Marita went back to Facebook and looked up the minister’s profile. She seemed to have trained as an engineer and had been involved in aid work. She had clearly changed her profile picture the day she had taken over as minister. The previous picture had shown her with a glass of red wine in her hand, obviously at some party, while the new picture was something more dignified, almost a passport photo with a blank background. Marita clicked on the picture and examined the minister’s face. If this woman had any sense, she would see soon enough that the accusations against Jónatan were based on lies, and that the wretched girl and her mother were both crazy. Marita saw that the minister’s email address was displayed on her Facebook page, and wondered whether she should write to her.

36

Gunnar stared at the empty text box and wondered how to begin the message he had already addressed to [email protected]. He needed to be courteous, but firm. His intention was to make this person aware that Úrsúla was not an unaccompanied, defenceless woman, that a team of men was in place to protect her. Guys like this, who loved to terrify women, only had respect for other men.

Good evening, he began. My name is Gunnar and I am Interior Minister Úrsúla Aradóttir’s bodyguard. The permanent secretary and the minister’s assistant drew your message to my attention and requested that I reply to you.

Of course, this was completely untrue. To begin with, his role wasn’t that of a bodyguard but primarily her driver, and he hadn’t discussed replying to the message with anyone, but he wasn’t going to let this thug know that his email had reached Úrsúla, or give him the pleasure of knowing that it had done its job by causing her discomfort and fear.

It is clear from your words that you are struggling with a great 90deal of anger that appears to have little to do with the interior minister. I would urge you to find other outlets for your feelings and request that you do not contact the minister again.

With kind regards,

Gunnar

He hit send and heard the whoosh as the message set off on its electronic journey to its anonymous recipient. Gunnar lay on the floor and worked on his abdominal stretches. He did thirty crunches, rested for a while, and did another thirty. He was able to empty his mind while he exercised and focused his thoughts on counting the crunches. As he felt the muscles in his belly begin to tire, he slowed down, making the same movements, but as slowly as he could, to make them even harder. His muscles howled with the effort. No pain, no gain, he thought, as he dug deeper.

‘What are you doing up so late?’ Íris asked sleepily as she came out of the bedroom. They had fallen asleep after they’d made love, but he had woken after a few minutes and had not been able to get back to sleep.