The Fox E-Book

Sólveig Pálsdóttir

• Herausgeber: Corylus Books
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 351

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

The Fox

Leseprobe

The Fox

Sólveig Pálsdóttir

Translated by Quentin Bates

Corylus Books Ltd

Copyright © 2020 Corylus Books Ltd

The Fox is first published in English in the United Kingdom in 2020 by Corylus Books Ltd, and was originally published in Icelandic as Refurinn in 2017 by Salka.Copyright © Sólveig Pálsdóttir, 2017Translation copyright © Quentin Bates, 2020Sólveig Pálsdóttir has asserted her moral right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the written permission of the publisher.All characters and events portrayed in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or not, is purely coincidental.No artificial intelligence (AI) was used in the writing or the translation of this work. This work may not be used to train AI technologies to generate text, including, without limitation, technologies capable of generating works in the same or similar style or genre as this work. The author, translator and publisher reserve all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.Published by arrangement with Salka, Iceland.

She could see only the white flakes spinning towards her out of the darkness and for a moment it occurred to her that it was time to give up, walk out into the teeth of the storm and leave the snow to pile up and cover her. She could let herself drift into unconsciousness before they could catch up with her. She could fall asleep in the cold and dream her way to the warmth of home. She glanced into the mirror and moaned at the sight of her face, swollen, the cuts turning septic and the clumsy stitches.

‘I will,’ she whispered to herself, feeling the old determination return. ‘I will go home,’ she told herself, out loud this time as a gust of wind made the car bounce. She gripped the wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned white as she cautiously put her foot on the accelerator.

1

​February​

The man sitting next to her had a friendly face. He was fair-haired, his beard bushy but neat, and he held a paper coffee cup in one hand. His eyes went from the aircraft’s window to the back of the seat in front, and back again. It looked as if he was trying to stare the flight out, just as she was. The turbulence started ten minutes after take-off. The aircraft juddered at first, and then lurched as it lost height. Sajee snatched at the man’s hand and hot coffee spilled over him.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, letting go of his hand and transferring her grip to the seat’s steel arm rest. He took a serviette from the pocket of the seat and wiped off most of the spilled coffee.

‘Did it burn you?’ she asked, mortified. ‘I’ll wash your shirt for you.’

‘It’s all right,’ he said with a mild, beautiful smile. He was a handsome man, but there wasn’t much expression to be seen. His hair was cropped close at the sides, but thick on top and a fringe flopped over his forehead. He looked at her with curiosity. ‘You speak Icelandic?’

‘Just a little,’ she mumbled. That wasn’t true, as she had a good command of the language, but often people failed to understand her because of her mouth. Right now she hardly trusted herself to speak, not until she had solid ground under her feet again.

‘You’re travelling alone?’ he asked, leaning towards her.

She nodded cautiously, not sure that she was ready to shift even slightly in her seat.

‘What takes you to the east at this time of year?’ he asked politely, without seeming to pry.

‘Work,’ she gulped.

‘Where?’ he asked.

‘At a beauty salon.’

‘Really?’ he said with a note of surprise in his voice. ‘In Höfn?’

‘Yes.’

He gave her a warm smile.

‘It’ll be over soon. Just try to take deep breaths and relax,’ he said, patting her hand. ‘Don’t try to fight it. Go with the plane’s movement instead of tensing against it,’ he said sympathetically.

She tried to follow his advice, until the aircraft began to shudder again.

Each shovelful dispatched more snow as it formed a white wall alongside the steps leading up to the olive-green, two-storey house on Höfn’s main street. Guðgeir Fransson, former Reykjavík police chief inspector, had rented the ground floor, an apartment that was big enough for a single person, although the low ceiling could sometimes make a tall man feel as if the walls were closing in. The place was halfway to being a cellar, but Guðgeir counted himself fortunate to have got the place, as the growing flow of tourists had resulted in a shortage of housing in Höfn.

The previous summer had seen records broken as more tourists than ever before had turned up and even more were predicted for the next summer. So everyone who had an opportunity to rent out a room to tourists was busily doing just that. All the same, not many had turned up so far. The winter had been a hard one and spring was still a long way off.

That February morning it had turned unusually warm, so the snow was wet and heavy, and clearing it had become heavier work than usual. He worked as hard as he could, as if he were determined to set a speed record for clearing snow. His mental state always felt better for physical exertion. Since making the move to this quiet coastal town a day’s drive from Reykjavík, he had made an effort to get daily exercise. He swam, walked a lot and ran when the weather allowed it. His aim was to fall into an exhausted sleep every night. If he wasn’t able to fall asleep quickly, thoughts of his old life and the pain of missing it would keep him awake far into the night and he would imagine the person he loved asleep at his side, while he craved the warmth of her body beside him.

Sajee had little experience of travelling by air – or travelling at all. This was only the second time she had been anywhere. Before that had been the long journey, all the way from Sri Lanka to Iceland. Now the aircraft’s metal frame shivered and the lights above the seats flickered, people took deep breaths and small children wailed. Over the crying she heard the pilot make an announcement over the loudspeaker. She wasn’t able to make out his words, but sensed the tension around her. The aircraft dropped sharply, banked hard and climbed so quickly that the airframe shook.

She kept a tight grip on the armrest with one hand and reached with the other for the sick bag in the pocket in front of her. She vomited a slimy liquid containing the remains of the sandwich she had eaten at Reykjavík airport. She felt her companion lifting her hair with both hands away from her face while she retched into the bag. She remembered little more of the flight until the bumpy landing at Höfn’s airport. Not a sound could be heard inside the aircraft apart from the whine of the engines and the squeal of wheels on tarmac. The children had stopped crying and the adults sat stiff in their seats. The aircraft taxied slowly up to the airport building, and a round of applause broke out as it came to a halt.

She stood exhausted among the pale-faced passengers waiting for her suitcase. The man who had been next to her on the flight came over, wearing a coat zipped half-way up. The dark brown stain on his shirt front gave her a pang of guilt.

‘Can I offer you a lift? he asked.

Sajee was so taken by surprise that she declined, speaking in her own language before realising what she had done.

‘No, thank you. I’m being picked up,’ she said in Icelandic. ‘I’m so sorry about the coffee.’

The man laughed and was about to say something else when a dark-haired older woman came to stand by them.

‘That was appalling,’ she fumed. ‘The plane should never have left Reykjavík!’

Others around joined in to agree with her, arguing loudly that passengers deserved counselling after a flight like that. The man took a card from his pocket and put it in Sajee’s hand.

‘Thank you,’ she said, looking at the drawing of a house overlooking a blue sea. The door was framed within a handsome portico and flanked by deep tubs filled with flowers. He looked at her questioningly.

‘Is it difficult to read?’

Sajee nodded.

‘I run a guest house here in Höfn, called the Hostel by the Sea. If you’re stuck, come to me,’ he said in a low voice. ‘My name’s Thormóður.’

‘Thank you,’ Sajee said and backed away. She was sure there had to be a bad smell about her. There was vomit on her sweater and on the many-coloured scarf around her neck. When her large, black suitcase finally appeared, still wet with snow, she took herself to the toilets, relieved that nobody from her new workplace was there to see her. She unwound the colourful scarf, pulled off her sweater and leaned over the sink to wash as well as she was able. She brushed her raven hair and put on a clean sweater from her suitcase. By the time she felt she was presentable, the arrivals area was practically deserted. Through the window she could see where her companion on the flight was standing by a Land Rover, and the angry woman with the dark hair was still talking while the man had a look of resignation on his face. He finally got into the car and drove away, and before long there was only one car left outside the airport building​.​

Höfn was a place where heavy snow was nothing unusual, but this winter had been exceptional. It had begun to fall early in the autumn, just a few weeks after Guðgeir had been taken on by a small security company after many miserable months of searching for work. There were only two staff who took alternate shifts, and their paths almost never crossed. Guðgeir wasn’t sure that the fledgling company would even stay afloat to the end of the year, but so far wages had been paid on time. The family had been left behind in Reykjavík, in the terraced house in Fossvogur.

He would have preferred to have sold the place after the horror that had taken place there when his colleague and old friend Andrés had become the victim of the killer they had been tracking, but Guðgeir’s wife Inga hadn’t been prepared to let the place go – at least, not while things between them were so uncertain.

She told him that it was just a house and there were no memories stored in the concrete walls around them, while people had feelings and they were the ones who needed to make sense of their own emotions in the aftermath of what had happened.

For weeks he had kept to the shadows, hiding away in a room he rented out of town, and returned home when the worst of the storm had abated. They had tried to pick up where they had left off, to act as if nothing had happened, as if there had been no betrayal – the first and only time he had been unfaithful to Inga. A second’s lapse of judgement had triggered a series of horrific events, with the end of all this still not in sight.

The pain was too sharp for them to be able to talk to each other and their home life turned into a poor imitation of what it had once been. The harsh note of accusation was never far away, in both Inga’s voice and that of the two youngsters as Guðgeir was constantly wracked with guilt. An atmosphere of brooding silence had replaced the positive closeness of the family home. When there had been an offer of a job in Höfn, Inga had made it plain that he should take it. They could examine their feelings again at the end of the one-year contract. Guðgeir felt that a year was too long a time and tried to convince her, but she wouldn’t be swayed.

Now he could see that Inga had been right to hang on to the house. It made sense to wait with the big decisions until they had reached some sort of balance once more. Their existence had been in turmoil; over a short time everything had changed and lives had been lost. Sometimes he wondered if the Höfn weather was some kind of a symbol of the turbulence in his own life, as it could rarely be predicted and often turned wild. There had hardy been a full week without a blind blizzard descending, and several times avalanches had blocked the Hvalnesskriður road to the east. In between the falls of heavy snow there had been days when the temperature lifted and things began to thaw. Then there was every chance of a downpour of rain before it froze again. The streets were so slippery with ice that getting from one house to the next could be a challenge.

2

It was too cold to wait outside in the February darkness so she sat on a sofa upholstered in fake black leather. Surely the man would be here soon to collect her? A burly man with brush-cut hair was finishing some paperwork behind the reception desk.

‘That was quite a landing,’ he called out and disappeared through a door with a box in his arms. Sajee nodded her head in agreement, but the man was already gone. She was alone in the arrivals lounge and closed her eyes. A few minutes passed and she was almost asleep when she realised the man was speaking again from where he sat tapping at a computer behind the desk.

‘It was pretty bad and the passengers don’t like it, but there was never any real danger,’ he said. ‘It’s rarely like this in Höfn, so it’s understandable that some people get more upset than others.’

He laughed again and went back to his work. For a while only the whine of the wind could be heard. Sajee checked her phone. Nobody had called or sent a message, so she walked over to the window and stared out.

‘Can I help you?’ the man asked, looking up from his computer screen.

Sajee hesitated and looked down. Her long black hair fell over her face.

‘You understand Icelandic?’ the man asked, as if he had only just registered her appearance, switching to English. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Yes, I speak Icelandic,’ Sajee replied, pleased that he could understand her. Often she had to repeat each sentence, which could be exhausting. Sometimes it was easiest to say as little as possible. ‘I’ve lived here for a few years.’

She stood up and went over to the window again. There was nothing to be seen in the parking lot, so she took out her phone, but could reach neither Kristinn nor Liu. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts she went back to the sofa.

‘Could you help me get a taxi?’ she asked, tucking her hair back behind her ears. ‘There’s so much snow that I won’t be able to carry my case if nobody comes to collect me. I don’t understand what’s wrong. I’ve tried to call again and again.’

‘There’s no taxi around here. There was a couple in Höfn who ran a taxi, but they gave up in the autumn. Hopefully someone else will start up in the spring,’ the man said. ‘Where are you going?’

‘It’s a local beauty salon,’ Sajee said, repeating the words in English as the man raised an eyebrow.

‘Understood,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I’m Sveinn, by the way.’

He laughed again, but not at her. It seemed to be a habit, finishing each sentence with a short snort of laughter.

‘My name is Sajee,’ she said, trying to smile. ‘It’s sometimes difficult to speak clearly, because of this,’ she said touching her upper lip with her index finger and covering her mouth. It was an old habit she struggled to break. As a youngster she had not only covered her mouth to speak to strangers, but had let her thick hair fall over her face like a curtain.

‘Couldn’t you get that seen to?’ Sveinn asked. ‘It doesn’t look that bad. Probably wouldn’t even have known it was there if you’d had treatment right away…’ He hesitated, and barked with laughter. ‘Well… these plastic surgeons are so smart, they can do pretty much anything,’ he said, looked ready to laugh again, and stopped himself, as if realising that it was time to let the subject lie.

‘My father didn’t have much money,’ Sajee said. ‘Things in Sri Lanka are very different.’

She said no more, knowing that people frequently didn’t give themselves time to listen to anything more than the most straightforward explanation, either interrupting her or else letting their attention wander. She ran a finger under the hair tucked behind her ear and let it fall over her face. His attention went back to the desk in front of him.

‘Is that right that you’re going to a beauty salon?’ he asked after a pause, looking up at her.

‘Yes, I’m starting work there,’ Sajee assured him. ‘I’ll be doing pedicures, massages and that kind of thing. I’m good at this kind of work, and learned it all at a really good salon. Lakmal would only have the best people working at his place.’

She hesitated when she saw that Sveinn had a curious look on his face and assumed that he hadn’t understood.

‘And what’s this salon called, the one you’re going to work at?’ Sveinn asked with the usual laugh, this time a little forced.

‘It’s called Höfn Beauty,’ she said. ‘It’s on the main street.’

‘I don’t know the place. This isn’t a big town and I know pretty much everyone here.’

‘Wait a moment,’ Sajee said, fumbling for the phone. She quickly scrolled through the messages and showed him the old phone’s cracked screen.

‘I’m going to buy myself a new one. When I have been paid,’ she said apologetically, searching for the right message. ‘I think it’s this one.’

Sveinn took the phone and read the message. His brow furrowed and he squinted to read it a second time. ‘Höfn Beauty,’ he said out loud. I’ve never heard of it,’ he said and this time his laugh sounded forced. ‘Is that all?’

‘No,’ she said and shook her head. ‘There are two more messages. They’re next, look.’

A heavy finger tapped at the phone.

‘I had forgotten how difficult it was to read anything on these tiny screens,’ he muttered, elbows on the desk. He moved the phone closer to see it better. ‘Then there’s more from the same number.’

‘That’s right,’ Sajee said. ‘It says that Kristinn who owns the salon will meet me at the airport.’

‘I see that, then there’s the same text as in the other messages,‘ he said and passed the phone back to her, a serious look on his face. ’I know a few people of that name, but not anyone in this kind of business. You didn’t get any paperwork? A business card, or a leaflet like the ones over there?’

‘No, just text messages,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘But Liu, the woman who rented at the same place as me in Reykjavík, said it’s a good place to work,’ she said, lowering her voice without finishing what she had meant to say.

‘Liu?’ Sveinn asked, clearly intrigued.

‘She’s Chinese and helps me read the messages because I don’t read Icelandic. Liu helped me book the ticket for the flight here.’

‘And what’s her link to this salon?’

‘Her friend worked there but had to leave. I’m supposed to take over her work and the apartment where she lived.’

‘So that’s the way it is,’ Sveinn said, looking at her and scratching the back of his neck. ‘So you can’t read what’s here in your phone?’ he asked, hesitating as if he were anxious not to offend her.

‘No,’ Sajee replied. ‘Well, of course I read Sinhala and write to my family.’

‘Do you have a return flight booked?’ he asked, tapping at the computer, to check.

‘Look, it says here,’ he read out in a clear voice. ‘“To Sajee. Can you come and work for us right away, 27th February. Good wages and apartment. Best regards, Höfn Beauty.” I have to say the wording is very strange. Who sent you this message?’

‘Kristinn. The man who owns the salon,’ Sajee replied, twisting the ring on her index finger, a narrow gold rope. ‘Liu told her friend about me because she had a problem. Her relative in China is very ill and she had to leave. Liu asked me if I could take the job and I was so pleased. Then this message came. There are four women working there so it will be good for me because I work alone and don’t know many people. And I don’t have to write anything because the man looks after all that kind of thing.’

‘Which man?’

‘Kristinn,’ she said with a sigh.

‘Höfn isn’t a big town. You’re sure about all this?’

‘Yes. Read it yourself,’ she said shortly, irritated by his questions.

Sveinn looked through the messages again.

‘There’s a third message from the same number,’ he said, concentrating on the screen.

‘Yes,’ Sajee said eagerly. ‘The one that says Kristinn who owns the salon will pick me up at the airport.’

‘That’s right, and with the date and time,’ Sveinn said. He put the phone down, crossed his arms and looked at her with concern. ‘Then there’s the same text again, exactly the same as in the other messages. I don’t want to be unpleasant, but like I said, I know most people here and don’t know anyone who runs a beauty salon. Could you have misunderstood?’

She quickly looked down at the tiled floor. The remnants of slush ice were melting there into a brown puddle. She was tired and out of sorts after the flight. On top of that, a nervous feeling was gathering inside her.

‘But what do I know?’ he said quickly, hoping to lift her spirits. He was the type who liked people around him to be happy, always ready to help and to make every effort to solve any problem. ‘Have you tried to call the number?’

‘Yes, of course. Many times, and I’ve tried to call Liu, but her phone is out of range.’

‘Let’s give Adda Lísa a call,’ Sveinn said, turning back to the computer. ‘She’s the only beautician I know of around here.’

He punched numbers into the phone and offered it to her. She took it and after a moment’s thought passed it back to him.

‘Would you speak for me? Sometimes people don’t understand me easily.’

‘Of course,’ he said and turned away. Sajee watched in agitation as he walked back and forth as he talked.

‘Adda Lísa has never heard of this place,’ he said eventually. ‘She works by herself and shuts the doors when she takes time off,’ he said and stood for a moment in thought. ‘To tell you the truth, I don’t know what the best thing to do is. You’re welcome to have a ride into town with me later. It’s a bit of a distance,’ he said, glancing at his watch. ‘Between us we ought to be able to get to the bottom of this.’

He gave her a look that was supposed to be encouraging, but this time there was no laughter​.​​

3

Worried and frightened, she sat on the couch to wait, staring out at the snow, the empty car park and the distant mountain peaks. She tried to push aside the uncomfortable feeling that she had been duped. Sveinn strode over to her and picked up the black suitcase.

‘Shall we be on our way?’ he asked cheerfully.

She looked at him in confusion for a moment as she gathered her wits. She stood up, zipped her coat up to her neck and went out into the cold​.​

​Darkness was already falling as they drove away from the airport and flakes of snow spun past in the wind. Posts with reflectors attached to them showed the way, until the streetlights of Höfn appeared. Sveinn stopped at a few places, either making phone calls or knocking on doors, while Sajee waited in the car.

There was nobody to be found who remembered offering her work.

‘It doesn’t look promising,’ he said after the last call, turning up the heater as he noticed her shivering.

‘Could you drive me to this place?’ she asked, holding out the card that Thormóður had handed her.

‘Sure,’ Sveinn said, with relief, and his habitual bark of laughter. ‘I need to be on my way home as well, and I hope it all gets sorted out for you.’

She nodded and stared out through the windscreen. The road passed through the town, almost down to the harbour and the boats at the quays. Sveinn turned and drove along a row of low terraced houses. The hostel was at the end of the row, and it didn’t look as smart as the picture on the card Sajee had been given.

‘I’ll look after myself from here,’ she said, opening the car door. ‘Thank you for your help.’

She was about to say more, but Sveinn had already got out of the car to open the boot.

‘You don’t want me to come inside with you?’ he called to her, lugging her suitcase to the door where the flowerpots were almost buried by snow.

‘No. That’s fine, she said firmly. ‘It’ll be fine. Thank you.’

‘Sure?’

‘Yes, of course,’ she said in a clear tone, waving him goodbye.

‘All right, then. I’m sure it’ll sort itself out,’ he replied. ‘Good luck.’

Her companion from the flight stood behind an old-fashioned reception desk with the phone to his ear. Still wearing his coat, he looked busy.

‘Hello again. Are you on the way out?’ Sajee asked, stamping the snow from her shoes. ‘I’m so sorry, I’m making a mess.’

‘Don’t worry about it. Good to see you,’ he said, coming around to the front of the desk. ‘Welcome to the Hostel by the Sea.’ He bowed his head courteously and put his hands together as if he wanted to offer her some kind of Asian welcome. ‘You need a room?’

‘Yes. At least for tonight,’ she said. ‘How much does it cost?’

She was unable to hide the concern in her voice.

‘We always have the best prices,’ he said, slipping out of his coat. ‘There are no tourists at the moment, so we have plenty of empty rooms. If you clean up after yourself then I won’t charge you.’

‘I can pay,’ she said quickly. ‘I just hadn’t expected to have to find a place to stay.’

‘Really? Is there a problem?’ he asked, stroking his neatly trimmed beard.

‘I think so. It looks like there was some misunderstanding about the job,’ she said.

‘You’re in trouble, then?’

‘Yes…’ she said slowly. ‘Maybe there isn’t a job.’

‘Really? That’s a shame,’ he said with concern as he took a set of keys from a hook. ‘Who offered you this job?’

‘A man called Kristinn, but his phone’s dead. So is the woman’s, the one I was supposed to be working for. He was supposed to come and collect me. And there’s no salon here. I don’t understand this…’

Sajee fell silent and covered her mouth. She knew how ridiculous this sounded, but Thormóður didn’t appear to be surprised, but looked at her curiously.

‘So who is this woman?’

‘Her name’s Liu,’ Sajee said.

‘She’s a friend of yours?’

‘No.’

‘How did you make your way here?’ he asked, running fingers through the thick, fair hair at the top of his head.

‘A man who works at the airport drove me. I showed him the card you gave me.’

‘I see.’

He held out his hands like a priest bidding parishioners stand.

‘Maybe chance has thrown us together? I had a good feeling when I looked into your beautiful eyes on the flight today,’ he said and gave her a warm smile. ‘I hope you’ve managed to recover after that experience.’ He patted her shoulder, picked up her case and set off along the corridor. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll sort something out for you.’

She tried to think back as she lay in bed a few hours later, still wide awake. The bed was soft, the duvet was snug and the door was locked, but painful thoughts kept her from sleeping. The more she thought about it, the clearer it became that this job offer had been a trick to get her out of the apartment on Snorrabraut. Things had been tense between her and Liu who rented the other room. They shared a kitchen and a little living room, but the bathroom was out in the corridor and was shared with even more people. The place was small, and even so, Liu’s friend Jinfei had spent most evenings with them and frequently slept in the living room. There was every chance they had plotted to get rid of her so that Jinfei could have her room. Their sudden interest in Sajee’s wellbeing must have been an act. As she thought things over, it seemed almost clear-cut, but she was still unwilling to believe that Liu could be so manipulative. But what was she supposed to think after having tried all evening to call both numbers?

She sighed and burrowed deep into the duvet. How was she going to get herself out of this situation? It would be expensive to fly back to Reykjavík, and what was she supposed to do there now that she was homeless and unemployed? It wasn’t easy to find a place to stay in Reykjavík, and it would be expensive.

The longer she lay in the darkness the more obvious it all became. How could she have been so gullible? Little things came to mind that began to fit together. Sometimes the two of them would fall silent if Sajee appeared in the shared kitchen, and would sit and wait until she had left the room – even though she didn’t understand a word of Chinese. Last week she discovered that the food she had put in the freezer compartment of the fridge had been thrown in the bin, and Liu pretended not to understand when she questioned her about it. Most of the time they struggled to understand one another and often resorted to gestures as there were so many words neither of them knew in Icelandic.

Maybe Liu didn’t even know where Höfn was, just that it was a place a long way from Reykjavík. Sajee squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the duvet over her head. It was painful to be duped, but the shame in every fibre of her body was even worse​.​

4

After a bad night’s sleep and a couple more attempts to contact Liu and Kristinn, Sajee went along the gloomy corridor to the hostel’s kitchen. The man had told her the night before that since there were no guests, she could help herself. In the fridge was a yellow tub of skyr, decorated with a tempting picture of pineapple and mango. She spooned some into a bowl with sugar and some milk, and sat down to eat as she looked out of the corner window at the harbour. Men in padded overalls hurried back and forth as tubs of fish were swung ashore from the boats. Sajee sat and ate without much of an appetite, watching the activity.

The synthetic fruit flavours made her shudder and she felt a wave of homesickness.

She conjured up images of people at home in Sri Lanka with an occasional familiar face appearing from the crowd. She imagined her sister Chamundi, with tired eyes and surrounded by her brood. Sajee always felt a stab of conscience when she thought of her, and sent her money whenever she could. Then there was Janitha, who had bought himself a motorbike when he turned fourteen and a year later roared away and out of their lives. She missed them all, as well as the crowds, the smells, the noise and the heat. She wanted to call her aunt Hirumi or her sister, but couldn’t bear the thought of telling them how she had been tricked. They’d say it was her own fault andwouldn’t hide their disappointment in her. Hirumi had often told Sajee that she could just be grateful for the work she had cleaning houses, and that she should forget dreams of any other life. All the same, she couldn’t help herself. Sometimes she’d add a man and a little girl with a dot of red dye between her eyes into her dreams. There might even be a boy as well, but as the number of imaginary children grew, her sister’s tired eyes always came to mind.

5

‘Good morning.’

Thormóður’s voice was deep and cheerful. This was the manwith the gentle smile who had held her hair from her face while she had retched and thrown up during yesterday’s dreadful flight, and he was genuinely pleasant. The previous evening she had been about to go out to find something to eat when he had called to her.

‘I’ve made soup and baked some bread,’ he had said, pushing the blond fringe back from his forehead. ‘Would you like to join me?’

Over their meal she had told him the whole story and left nothing out. She showed him the text messages and told him her suspicions of what Liu and her friend had plotted. It was a relief to share all this with someone. Thormóður had listened attentively to every word, without interrupting.

‘I’m so ashamed,’ she said, staring out of the window. A few points of light sparkled in the darkness, but the harbour was deserted. ‘Now I have no work, because I told all the people I have been cleaning for that I was going away. Some of them weren’t happy that I left without much notice, and I’ve definitely lost my room in Reykjavík.’

‘Do you have anyone in Iceland who can help you?’ he asked thoughtfully. ‘Anyone at all?’

Sajee shook her head. Liu wasn’t picking up, and Hirumi was away in Sri Lanka. There was nobody else she was close to and this was a difficult situation that she wanted to solve for herself.

‘If you want something desperately, it’s easy to become blind to what’s around you,’ Thormóður said gently. ‘Those lovely dark eyes of yours shouldn’t be sad. I’ll see what I can do to help you.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, repeating her words after a moment as Thormóður didn’t appear to have heard her. He was engrossed in his phone as she went back to her soup.

‘Could I work for you?’ she asked, and he looked up. ‘I can do all sorts of things.’

‘I´m sure you can, but that wouldn’t work out and I have an idea,’ he said. ‘Something that could help us both out of a problem,’ he added cheerfully as he got to his feet. She was confused, unsure of what he meant, so she just smiled and started clearing the dishes from the table, until he stopped her.

‘Don’t worry about that.’

Guðgeir tightened his grip on the shovel and doubled his effort. He had cleared the steps and cleared around the cars on the drive, and he needed to finish the job properly. He didn’t need to be at work until midday and this would kill time until then. The door of the olive-green house swung open and his landlord, Sveinn, appeared and made his way down to the little wooden decking platform that had been built beside the house with screens sheltering it on two sides. He was a man of quick movements, bundled up in a heavy brown coat and the chequered scarf he wrapped around his short neck made him look even bulkier.

‘That’s a fantastic job you’re doing there, Guðgeir,’ Sveinn called out, with the short burst of laughter that ended most of his sentences. Guðgeir still hadn’t figured out if this was the product of some deep-seated inferiority complex, or just a habit. ‘You’re making life easy for us all. I told the old lady that if you move back to Reykjavík it would do me in completely. You’re the best tenant we’ve ever had. We’ll never even think of renting to tourists as long as you’re downstairs.’

‘Good morning, Svenni. Thanks,’ Guðgeir said, without pausing from the task he had set himself. Sveinn pulled the door shut with a bang behind him and took cautious steps along the cleared steps between snow a metre deep on each side.

‘I didn’t mean that literally,’ he said awkwardly, reaching out to place a hand on Guðgeir’s shoulder, but instead landing in in the middle of his back. ‘I mean about you going back to Reykjavík being the end of me. I didn’t mean … You know. Just a manner of speaking.’

His laughter died on his lips.

‘No problem. I don’t take it personally,’ Guðgeir said, slowing his pace. He gave Sveinn a cheerful smile to make it plain that he hadn’t given the remark a moment’s thought. But that wasn’t quite true, and he was well aware that things that were prominent in people’s minds were often the ones that clumsily broke the surface. He was also often made aware that people were uncomfortable that a man who had been a senior Reykjavík police officer was now working as a security guard in a coastal town. The higher you climb, the further you fall, people said. There was gossip everywhere and he knew all about it. Höfn had welcomed him, but there was a curiosity there as well, and he sensed the unasked questions. Guðgeir was the man who had screwed up so much; a solid reputation, a good job and a family. He had made a serious mistake and had then made an error of judgement in keeping quiet about sensitive information that concerned him at a personal level. There had been weeks when his name had been in the media practically every day, as often as not accompanied by his picture. Little was held back in the comments that had become part of any media coverage, even though it was obvious that most of them had minimal understanding of the actual events. Gradually the story faded away and disappeared from public consciousness, but the hurt done to the family remained. The children were devastated and sleeping pills helped Inga cope as she struggled with insomnia. It had been a terrible time and nothing would ever make up for the loss of his colleague’s life. Before leaving for Höfn, Guðgeir had paid regular visits to Andrés’s parents and his relationship with them had helped more than anything else to think his way through this debilitating experience and to get on with life. While Guðgeir recognised that nothing would ever again be as it had been, he was determined to regain as much as possible of his old life. He needed to rebuild trust and his family were at the top of the list. After some tough months he was becoming optimistic, and every new day strengthened his belief that fortune would again come his way.

‘Good morning, Thor… I’m sorry, I’m not sure how to say your name,’ Sajee said and laughed apologetically.

‘Don’t worry about it. There’s no need to strain the brain too early in the morning, and it looks like I’ve found you a place to work and live,’ Thormóður said with satisfaction, pushing his fringe aside. The red wine stain stretched from his hairline down to the middle of his forehead. It was broadest at the top, narrowing like the leaf of a water lily.

‘You’re serious? Where? At a salon?’

She jumped to her feet. The table lifted, the bowl was overturned and sugar spilled everywhere. Sajee was mortified. Yesterday she had spilled coffee over him, and now there were splashes of skyr all over the table. Thormóður laughed, pulled some sheets from the roll of kitchen paper and crushed them into a bunch. It was clear that he didn’t need to count the pennies. She looked away, as she still felt a twinge of discomfort at the sight of unnecessary waste.

‘Actually, no. But at a lovely place. It’s a household that needs your help. So it’s work and a place to stay all in one,’ he said, delighted at what he had found for her. ‘It’s a good household, with decent food and well paid. That’s as good as it gets, isn’t it?’

He unwound another handful of paper and finished wiping up the spilled skyr.

She struggled to say anything, swallowed and stared at him.

‘How many children are there?’ she asked, taking a deep breath.

‘No children. Why did you think that?’ he asked. ‘Don’t you like children?’

‘Yes, of course,’ she replied quickly. ‘But they can be difficult, and they can get sick sometimes. I’ve been an au-pair before and it’s really badly paid,’ she said with a stiff, forced smile. ‘But of course I need somewhere to live, and work.’

There was something charming about the way he laughed and he put an arm around her shoulders.