She hadn’t called NDM’s contact person. She had thought it over from every angle since he had raised the subject the day before, and decided that this was a question of assessing each set of risks. Her conclusion was that it was less of a danger for Omar to register at the gym with a fake ID number than for her to call 107the movement and let them know that he was still staying with her. That could lead to one of the organisers asking awkward questions and interfering. From there it wouldn’t be long before someone would come and take Omar away from her, arguing that it was important for him to be moved around, to go to another household. There had been so much uncertainty in his life that putting him back into that routine wouldn’t help him – going back to being shuttled from one family to another every two weeks so the police couldn’t track him down and deport him.

Omar wrapped his long brown arms around her.

‘Thank you, my mother,’ he said in Icelandic.

Her heart skipped a beat, as it always did when he called her ‘mother’. She still hadn’t found a way to come to terms with no longer being one. Maybe this was the main reason she didn’t want anyone to know that Omar was still with her. She wanted to hold on to him, to keep him for herself.

108

45

Áróra woke next to Hákon with guilt gnawing at her, as if her body had dosed her thoughts with an anguish that made her want to sob. Ísafold was lost somewhere. She could be alone, terrified and in pain. And what was her sister doing – the stronger sister who had promised their father that she would look after her? She was in bed with a stranger, focused on the man’s money. That was the truth of the matter.

Lying against Hákon’s back, their urges satiated, the smell of him was suddenly strange, even uncomfortable. She slipped from the bed and stretched for her clothes. Her knickers and the skimpy black dress now seemed inadequate clothing, and she felt goose pimples appear on her bare legs as she tiptoed to the desk.