‘But what about the bad man?’
‘Perhaps there is no bad man. Perhaps it was all a mistake and Daddy’s forgotten about us and is talking to Thráinn and Halli. Remember how tired he was? I bet he’s fallen asleep. I’m so fed up with whispering. And maybe we’ll use up all the air in the cupboard and suffocate.’ It grew suddenly brighter and Bylgja put her hands over her eyes: Arna had opened the door. They scrambled out and after a moment the light stopped hurting their eyes.
‘What shall we do?’ whispered Arna. She glanced around, her gaze lingering on the signs of their father. A shirt on the chair by the dressing table, the briefcase on the floor and the book he had been reading at the beginning of the voyage, which was lying face down on the bedside table. She didn’t want to think about whether he would ever finish it. Even the Coke can he had been drinking from produced a peculiar sensation in her tummy, a sharp pain that travelled upwards as if aiming for her heart. ‘Let’s go. Let’s go out on deck.’
‘Do you think it would be all right?’ Bylgja suddenly regretted being responsible for making them leave the cramped interior of the wardrobe. They had been safe in there. For the moment, at least.
‘Yes. I think so. Remember, we went out on deck with Daddy when he was tired and it was all right then. I don’t think he’d tell us off.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. We can always come back down here if we want to.’ Arna went over to their father’s bedside table, picked up his paperback, folded over the corner of the page and closed it. ‘I’m going to take Daddy his book.’
‘If we find him.’ Bylgja squinted. She thought about making another attempt to locate her glasses but decided against it. It wasn’t worth it. She didn’t want to see anything on this horrible ship, so she’d be better off without them. She envied Arna for thinking of taking the book and looked around for something she could bring along. ‘I’ll take his briefcase. He’ll be glad to have that too.’
They both yawned and smiled at each other. ‘Let’s go,’ said Arna.
They tried their best to move quietly after leaving the cabin but their constant shushing of each other made more noise than their light footsteps along the corridor and up the stairs, or the sound of their opening and closing the doors. They were completely unprepared for the blast of wind that struck them as they emerged into the open air; Arna dropped the book and it fluttered along the deck, driven by the gale, until it halted by the rail. Arna ran after it, but the book lifted into the air and vanished into the darkness. There was a faint splash.
Arna ran up and peered over the rail. As Bylgja followed, it dawned on her that the yacht was stationary. It was wallowing in the waves but not making any progress. She slowed down as she considered this, so arrived after Arna at the rail. ‘Can you see the book?’ She squinted into the night but could see nothing. The boat’s lights did not reach far enough. Arna did not reply. She was standing rigidly, pointing at something that Bylgja couldn’t make out. ‘What? What is it?’
‘Daddy!’ Arna’s voice was filled with utter despair but the wind whipped her shriek out to sea.
Bylgja spotted a long, black shadow floating close to the side of the ship. Grateful that she wasn’t wearing her glasses, she recoiled from the rail before she could distinguish any details. ‘I don’t want to see him,’ she said, turning away. Arna copied her example and they stood side by side, their backs to the horrific sight floating on the surface of the sea below. Their world had fallen apart and there was nothing left. No one would miss the book and there was no one left to take care of them now. They had no father or mother and nothing would ever be good again. Neither of them were aware of how long they stood there contemplating their wretched fate. They no longer felt the cold, and the wind that tore at their hair did not bother them.
When Arna eventually spoke, Bylgja wished more than anything to be left in peace. It would be best if they could stand there until they caught their death of cold.
‘Bylgja, do you remember Tom and Jerry?’ Arna’s voice sounded normal, although tears were pouring down her cheeks.
‘Yes.’ Bylgja couldn’t move, couldn’t weep, couldn’t scream or do anything but answer mechanically. It was as if she were no longer herself but a different person.
‘They fell in the sea, then went up to heaven. Perhaps we should do that too. Become angels in white dresses with wings, and see Mummy and Daddy again.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘I don’t want that bad man to kill us, Bylgja. If we jump in the sea we’ll escape and be with them. Mummy must be there too somewhere.’
‘Yes.’ Bylgja felt Arna take her hand and lead her to the rail. She was still carrying her father’s briefcase but now she raised it aloft and threw it over the side. The case opened on the way down and countless pieces of green paper flew up in the air over their heads like a flock of birds.
They clambered onto the rail and perched there briefly. ‘Are you cold?’ Arna took her sister’s hand again.
‘No. You?’
‘No. Just tired. I want to be with Mummy and Daddy.’
‘Me too. I don’t want to stay here any longer.’
Their eyes met and they smiled.
Also by Yrsa Sigurdardóttir
Last Rituals
My Soul to Take
Ashes to Dust
The Day is Dark
I Remember You
Someone to Watch Over Me
About the Author
Yrsa Sigurdardóttir works as a civil engineer in Reykjavik. The Silence of the Sea is her seventh adult novel.
Copyright
First published in Great Britain in 2014 by Hodder & Stoughton
An Hachette UK company
Copyright © Yrsa Sigurdardóttir 2014
English translation © Victoria Cribb 2014
The right of Yrsa Sigurdardóttir to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
eBook ISBN 978 1 444 73447 8
Trade paperback ISBN 978 1 444 73446 1
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