95

Anton’s heart felt as if it was about to burst as he jogged breathlessly over Skothús Bridge and turned along the path that ran along the lake and curved up towards Tjarnargata. He was dressed in tracksuit trousers and a windcheater, with the headphones of his iPod dangling around his neck, so it looked as if he was genuinely out for a run for the sake of his health.

He had run straight back through Norðurmýri and across Skólavörðuholt as soon as he had been able to make himself move. For a moment it had been as if the explosion had rooted him to the spot with terror, and while the pall of smoke dissipated and tongues of flame took hold of the sides of the building, he could no longer feel his own feet.

When he’d heard the wailing sirens he’d realised it was time to go. The fire brigade used cameras to film any bystanders at house fires, and he had no wish to be on their footage. He could hardly tear himself away, though. It was like trying to run in a swimming pool, and even the resistance of the air was a barrier to break through. He had walked with difficulty up the slope and when he was on Skipholt he remembered that he needed to get rid of the remote control, so he dropped it on the ground and stamped on it a few times until all that was left was a pile of plastic fragments and a tangle of wires. He picked up the plastic rubbish and stuffed it in his pocket, then suddenly felt his energy return as he began to run, not slowing down until he was on Fríkirkjuvegur, where he stuffed the remnants of the remote in a bin and jogged on in the direction of the bridge.

When he reached his house, he gingerly opened the door. His whole plan had been delayed. He hadn’t managed to clear up the bomb-making stuff in the basement, and was later getting home than he had intended. All the same, he had managed to set the bomb off before seven, before anyone who worked there had arrived. He listened carefully and heard nothing that indicated his father was up, so he slipped off his shoes and tiptoed upstairs to his room. He lay in bed wearing his sweaty running gear and switched on his computer. The news simply stated that the Reykjavík fire service had been called out to attend a large explosion.

Although he was already hot, when he heard his father moving about he pulled the duvet up to his throat. In fact, since school had broken up he had stopped coming in to wake him in the mornings, but to be safe, Anton decided to pretend to be asleep, just in case his father should look in. But he heard him go down the stairs and run through his usual routine. First he heard the snap of the letterbox as his father took the newspaper, and then heard water running, followed by the coffee machine at work. A moment later there were footsteps on the stairs and he heard the shower running in the guest bathroom.