Hákon kissed both Agla and Elísa goodbye, but Áróra said nothing, certain that she would vomit if she tried to speak. As Hákon supported her on the way to the door, she noticed Agla checking her out with piercing eyes and a faint smile. Hákon’s arm was around her waist, keeping her upright, and she slipped her hand into his back pocket to give herself something to keep hold of. They made their way onto the pavement, holding each other tight, and walked straight into her mother and Daníel.

It wasn’t easy to tell if it was leaving the warmth of the restaurant for the cool evening air outside, or the razor-sharp dismay in her mother’s eyes that brought her to her senses. Her sight cleared, and she pushed Hákon away a little. It was an embarrassing moment, and Áróra longed to explain the whole story for everyone, but her mind wasn’t sharp enough to cope with the two worlds she’d inhabited over the past few days crashing together.

‘This is Hákon,’ she muttered. He responded courteously, offering a hand to her mother and then to Daníel, who ignored it and walked away. As he stepped past Áróra, he leaned close and whispered.168

‘Looks like you’ve changed your mind about being ready for romance.’

Áróra clasped Hákon’s hand once her mother had set off after Daníel, but, after a few steps, it was all suddenly too much: the evening with all the drinks and Ísafold on her conscience, then Hákon and Daníel at the same time, and she leaned forward to throw up into the gutter.

Fuck Iceland. Tiny, fucking Iceland.

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