‘That’s what’s so fantastic. Dad’s got this big flat, which he only uses every other month. We could share it with him when he’s there and the rest of the time we’d have it to ourselves.’ Gylfi beamed. ‘It’s a brilliant arrangement. And the job’s awesome. I’d work for two weeks, then have three weeks off.’
Thóra exclaimed: ‘That can’t be right. What kind of job is it anyway?
‘On an oil rig. They fly you out there by helicopter.’ He couldn’t stop grinning at the thought.
‘I see.’ She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Of all her ex’s idiotic ideas, this took the biscuit. Gylfi on an oil rig. He had hardly ever left Reykjavík, let alone experienced the sort of conditions he could expect on a floating steel platform in the middle of the Arctic Ocean, or wherever this oil rig happened to be. ‘You know, Gylfi, this is a terrible idea.’ She looked to Matthew for support but he didn’t say a word, and his face was unreadable. ‘The reason it’s well paid is that it’s incredibly dangerous, and anyway you’re far too young and inexperienced. The journey alone would be too risky. It’s out of the question.’
The smile fell from Gylfi’s face. ‘It’s not “out of the question”.’ He stood up. ‘Anyway, it’s not up to you. I’m going to put together a CV and send it to Dad to pass on to the guy. There’s no guarantee he’ll agree to take me on, but if he does, I want to do it.’ Gylfi’s eyes sought out Matthew but he encountered the same shuttered expression. He turned back to his mother: ‘You’ll just have to get used to the idea. Why are you always so negative?’ He stomped into his room.
Thóra sat in silence, trying to bring her emotions under control before she spoke. ‘What the hell’s he going to do on an oil rig? He can’t even fill up the car with petrol; he always gets the attendant to do it.’
Matthew shrugged. ‘I expect there are plenty of jobs for lads like him. I think it might do him good.’
Thóra glared at him. ‘You can’t be serious?’ But he clearly was. It looked as if she was the only person opposed to the plan. She would have to find some way of stopping it on her own – prevent her son from taking on a job that could well be the death of him and would, moreover, rob Orri of the stability Thóra believed she herself represented in his life. Although Gylfi and Sigga were good parents and keen to take proper care of their son, they lacked the necessary maturity to raise a child. She was brought up short by the realisation that she had become a mother at about the same age. That had worked out all right. Great, now even her own brain had turned against her.
She opened her laptop again, angry with everyone and everything. She didn’t want to waste any more energy thinking about it now, since the chances were that Gylfi would have changed his mind by morning. To distract herself, she started searching for instances of abandoned ships.
The results turned out to be quite a mixed bag.
Chapter 6
The weather had deteriorated overnight and the yacht kept plunging, at the mercy of the waves. Heavy, dark clouds obscured the sun, presaging a downpour, and the sea had changed from blue to a threatening grey, reflecting the leaden sky. The mood on board was similarly muted, the girls scowling with boredom. It appeared the voyage was not going to be the adventure they had anticipated.
‘Why are the waves white on top, Daddy?’ Bylgja sat peering out of the window in the saloon where the family were gathered.
‘Because when the sea rears up like that the water mixes with air. And that’s good for the fish because they get their oxygen from the sea.’ Ægir didn’t actually know why – he had never gone in for natural history – but thought this sounded plausible. Arithmetic and mathematical problems were more in his line; a logical discipline with no room for exceptions. ‘Careful, sweetheart. Try to choose a route where there’s something to hold on to.’ He watched his daughter walk unsteadily across the saloon towards the sofas. The yacht pitched and rolled violently; they had all lost their footing at some point that morning. Ægir guessed he himself probably looked as peaky as the rest of the family. They were trying to put a brave face on things but their stomachs revolted at every new movement.
Lára was prostrate on a sofa, her face buried in her arms. She had complained of a headache and been unable to eat much breakfast. The girls in contrast had tucked in as if they didn’t know where their next meal was coming from, and Ægir hoped this meant their nausea had passed, at least for the time being. Seeing how wan and lethargic they looked now, however, he realised he had been optimistic. This time Bylgja was not the only one to be subdued; Arna seemed little better.
‘Does my head look bigger than normal?’ Lára shifted one hand. Her head appeared its usual size; the only difference was the red mark left by her arm across her cheek.
‘No, it looks perfectly normal to me.’ Ægir breathed out sharply to combat a sudden stomach cramp.
‘I think it looks bigger.’ Arna had leant forward to get a better view. Lára groaned.
‘You know what we should do?’ Ægir slapped his knees in an attempt to summon up the courage to move. ‘We’ll feel better if we go out on deck. Remember what Thráinn said? Fresh air works wonders and I reckon it wouldn’t do us any harm to try it. Afterwards we’ll have a nap and wake up feeling like new.’ The captain had not in fact mentioned anything about lying down, but Ægir felt confident that it would help. Nothing on the sailing course had prepared him for this. At the time he had thought of asking one of the instructors about seasickness but had been reluctant to expose his lack of experience, which was ridiculous considering that most of the other people on the course were amateurs too. No experienced sailor would need a pleasure craft competency certificate. ‘Come on, then.’
Their movements were slow. Ægir had to help Lára to her feet; her eyes were glassy and flickered as if she was having trouble focusing. ‘I think I’m dying,’ she mumbled in his ear as he helped her outside. ‘Aren’t there any drugs you can take to stop this torture?’
‘I’m afraid it may be too late now. But perhaps we should take some pills before we lie down. I’d throw up if I tried to swallow one at the moment, however small they were.’ Ægir paused to undo the catch on the door to the deck. It had taken him a while to get used to the fact that all the outside doors were fastened with catches both inside and outside, but he had finally learnt not to grab the handle and jerk it in vain until he remembered. ‘Halli’s out there.’ Ægir peered through the porthole in the door at the back view of the young man who was leaning over the rail. The smoke from his cigarette scarcely rose above his head before the wind snatched it away. This was just as well, as Ægir suspected that in their present state cigarette smoke would be the final straw. He opened the door, keeping a tight grip on it.
Halli turned his head. ‘Morning.’ He had still been in bed when they themselves got up, but now he was standing there with his short white hair flattened in whorls, his eyes a little puffy with sleep.
They exchanged greetings, the girls barely audible over the roar of the wind and waves, Lára hoarse and throaty. Only Ægir managed to sound more or less his normal self. ‘We’re hoping some fresh sea air will perk us up.’
‘Well, watch out. It’s very windy.’ Pinching his cigarette stub between finger and thumb, Halli flicked it into the sea. ‘People can be blown overboard – kids especially.’ The girls were uneasy under his gaze. Ægir felt Bylgja’s small paw slip into his hand and clasp it tight.