’t captured his attention, and he didn’t want to go to bed early and take the risk of waking in the middle of the night and lying there, sleepless, worrying about things.