Aníta hadn’t said anything to her colleagues, just asked her unwanted visitor to leave, then closed the door of her office. She would have to pull herself together so she could complete the rest of her day’s work. There was no way she was going to run away home in the middle of the day.
She simply needed to talk to somebody to stop her heart racing like this, and the only person she could discuss it with was Helgi.
But now, for the first time since they’d started seeing each other, she couldn’t get hold of him.
A spark had been ignited when he first came to see her while making inquiries for an investigation. Later, she had got in touch with him to ask if he had made any progress in the case. He had been friendly and invited her out for a coffee, which had turned into their first date. Since then, things had progressed and their relationship seemed to be going well. She was counting down the days until he got back to Reykjavík.
When Aníta stood up, her head swam and for a moment she thought she was going to faint. She should probably have stepped outside into the cold, fresh air and gone for a coffee at a nearby café to soothe her nerves, but she couldn’t summon up the courage, not yet. She needed a few more minutes to calm down.
She looked out of the window. Even through the glass she could tell how cold it was from the bundled-up figuresof the passers-by and the naked branches of the trees. On days like these she couldn’t help wishing she lived somewhere else, somewhere warmer. She had raised the subject once or twice with Helgi, asking if he would ever consider moving back to the UK, where he had done his postgraduate studies. He had reacted well to the question, as he did to everything they discussed. There was a warmth and friendliness to their interactions that she really appreciated. And she longed to feel that warmth now, down the phone from Akureyri.
She felt so alone and vulnerable.
She selected his mobile number again, but it was the same story: he didn’t pick up.
Where are you?
She was still shaking.
2012
Thursday, 1 November
Helgi managed to make a good start on Elín’s book during the half-hour or so that the plane was in the air. He had never particularly enjoyed reading while flying, but he could do it if he had to. At least it was better than reading on car journeys, which made him feel sick. The problem was that he liked to read in congenial surroundings, as that gave rise to the best associations. But travelling by air was the last place you’d look for comfort. The stench of high-octane fuel, the cramped seats, the deafening roar, none of this was a worthy background for a good book.
The novel turned out to be as engaging as he’d remembered, a strong debut from an author who had gone on to be hugely successful. He felt he’d got to know Elín a little as a result. There was an author photo on the back cover. Elín had presumably been in her forties when it was taken. She had a thin face and wavy, shoulder-length hair. Thephoto was in black and white, as if to enhance the air of mystery, but the author was smiling faintly at the reader, which detracted a little from the darkness. Helgi had seen recent pictures of Elín, and she had aged, of course, but with dignity, and her expression hadn’t changed.
He didn’t switch on his phone until he had emerged from the terminal and was on his way to the taxi rank. The city looked bleak on that first day of November, the weather raw and blustery. Back in Akureyri, winter had already arrived, but here at Reykjavík’s domestic airport on Vatnsmýri it was still autumnal, though the damp cold pierced him to the bone. At times like this he preferred the north.
Next moment, he was stopped in his tracks by the discovery that he had countless unread text messages from Aníta. As he stood there, rooted to the spot, the chill cut through his coat.
Call me.
Where are you?
Please call me.
All the messages were along the same lines. Helgi had never seen this side of Aníta before. Something had to be wrong. He called her.
‘Hi, sorry, I was on a plane. I had to fly back early because of work. Is everything all right?’
She didn’t immediately answer, then said:
‘Your girlfriend, Helgi – your ex-girlfriend, I mean…’
He caught his breath.
‘Bergthóra? What…’
Naturally Aníta was aware of Bergthóra’s existence; she’d heard stories about her and the mental abuse she’dsubjected Helgi to. He hadn’t told her about the physical violence, though, as he couldn’t face talking about it.
But Bergthóra didn’t know about Aníta.
He hadn’t made the relationship public in any way, had only told a few old friends, yet now…
‘She came to see me at work,’ Aníta said. She sounded breathless, as if she was finding it hard to force out the words.
‘What? She came to see you at work?’ he repeated, unable to believe his ears. An image rose in his mind of the woman who had done her best to ruin his life.
