“Yes, Erlendur?”
“Yes,” Erlendur said, clearing his throat. He recognised the voice at once.
“Jim from the British embassy here. Forgive me for calling you at home.”
“Did you ring just now?”
“Just now? No. Only this time. Well, I just spoke to Ed and I thought I needed to get in touch with you.”
“Really, is there anything new?”
“He’s working on the case for you and I just wanted to keep you in the picture. He’s phoned America, looked through his diary and talked to people, and he thinks he knows who blew the whistle on the theft from the depot.”
“Who was it?”
“He didn’t say. Asked me to let you know and said he was expecting your call.”
“This evening?”
“Yes, no, or in the morning. Tomorrow morning might be better. He was off to sleep. Goes to bed early.”
“Was it an Icelander? Who grassed on them?”
“He’ll tell you about it. Good night, and my apologies for disturbing you.”
Erlendur was still standing by the phone when it started ringing again. It was Skarphedinn. He was on the hill.
“We’ll uncover the bones tomorrow,” Skarphedinn said without any preamble.
“About time too,” Erlendur said. “Did you call me just now?”
“Yes, did you just get in?”
“Yes,” Erlendur lied. “Have you found anything useful up there?”
“No, nothing, I just wanted to tell you that… good evening, evening, ehmm, let me help you, there you go… er, sorry, where were we?”
“You were telling me that you’ll reach the bones tomorrow.”
“Yes, some time towards evening, I expect. We haven’t uncovered any clues as to how the body ended up being buried. Maybe we’ll find something under the bones.”
“See you tomorrow, then.”
“Goodbye.”
Erlendur put the phone down. He was not fully awake. He thought about Eva Lind and whether any of what he said got through to her. And he thought about Halldora and the hatred she still felt for him after all those years. And he contemplated for the millionth time what his life and their lives would have been like had he not decided to leave. He never came to any conclusion.
He stared at nothing in particular. An occasional ray of evening sun broke past the sitting-room curtains, slashing a bright wound into the gloom around him. He looked into the curtains. They were made of thick corduroy, hanging right down to the floor. Thick, green curtains to keep the brightness of spring at bay.
Good evening.
Evening.
Let me help you.
Erlendur peered into the green of the curtains.
Crooked.
Green.
“What was Skarphedinn…?” Erlendur leaped to his feet and snatched up the phone. Not remembering Skarphedinn’s mobile number, he desperately called directory enquiries. Then he rang the archaeologist.
“Skarphedinn. Skarphedinn?” He blared down the phone.
“What? Is that you again?”
“Who did you say good evening to just then? Who were you helping?”
“Eh?”
“Who were you talking to?”
“What are you so worked up about?”
“Who’s there with you?”
“You mean who I said hello to?”
“This isn’t a videophone. I can’t see you up there on the hill. I heard you say good evening to someone. Who’s there with you?”
“Not with me. She went somewhere, wait, she’s standing by the bush.”
“The bush? You mean the redcurrant bushes? Is she by the redcurrant bushes?”
“Yes.”
“What does she look like?”
“She’s… do you know her then? What’s all this panic about?”
“What does she look like?” Erlendur repeated, trying to keep calm.
“Take it easy.”
“How old is she?”
“Seventyish. No, maybe more like 80. Difficult to say.”
“What’s she wearing?”
“She’s got on a long green coat, ankle-length. A lady of about my height. And she’s lame.”
“In what way, lame?”
“She’s limping. More than that really. She’s sort of, I don’t know…”
“What?! What! What are you trying to say?”
“I don’t know how to describe it… I… it’s like she’s crooked.”
Erlendur threw down the phone and ran out into the spring evening, forgetting to tell Skarphedinn to keep the lady on the hill there with him at all costs.
The day that Grimur returned home, Dave had not been with them for several days.
Autumn had arrived with a piercing north wind and a thin blanket of snow on the ground. The hill stood high above sea level and winter came earlier there than in the lowland, where Reykjavik was beginning to take on some kind of urban shape. Simon and Tomas took the school bus to Reykjavik in the mornings and came back in the evening. Every day their mother walked to Gufunes, where she tended the milk cows and did other routine farm work. She left before the boys, but was always back when they returned from school. Mikkelina stayed at home during the day, excruciatingly bored by her solitude. When her mother came home from work Mikkelina could hardly control herself for glee, and her delight was all the greater when Simon and Tomas burst in and threw their school books into one corner.
Dave was a regular visitor to their home. Their mother and Dave found it increasingly easy to understand each other, and they sat at length at the kitchen table, wanting the boys and Mikkelina to leave them in peace. Occasionally, when they wanted to be left entirely to themselves, they went into the bedroom and closed the door.
Simon sometimes saw Dave stroke his mother’s cheek or sweep back a lock of hair if one fell across her face. Or he stroked her hand. They went on long walks around Reynisvatn and up the surrounding hills, and some days even strolled over to Mosfellsdalur and Helgufoss, taking food with them because such an outing could last a whole day. Sometimes they took the children along and Dave carried Mikkelina on his back without the slightest effort. Simon and Tomas were amused that he called their outings a “picnic”, and they clucked the word at each other: pic-nic, pic-nic, pic-nic.
Sometimes Dave and their mother sat talking seriously, on their picnics or at the kitchen table, and in the bedroom once when Simon opened the door. They were sitting on the edge of the bed, Dave was holding her hand and they looked over to the door and gave Simon a smile. He did not know what they were talking about, but he knew it could not be pleasant, because he recognised his mother’s expression when she felt bad.
And then, one cold autumn day, it all ended.
Grimur came home early one morning when their mother had gone to the farm and Simon and Tomas were on their way to take the school bus. It was piercing cold on the hill and they met Grimur as he walked up the track to the house, clutching his tattered jacket close to him to fend off the north wind. He ignored them. They could not see his face clearly in the dim autumn morning, but Simon imagined he wore a hard, cold expression as he headed towards their house. The boys had been expecting him for the past few days. Their mother had told them he would be released from prison after serving his sentence and would come back to the hill to them; they could expect him at any time.
Simon and Tomas watched Grimur walk up to the house, and looked at each other. Both were thinking the same thing. Mikkelina was home alone. She always woke up when they and their mother got up, but went back to sleep for much of the morning. She would be alone to greet Grimur. Simon tried to calculate their father’s reaction when he discovered that their mother was not at home, nor the boys, only Mikkelina, whom he had always hated.
The school bus arrived and beeped twice. Although the driver saw the boys on the hill, when he could not wait for them any longer he drove away and the bus disappeared down the road. They stood motionless, not saying a word, then set off slowly and inched their way towards the house.