‘What do you mean?’ 73

‘I mean that he seems to have some unfinished business with me. Not with just any woman, but me in particular. I had the feeling when he jumped out of the car that there was something he was looking for.’

Nonni put the tablet aside, clearly disturbed by what she said.

‘Don’t even start thinking like that,’ he said, his voice grave.

‘Ach, well. I know,’ Úrsúla said. ‘But with the note today—’

Nonni interrupted her.

‘It’s understandable that men like that trigger an emotional response in you, what with your father and all that, but you really have to make sure that you don’t become an enabler. Don’t start to feel sorry for some nutcase who could be dangerous.’

‘I know,’ Úrsúla said. ‘I know.’

She shifted closer to him and pushed him back in the bed so she could rest her head on his shoulder and breathe in the scent of him. Contentment suffused her as she was surrounded by the warm security of his presence, and in response she instantly felt a new burst of guilt. But this was mixed with another and even more disquieting feeling, which grew the more she paid attention to it. This was her intuition that the street bum in the boot of the car knew her.

She tried to think back to the moment she had opened the boot and he had burst from it like an uncoiled spring. Had he called out her name as he leaped at her and sent her flying into the damp snow?

Had he called her Úrsúla?

74

Wednesday

29

It seemed there would be no respite. Now the whole thing had resurfaced, just as they seemed to be getting things back on track. Kiddi had raged into the kitchen, his voice still breaking, going from bass to falsetto, as he yelled that he was never going back to school, and this fucking house could go to hell. Right now, Marita was almost ready to agree with him.

She scrolled through the news on the internet and saw that tomorrow there would be interviews with Rósa, Katrín Eva’s mother, and with the newly appointed interior minister, Úrsúla Aradóttir. So this tension would continue for the rest of the week. She emptied her coffee into the sink. Since Kiddi had burst out of his bedroom and banged the laptop down on the table in front of her, it had gone cold.

She refilled her cup with hot coffee, added a dash of cream and sighed. She’d drink her coffee while she mustered the courage to call the school and let them know that Kiddi was ill. Then she’d have to call the bank and let them know she wouldn’t be coming to work. Sitting in the cashier’s booth and watching people divide into two groups was unbearable. There were those who knew nothing, or behaved as if nothing was amiss as they waited for their numbers to be called. Then there were those who ignored the numbering system and either chose a different cashier or made their way straight for her, to tell her that they were on her side; that it was all the fantasy of an attention-seeking teenage girl, and that Jónatan was a good man who would never do such a thing. 75