‘What the hell do you want rubbish for?’ she asked. This had to be either a journalist or a creep of some kind. Or both: a creepy journalist.

‘You don’t need to worry about that,’ he said. ‘Just think about how much you want. Seven hundred krónur a bag? A thousand?’

She didn’t have to think too hard to know that this would break all sorts of rules and she’d be sacked on the spot if anyone found out. But at the same time, the sums ticked over in Stella’s mind. She was always so miserably skint at the end of each month, so a few extra notes wouldn’t come amiss. How much would depend on how many bags he would want.

‘Which bins are we talking about?’

‘The permanent secretary’s. And the minister’s, of course.’ 83

33

Úrsúla had already let herself out of the car by the time Gunnar had made his way around it to open the door for her. She would have to talk this over with him; she was perfectly capable of getting out of a car by herself, at least here, outside her own house. There was something deeply ridiculous about sitting still, waiting for him to open the door for her.

There was a light in the window; it warmed her heart to see the cheerful yellow glow behind the glass. Nonni had to be home, and probably the children as well, and all of them crowded into the kitchen most likely, the children playing a game or doing homework, and Nonni conjuring up something wonderful in a saucepan. She was thinking about discussing the South Coast Highway dilemma with Nonni this evening. She could always rely on him to have a sensible, grounded opinion and to keep things to himself. That at least was a feeling that hadn’t faded: that she could trust Nonni.

The evening gloom made the street greyer than ever. The row of concrete-walled houses, of which theirs was the fourth from the corner, had been coarsely rendered in shell sand, as had the whole street. On the other side, directly opposite their place, was one of the large, white-painted detached houses that broke up the greyness of the street. In bright weather, myriad grey shades could be seen in the shell sand, and it sometimes glittered if the sunshine was strong, but now, in the darkness, the houses had a heavy, dark feel to them.

She and Gunnar walked side-by-side over the slippery pavement to the steps then stopped as a police car came to a halt next to the ministerial car.

‘We roll past every couple of hours,’ said the police officer who stepped out of the patrol car. ‘So the chief told me to bring this, as I was coming this way anyway.’

He handed her a large envelope. 84

‘It’s the statement about the incident with the car for you to sign,’ he said, walking with them to the front door. ‘I can take it back with me.’