‘You can dream here,’ the newsreader said. ‘But that’s pretty much all I get to do.’

‘I saw you chatting to someone on the sofa just now; that looked promising,’ Stella said, still stroking the buttons of her coat. They really were so smooth under her fingers.

‘That only lasted until something better came along,’ the newsreader said, placing her feet tentatively on the slippery steps, the bitterness plain in her voice. ‘Bye,’ she said, walking away without looking back.

Stella watched her go, wearing a thick coat and her scarf over her head, but in open-toed shoes so that she walked awkwardly and her feet had to be wet from the snow underfoot. There was something about the shoes that triggered a stab of sympathy in Stella. The newsreader had obviously come to the party in heels to look good, or at least to try and look her best, with her hair stiff and immaculate, as if she were in front of the cameras, apparently unaware that the style made her look twenty years older.

‘Hey!’ she called after her. ‘Do you want to get something to eat?’

The newsreader stopped in her tracks and turned.

‘Where?’ she asked and Stella shrugged.

‘Anywhere. I don’t know if it’s morning or evening, or what’s open. Sushi or Hlölli, or whatever’s around. I’m just starving all of a sudden.’

The newsreader checked her watch and coughed.

‘It’s seven in the evening. Saturday evening.’

‘Wow. These parties always confuse me. I could have sworn it was Saturday morning.’

The newsreader smiled. 28

‘How about we go to my place. The fridge is full of stuff and I can throw something together quickly. I live there.’

She pointed to the grey tower that overshadowed the whole district, and Stella stared at it. She hadn’t noticed before what a handsome building it was. There was something about the stone of the walls with its shades of grey that reminded her of velvet or silk, or anything other than grey stone. She wanted to say something about the contrast of soft and hard, silk and stone, but the words evaded her.

‘I’m not going to sleep with you,’ she said instead, and the newsreader laughed in embarrassment.

‘I know that,’ she said. ‘I’m only offering fried eggs and a chat.’

29

Sunday

11

‘Hell … I was going to ask you to clean the car out for me, and I forgot all about it,’ Úrsúla said as Nonni appeared, handing her a bowl of skyr as she sat at the computer.

‘I can’t be bothered to do it today,’ he said, massaging her shoulders. ‘Why don’t you take my car tomorrow?’

‘No, it’s all right. I’ll survive one more day. There’s something in the back that’s gone off, so it smells like a rubbish tip. Could you do it tomorrow evening?’

‘I promise,’ Nonni said as he kissed her temple.

She leaned against him, wishing the moment could stretch out so she could make the most of his lips against her skin. He stood up straight and the bad vibe grew inside her again, the feeling that he was too good for her, even if he wasn’t able to see it for himself.