The book could wait.
Sometimes it was fine to break with habit and do nothing at all.
He settled down more comfortably on the sofa and closed his eyes, laying the paperback on the table.
He was tired from the events of the day, from his busy week. He would see Aníta again tomorrow.
2012
Sunday, 4 November
Aníta was getting very used to spending her evenings with Helgi at ‘the red house’, as she called the old corrugated-iron-clad house on Sudurgata. But now she was expecting friends and the plan was to have a fun evening at her place, which was in a low-rise block of flats in the modern suburb of Grafarvogur. The area had been developed in the late 1980s, initially focusing mostly on private houses, rather than flats, although that had changed as the area expanded.
Aníta had lived in Grafarvogur since she was a teenager, first with her parents, then in two different places after she flew the nest, though never far from her family. Now, however, her relationship with Helgi was going so well that the time was approaching when she would be able to cut the umbilical cord and move away. They hadn’t discussed the possibility directly yet, proceeding cautiously in everything, but of course it was obvious that the nextstep would be to buy a flat together. He rented his place but often talked about wanting to get on the property ladder before house prices skyrocketed beyond his means. In general, there was nothing they couldn’t discuss, and they got on incredibly well, even though she didn’t share his enthusiasm for crime fiction. It seemed there was only one subject that was out of bounds – his relationship with Bergthóra. It was plain from everything he said or omitted to say that it had ended badly, but he seemed to go out of his way to avoid discussing any details. Perhaps he just needed more time, more distance. After all, Aníta had to admit to herself that she didn’t talk much about her exes either. Her longest relationship to date had been with a young man who had been so immersed in working for the Independence Party that he had talked about almost nothing but politics. When he had hinted that he was going to stand as a candidate in the next election, she had realized that they didn’t have a future together. She had absolutely no interest in being married to a politician. She thought wryly that no doubt she would have said the same of policemen in the past, but, with his nose permanently buried in a book and his reluctance to talk about his job after hours, Helgi wasn’t exactly your typical police officer. She often had to prompt him with questions before he would tell her what he had been up to during the day. Yet she got the impression that he was pretty competent.
Yes, she was missing him, though a bit of distance was healthy. She had told him that for once she was going to sleep at her place, but it occurred to her now that shecould simply change her mind and take a taxi over to his flat later, after the girls had gone home. She wasn’t going to give in to the urge, though, as it was also important to preserve her independence and stick to her plans.
She had cooked a spicy Moroccan chicken tagine for the girls and bought ingredients for a variety of cocktails. It should be a good evening.
Aníta had half an hour or so to relax before the fun began, so she switched on the TV and put a DVD in the player, a film she knew Helgi wouldn’t be interested in.
It was easy to picture the future, the two of them together, finding a flat, starting a family. He sometimes whispered to her that he wanted to go back to university, study literature alongside his job, write articles and essays about the crime novels he loved so much. And of course she would support him in that.
She had just made herself comfortable on the sofa when the doorbell rang downstairs.
Few things irritated her more than guests who turned up early; in this instance, way too early. It was probably Rósa; she had no sense of time, though in her case this usually meant she arrived late.
Aníta went over to the doorphone, in no particular hurry.
‘Hello?’
‘Aníta?’
‘Who’s that? Is it Rósa?’ She didn’t recognize the voice, but then the sound quality over the intercom left a lot to be desired.
‘It’s Bergthóra, Helgi’s partner.’
For a moment everything went black. Aníta knew she hadn’t misheard, though she wished she had.
‘What? Who?’ she asked, instead of hanging up.
She could feel her heart rate shooting up, even though there was plenty of distance between them: Bergthóra was standing outside in the cold, while Aníta was safe in her flat. She wasn’t actually afraid of this woman, she told herself, but this harassment had to stop.
‘Bergthóra, I said. We met at your office. I just wanted a quick word with you, if you could maybe let me in—’
‘Certainly not. I’ve got visitors. Will you please stop—’
‘I thought you might want to know—’ Bergthóra said, breaking off tantalizingly.
‘Know what?’ Aníta asked, though her instincts were warning her not to.
‘About Helgi. He came to see me yesterday.’
‘No, he didn’t.’
‘Yes, he did. He came by – to tell me off. He said I should leave you alone. We ended up having a row, like in the old days, and you can probably imagine how it ended.’
‘How what ended? You’re just trying to mess with my head, but I think you should go now and—’
