“Don’t you think it’s pretty?’’ he said.
There was something strange about Grimur. Something that Simon couldn’t quite pin down. More self-confident. More smug. He was a tyrant, that was obvious from his whole attitude towards his family and always had been, but there was something else, something dangerous, and Simon was wondering what it could be when Grimur stood up from the table.
He walked over to the children’s mother.
“Simon told me about the soldier called Dave who brings fish here.”
Their mother said nothing.
“It was a soldier called Dave who did this to me,” he said, pointing to his scar. “I can’t open my eye properly because he thought it was all right to throw coffee over me. First he heated it in a jug until it was so hot that he had to hold it with a cloth, and when I thought he was going to pour a cup for us, he emptied the jug over my face.”
Their mother averted her glance from Grimur to the floor, but did not move.
“They let him in when my hands were handcuffed behind my back. I think they knew what he was going to do.”
He walked menacingly towards Mikkelina and Tomas in the passageway. Simon sat at the table as if nailed to his seat. Grimur turned back to their mother and walked over to her.
“It was like they were rewarding him,” he said. “Do you know why?”
“No,” their mother said in a low voice.
“No,” Grimur mimicked her. “Too busy fucking him.”
He smiled.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he turns up floating in the lake. As if he’d fallen in the water fishing for trout.”
Grimur stood right up close to their mother and roughly placed his hand on her stomach.
“Do you reckon he left something behind?” he asked in a quiet, threatening voice. “Something from the picnics down by the lake? Do you think so? Do you reckon he left something? I can tell you that if he’s left anything, I’ll kill it. Who knows, I might burn it, like he burned my face.”
“Don’t talk like that,” their mother said.
Grimur looked at her.
“How did that bastard know we were pilfering?” he asked. “Who do you suppose told him what we were doing? Do you know anything about that? Maybe we weren’t careful enough. Maybe he saw us. Or maybe he gave someone some trout and saw all the stuff in here, wondered where it came from and asked the little tart who lives here if she knew.”
Grimur tightened his grip on her stomach.
“You can’t look at a uniform without dropping your knickers.”
Silently, Simon stood up behind his father.
“What do you say to a cup of coffee?” Grimur said to the children’s mother. “What do you say to some piping hot, refreshing coffee for breakfast? If Dave lets us. Do you reckon he’ll let us?”
Grimur laughed.
“Maybe he’ll have a drop with us. Are you expecting him? Do you think he’ll come and rescue you?”
“Don’t,” Simon said behind him.
Grimur released his grip on their mother and turned to Simon.
“Don’t do that,” Simon said.
“Simon!” his mother snapped. “Stop it!”
“Leave Mum alone,” Simon said in a trembling voice.
Grimur turned back to their mother. Mikkelina and Tomas watched from the passage. He leaned over to her and whispered in her ear.
“Maybe you’ll just go missing one day like Benjamin’s girlfriend.”
Their mother watched Grimur, ready for an attack that she knew could not be avoided.
“What do you know about that?” she asked.
“People disappear. All kinds of people. Posh people too. So scum like you can go missing. Who’d ask about you? Unless your mother from the Gasworks is looking for you. Do you think she might be?”
“Leave her alone,” Simon said, still standing by the kitchen table.
“Simon?” Grimur said. “I thought we were friends. You and me and Tomas.”
“Leave her alone,” Simon said. “You have to stop hurting her. You have to stop it and go away. Go away and never come back.”
Grimur had walked up to him and stared at him as if he were a total stranger.
“I’ve been away. I was away for six months and this is the welcome I get. The missus shagging soldiers and little Simon wants to throw his dad out. Are you big enough to handle your dad, Simon? Do you think so? Do you reckon you’ll ever be big enough to fight me?”
“Simon!” his mother said. “It’s all right. Take Tomas and Mikkelina down to Gufunes and wait for me there. Do you hear, Simon? Do as you’re told.”
Grimur grinned in Simon’s face.
“And now the missus is running the whole show. What does she think she is? Funny how everyone’s changed in this short time.”
Grimur looked down the passage to the rooms.
“And what about the freak? Is the cripple going to answer back too? Da, da, da, da, that fucking cripple that I should have strangled years ago. Is this all the thanks I get? Is this my thanks?” he shouted down the passage.
Mikkelina scuttled away from the doorway to the dark passage. Tomas stayed there watching Grimur, who smiled at him.
“But me and Tomas are friends,” Grimur said.
“Tomas would never betray his dad. Come here, son. Come to Daddy.”
Tomas went up to him.
“Mum phoned,” he said.
“Tomas!” their mother shouted.
25
“I don’t think Tomas intended to help him. It’s more likely that he thought he was helping Mum. Perhaps he wanted to scare him to do her a favour. But I think it’s most likely he didn’t know what he was doing. He was so small, the dear child.”
Mikkelina looked at Erlendur. He and Elinborg were in her sitting room and had listened to her account of the mother from the hill and Grimur, how they met and the first time he hit her, how the violence gradually intensified and twice she tried to flee from him, how he threatened to kill her children. She told them about life on the hill, the soldiers, the depot, the thefts and the soldier called Dave who went fishing in the lake, and about the summer their father was imprisoned and her mother and the soldier fell in love, how her brothers carried Mikkelina out into the sunshine, how Dave took them for picnics, and about the cold autumn morning when her stepfather returned.
Mikkelina took all the time she needed to tell her story, and tried not to omit any part of the family’s history that she thought might be relevant. Erlendur and Elinborg sat and listened, drinking the coffee Mikkelina had made for them and eating the cake she had baked because, she said, she knew Erlendur would be coming. She greeted Elinborg sincerely and asked if there were many women detectives.
“Next to none,” Elinborg smiled.
“Sinful,” said Mikkelina, offering her a seat. “Women should be in the forefront everywhere.”
Elinborg looked at Erlendur, who gave a half smile. She had picked him up from the office in the afternoon, aware that he had come from the hospital, and found him exceptionally glum. She asked about Eva Lind’s condition, thinking it might have worsened, but he said it was stable, and when she asked how he was feeling and whether she could do anything for him, he just shook his head and told her there was nothing to do but wait. She had the impression that the waiting was proving a terrible strain on him, but did not risk broaching the subject. Long experience had taught her that Erlendur had no need to talk about himself to others.
Mikkelina lived on the ground floor in a small block of flats in Breidholt. Her home was small but cosy and while she was in the kitchen making coffee Erlendur walked around the sitting room looking at pictures of what he assumed to be her family. There were not many photographs and none seemed to be from the hill.
She began with a short account of herself while she was going about her business in the kitchen and they listened to her from the sitting room. She started school late, approaching 20 — at the same time as she had her first therapy for her handicap — and she made enormous progress. Erlendur felt she rather skated over her own story, but did not remark on it. In the course of time Mikkelina completed secondary school with extramural classes, enrolled at the university and graduated in psychology. By then she was in her forties. Now she was retired.