107

Úrsúla had waited in front of the television for the last ten minutes, as if she could will time to move faster to six-thirty and the news. She had been on edge the whole afternoon, since the announcement of the discovery of the body in the harbour on the three o’clock bulletin. She would have liked to have had Nonni by her side – she missed his composure and comfort – but she was also relieved that he had made sandwiches and taken the children up to the Blue Mountains to go skiing. Up there they would be away from all the media and away from their mother’s tension. This was the first time since Thursday that she had been alone in the house. Gunnar had gone home, as the twenty-four-hour guard 238duty had been lifted because the stalker who had sent the emails had been found. It turned out to have been a youngster – the son of the police officer in Selfoss who had been charged with raping a young girl.

Úrsúla glanced yet again at her watch and turned up the television, even though the adverts were still running. She wasn’t able to stay still, so she stood behind the sofa where Kátur had curled up to sleep, her hands on the back, her fingers squeezing the upholstery to ease the tension. Finally, a chubby female newsreader in a pastel outfit began by reading out the main headlines.

‘The man found dead in Reykjavík harbour last night was Pétur Pétursson who was homeless. His death is believed to be suspicious. The police are searching for a white Suzuki Swift that was seen on CCTV in the harbour area.’

The newsreader continued with the headlines, something about greenhouse-gas emissions and the Kyoto Protocol, but Úrsúla dropped onto the sofa and stared at the screen without seeing it, and listened without hearing. She was stiff with shock and her nervous energy had vanished. She felt drained, unable to move. At last she took her phone from her trouser pocket.

‘I’m on the way back to your place, toothbrush and everything,’ Gunnar said as he answered.

‘What?’

‘Yes, I’m staying with you until Boris has organised security in the street. There’s a call out for a protest to be held outside your house tonight.’

Úrsúla felt herself floating on the fringes of consciousness, her mind locked on to the news bulletin playing out in the background.

‘What?’

‘I’ll send you a link to the Facebook group that you can take a look at. I’ll be with you in ten minutes.’

His voice sounded flustered, and he ended the call before she was able to answer. She was relieved that he would be there shortly. 239That would ease the loneliness and the longing for the security of Nonni’s presence. Her phone pinged to announce Gunnar’s message. She opened it and tapped on the web link.

It took her to a Facebook group announcing a protest outside her house, with people encouraged to take part and demand her resignation as minister. More than thirty people had confirmed that they would join in, and some had left comments on the page. One of the comments included a picture. It had clearly been taken in the dark, but the ministry car could be easily made out, with her in the front seat: