There were food smells everywhere in the city centre. The first diners were taking their places at restaurant tables, and Áróra identified the aromas as she breathed them in: langoustine soup, grilled lamb, fried fish. She picked up snatches of various languages as she walked along the street; a large proportion of those out and about were clearly tourists, in their bright windproofs and comfortable walking boots, looking around as they took in their surroundings.

She had always found Reykjavík ugly, a municipal planning disaster with concrete cubes dropped in among the low-slung timber houses that seemed to shrink as more blocks were built around them. But she had to admit that the surroundings were beautiful. Mount Esja across the bay was always somewhere in the background, changing colour depending on the weather and the cloud cover, so it always looked fresh and never failed to draw the eye.

She took a deep breath and stepped inside the restaurant where they had arranged to meet. It was a trendy place inside a large, old wooden building with two floors. There were people at every table and there was a buzz of conversation that blended with the low murmur of jazz she recognised from her childhood – Gling-Gló by Guðmundur Ingólfsson’s trio and Björk. This had been one of her father’s favourite albums. The waiter took her coat and showed her to the table, where Hákon got to his feet, hugged her and kissed both cheeks.

Now she couldn’t understand why she had been so nervous 104earlier and had wanted to call off her date with Hákon. How had she forgotten this beautiful smile and toned physique? She’d been in some kind of emotional confusion over the cop-not-uncle she would be going out with tomorrow night. Hákon was good-looking and pleasant, and she would enjoy talking to him and getting him to talk about himself. She was curious to know what account he would give of himself, and how he had managed to get back on his feet in business. It would be worth hearing his side of the story. It would also be interesting to hear how he explained such a rapid turnaround, and to find out how this would tally with the information she would extract from his computer later on. As Áróra considered all this, her hand strayed instinctively to her bag, which contained the flash drive in a little pocket at the front.

105

43

I’m spooning baby food into Ísafold, feeding her with a teaspoon. The wires that hold her jaw together don’t allow her to open her mouth.

Björn is abroad somewhere, and I’ve come to Iceland to look after her. I keep on asking what happened. Fell against a radiator, she says from between her clenched teeth. I’m so clumsy.