Now that she understood this depressing situation, Thóra could see why her parents had been so embarrassed. At first she’d thought they’d come to write their wills and were unsure how to broach the subject. That seemed a rather comical thought now that it was clear how little they had to divide up.
‘I’m sure we’ll sort something out,’ she murmured, forcing out a reassuring smile.
‘I know it’s crowded at your place, but maybe we could stay in the garage,’ said her father brightly. ‘I think I could make it quite cosy. I bet Gylfi would help me, and maybe also your… friend, the German.’ Thóra’s parents weren’t overly fond of Matthew, which she thought stemmed from two things in particular: firstly, they spoke no German and rather patchy English, and secondly, Thóra was pretty sure they were convinced he’d take their daughter, grandchildren and great-grandchild back to Germany with him. Maybe it was this that had pushed them into buying a summer home abroad. They were even less impressed when Matthew wasn’t offered work in the new bank that was built on the ruins of the old one; he was a foreigner, and was considered too expensive to retain. He still hadn’t found suitable work and his prospects were looking less than rosy. Actually, he was in pretty much the same boat as her father.
Her father smiled again, this time with more conviction. ‘As I say, it won’t be for long. I have complete faith that the króna will get stronger, and then maybe we can go to Spain and spend some time at the house. But as things stand right now, we can’t afford it.’ In other words, when he found a job he planned to celebrate by going on holiday.
Thóra smiled back at him, trying to put her heart into it despite her mixed feelings. ‘And even if it doesn’t happen and you’re with us the whole time, that’s fine. Of course you’re welcome to stay.’ She decided that for now she’d stop nagging them about making a payment on the mortgage. There would be plenty of time for that. ‘It gets quieter every other weekend, when the kids go to their father, so there will be more room for us.’ As she said this she realized how much she’d miss the few days a month she spent alone with Matthew. She certainly wasn’t looking forward to breaking the news to him.
Bella barged into the office, and Thóra wondered, not for the first time, whether it wouldn’t be wiser to lock the door when she had clients or visitors. She always came to the same conclusion – that Bella probably wouldn’t let it stop her.
‘Have you taken my stapler?’ Bella planted her hands on her hefty hips, glaring at Thóra.
‘No, Bella, I haven’t,’ replied Thóra calmly. ‘Why would I do that?’
‘It’s been stolen, and you’re the most likely culprit.’
‘Well, legally you can’t steal your own possessions. I own this firm, which means I can’t steal anything here.’ Thóra met Bella’s narrowed eyes levelly. ‘Please knock before entering next time, and shut the door behind you when you leave. Now.’ Thóra hoped the girl would leave before she spotted the stapler on Thóra’s desk. She had borrowed it that morning before her secretary arrived and forgotten to return it, though she had no intention of admitting this.
Bella turned on her heel without another word, but left the door open behind her by way of getting in the last punch. Thóra’s parents had watched the whole thing open-mouthed, and when the secretary had stomped out of earshot her mother whispered, ‘Can’t you get rid of that girl? She’s terribly rude.’
Thóra shook her head. ‘It’s complicated.’ The firm was stuck with Bella because she was the landlord’s daughter and her employment had been part of the terms of the lease.
‘That’s most unfortunate,’ tutted her mother, picking up her handbag and holding it tightly as if Bella might sneak up and pluck it off the back of her chair.
‘Well, Thóra, we can’t stay.’ Her father stood up. ‘You’ve probably got enough to do and we’ve got to get over to the estate agent to finalize the paperwork on the offer.’
Thóra gulped. ‘Of course.’ She followed them out and said goodbye, and when they were gone she hurried back to her office to call Matthew and tell him about the latest additions to their household. He would be so pleased. As she was dialling, her mobile beeped, indicating she’d received a text. Curious, Thóra hung up the landline and reached for her mobile. The message was from the Internet message service ja.is, so it could be from anyone. She opened it, thinking either the contents or the sign-off would identify the sender, but the one-word message didn’t make any sense to her; perhaps it had come to the wrong number?
Pregnant
She felt a sudden surge of panic. Was Gylfi’s girlfriend pregnant again? She hurriedly called her son, who thankfully had no clue what was going on and reassured her that Sigga was neither pregnant nor planning to be. Thóra was relieved, but something about the mysterious text still made her uneasy.
CHAPTER 3
Wednesday, 6 January 2010
It was no wonder the briefcase Jakob’s mother had left was falling to bits. One more Post-it note would probably have finished it off, it was so full. Thóra would probably need to transfer the contents to a new case when she returned them to Grímheiður; it would be easier than stuffing all the files back into this one. But for the moment it was empty, the papers that had previously stretched it to bursting point scattered across the desk. Thóra leaned back in the top-of-the-range office chair she’d bought when the company’s fortunes had finally appeared to be looking up, about a month before the economy imploded. There was simply reams of information here, and she obviously wouldn’t have the luxury of going through all the files before deciding whether or not to take on Jakob’s case. She would have to pick out the ones that seemed most likely to contain useful information. She started two piles on her desk, sorting the papers by apparent relevance. Admittedly, her criteria were governed mostly by her desire to keep the ‘yes’ pile under half the height of the ‘maybe’ one. By the time she’d sorted through most of the papers, her plan seemed to have worked.
Although Thóra had only skimmed the files, she was filled with dread. She didn’t need a long-winded report to tell her that the events of that night had been horrific. Five people had died tragically; four residents and a night watchman. The centre admitted disabled people aged eighteen to twenty-five, and residents were not moved to another facility when they hit the maximum age. It was a new build, meaning all the residents who perished were young, which made the whole thing even sadder. And to make matters even worse, the watchman unlucky enough to be working that night, one of twelve staff members, was just as young at twenty-three. Fire can be merciless, and in the residence it appeared to have burned out of control and rendered everything and everyone in its path unrecognizable. Thóra couldn’t believe somewhere like this hadn’t had a decent fire alarm fitted, which might have saved some, if not all, of the victims. She also found it odd that neither the residents nor the night watchman had been able to escape and raise the alarm. Maybe the fire had spread too fast, but that seemed unlikely.