Today everything was going his way: a friend on the south-west regional police force had promised that on her return to Iceland, María would get the treatment she deserved for her interference; the avocado in his hand was just right; and in front of him was a woman who ignited something inside him, so waiting in the queue for the checkout was no hardship. She wore a leather jacket and a pair of skin-tight leggings that hid nothing. He held his phone in front of him so it was not too obvious that he was checking her out. Occasionally he would allow himself to ogle women, but it was rare for him to start a conversation or make a move to pick them up. Maybe he was getting old. Any thoughts of sex were tinged with sorrow, and sometimes he felt that a moment’s delight was hardly worth the effort. As she filled her bags at the checkout, the pretty woman’s jacket flapped open to reveal a low-cut top offering him a glimpse of her cleavage.

The woman looked up and caught him staring at her, but instead of taking offence she smiled briefly, and he smiled back, apologetically, placing his basket on the counter and emptying its contents onto the conveyor. Once the woman had paid and had finished packing her purchases into her shopping bag, she sent him another smile, as if in farewell. Ingimar felt warm inside. The smile told him that if he had made the effort, he could have got somewhere with this woman.

‘There’s an offer on avocados,’ the lad behind the till said. ‘Buy one, get one free.’

Ingimar grinned.

‘Great,’ he said, and jogged back into the shop to pick up a second avocado from the fruit stand. He didn’t need a second one, but he took it as a symbol of how life was treating him today. He was certain that this evening, when he had blitzed it in the blender with tomatoes and spices, and put it on the table with a bowl of nachos, it would taste wonderful.

Ingimar dropped the bag on the back seat of his 4×4 and got in. It was unfortunate that he wouldn’t be able to see the expression on María’s face tomorrow, when she found the police waiting for her. That was something he would have enjoyed. Maybe he would be able to get his friend to take a picture of her meeting the reception committee. He would undoubtedly do that for him. Ingimar counted himself fortunate that he had many good friends and generally didn’t find it hard to get people to do him a favour.

He started the car and glanced in the rear-view mirror, but it had been moved slightly, so instead of seeing the view behind the car, he found himself looking into his own face. The second he looked into his own eyes without intending to, the warm feeling of luck and happiness vanished, and he could no longer face the thought of going home. Rebekka would be waiting for him, either drunk or asleep, doped up with pills, along with an unhappy and hungry Anton, who could not be pleased, it seemed. A snarling revulsion at the thought of home welled up inside him.