Ingimar sat opposite her at the table. He knew he could break down her defences by coming closer, by massaging her shoulders, whispering something to her to tell her that he still loved her, holding her close and stroking her hair. Then she would become docile; she’d spread her legs and would cry as she came, but in the morning she would start looking through his phone, asking what the hell he was doing on Tinder, scream and argue, swallow more pills and then settle back into a daze; and he couldn’t be bothered with that either. He was worn out, tired of everything.

‘It’s not a pretence,’ he said. ‘I’m thinking of Anton. I’d prefer it if he doesn’t have to bury his mother before he’s out of his teens.’

‘Oh, shut your face,’ Rebekka retorted, then stood up and stormed out of the kitchen.

He was about to follow and shout something up the stairs at her, when a ring at the doorbell stopped him in his tracks.

100

Anton’s arm rested around Júlía’s shoulders as they strolled away from the restaurant. The air was cool, but without a breath of wind, and the slopes of Mount Esja across the bay glowed pink in the bright evening light.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, and Anton smiled.

‘We’ll walk a little way further, then uphill and then I have something to show you. Are you cold?’ he asked and he straightened her scarf, taking care not to pull her shining black hair. The meal at the restaurant had been a success in spite of their initial awkwardness, and the waiter had done everything he could for them. Although he had been a little too cheerful for Anton’s liking, it was obvious that Júlía had enjoyed his funny asides, and the icing on the cake had been when he brought their dessert with sparkling candles, and sang ‘Happy Birthday’ for her, solo and slightly off-key. This was turning into what it was supposed be: the best evening of their lives.

They just needed to turn the next corner and the explosion site would be in front of them. Anton had to stop himself hurrying ahead and pulling her along with him. He had waited so long for this.

‘Look at all the police cars down there,’ he said when they turned the corner. ‘They’ve been there since this morning.’

‘I know,’ Júlía said. ‘Radio Edda was blown up.’

‘Now they won’t be able to keep on damaging the community by preaching hate against immigrants,’ Anton said, reaching into his pocket and handing Júlía the envelope. He could see that she wasn’t joining the dots, and her expression was even more perplexed as she tore it open. He had printed the day’s best news image from the internet on the front of the card. It showed the scorched building and the Radio Edda sign, with its Iceland for Icelanders slogan, broken on the pavement.

‘There you are,’ he said. ‘That’s your birthday present.’