Thóra picked up a brightly coloured Duplo brick and handed it to the little girl who had sidled up to her. The child stared down at it as if expecting it to do something entertaining. Thóra knew she was two years old – it felt like only yesterday that her grandson, Orri, had been the same age. There was an air of sadness about the girl. ‘And how has she taken it?’ Thóra smiled warmly at Sigga Dögg, who looked surprised. ‘Is she too young to grasp what’s happened?’
‘She hasn’t a clue what’s going on. She cries for her mother every night.’ The woman shivered. ‘I don’t know what to do. How do you explain something like that to a baby? We had a visit from a child psychologist and a social worker but neither of them could give us any advice.’
‘It must be very unusual. It’s not every day that almost an entire family goes missing. Perhaps they don’t know how to deal with it.’ The child held out the brick to Thóra, having decided it was no fun, and she took it back. ‘I mean, I can’t begin to put myself in your shoes, so I can’t claim to fully understand. This is a tragedy no one should have to go through. Maybe it’s a good thing she’s too young to comprehend what’s happened.’ Thóra couldn’t tell from the grandmother’s expression whether she agreed or not. Her face looked as if it had been turned to stone; as if the corners of her mouth were doomed to turn down for the rest of her days. It was harder to interpret her husband’s state; if anything, he appeared even more destroyed. ‘Have you had any further thoughts about her future? I imagine you still want access, at the very least.’
‘Of course,’ replied Sigrídur. ‘But we still haven’t decided whether we should apply to keep her. Of course it’s what we really want, but we appreciate that there’s no guarantee we’d be granted custody, or that it would be deemed in her best interests. As I told you on the phone, the social workers came round yesterday and again this morning, and we feel as if they hold all the cards. They’ll take her away, regardless of what happens about the money, and leave us empty-handed. It doesn’t look good. They haven’t had the guts to break it to us yet but I can see it in their eyes.’ Sigrídur looked at the little girl, who was still gazing silently at Thóra. ‘Sadly, there are no uncles or aunts; Ægir was an only child and Lára had no siblings apart from that no-good brother of hers. It would be out of the question for him to adopt Sigga Dögg. And Lára’s parents are no better off than us, they say they can’t take her. Naturally we’ve been to see them and talked a great deal on the phone, but Lára’s mother is so distraught she can’t even have Sigga Dögg round to her house for a few hours. I know it’s not fair on the child but I can’t help praying every night that we’ll be allowed to keep her. I’ve handed in my notice at work, and together we could give her all our attention.’ She wiped the corners of her eyes angrily, as if furious with her own grief. ‘She’s named after me. It’ll be so unfair if she’s taken away from us. If she vanishes from our lives as well, it’ll be as if we never had any children. As if those pictures were only borrowed.’ She gestured at the framed photographs.
The child extended her hand for the brick again and Thóra laid it on the little palm. She had a sudden urge to take in the child herself, to guarantee that her grandparents would be allowed access. But it was only a momentary impulse; a decision like that couldn’t be made in a hurry, quite apart from the fact that Thóra was in no position to add a small child to her household. ‘As soon as you’re ready, I’ll look into it for you. Even if they allow Sigga Dögg to stay here for a while, you won’t have long to make up your minds. Once Ægir and Lára are declared dead, you can expect the child protection authorities to take up her case.’ She couldn’t say any more than that. While she was fairly confident that the formalities relating to the will and Ægir and Lára’s life assurance policies would eventually be dealt with in a reasonable manner, a question-mark hung over the child’s fate. In her opinion, the best solution would probably be for the child to be adopted by a nice young couple and for her grandparents to be allowed regular contact with her, though it was unlikely to be frequent enough to satisfy them. She decided to turn to more pressing matters. If they asked her to act for them in their application for custody or access, the little girl’s case would of course take precedence, but right now there were other concerns. ‘If you can face it, I’d be grateful if you could answer a few questions relating to the points I need to cover in my letter to the insurance provider.’ They both agreed, apparently relieved by the change of subject.
‘Had Ægir or Lára been diagnosed with a critical illness, either recently or before they took out their life cover? If they failed to disclose any information about their health when they took out their policies, it could invalidate them. Any recent illness could be used to cast suspicion on their deaths.’
‘They were both fighting fit. Never suffered a day’s serious illness.’ Margeir sounded as if he knew what he was talking about. ‘Neither of them smoked and they only drank in moderation,’ he added, as if that alone were enough to provide a watertight bill of health.
‘Good. Could I have the name of their GP in case I’m asked for documentary evidence?’
‘I don’t think we know which surgery they went to,’ replied Sigrídur. She looked at her husband hopefully, but neither could answer.
‘It doesn’t matter. I can probably find out from their local health centre. Let’s turn to the incident itself. Was there no suggestion at all before they set out that Ægir and his family might sail home to Iceland?’
Margeir appeared irritated but when he spoke his voice was as flat and empty of feeling as before. ‘Not a word. They would have told us. After all, we were taking care of their daughter. No, I’m positive it wasn’t planned.’
‘People often discuss possibilities, then change their minds – they could have toyed with the idea before deciding against it. But it’s good to hear they didn’t. It’ll support your claim that Ægir was forced to step in.’ Thóra was keen to remove all doubt; she didn’t like to raise the matter, but the insurance company’s potential assertion that the family had arranged their own disappearance would be undermined if it could be proved that the voyage had been a last-minute decision. Conspiracies required considerable preparation; it was highly unlikely that they could be organised at extremely short notice. Either the decision to vanish without trace had been taken before they left Iceland, or they had made no such plan. In any case, the idea was patently ridiculous. What kind of person would abscond like that and put his parents through such anguish? The same anguish that Lára’s parents must be experiencing right now. ‘Is it at all conceivable that they were considering returning by sea but forgot to tell you?’