All the same, something strange had happened between them. He had told her about his work and his children, and she had told the story of her father and described how she felt like a pendulum, swinging between well-ordered Britain and the wild west, out here in Iceland. Those had been her words, and he had laughed, found her clever, but then she turned serious and said that she often felt that she was somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic, in limbo between two nationalities. That was when he had felt an overwhelming need to pull her close, and as they kissed, the sparks flew between them. He could have told her there and then that he loved her, but the moment was over almost immediately, because she backed away, saying she wasn’t looking for love.

Now he was furious with himself, but with no way to let off steam, he felt he might burst with rage. He was unsure how to make good what he had done. Call her and apologise? Or would 121that be inappropriate? To begin with, she had returned his kiss, placed a hand on his cheek, pressed those delightful lips to his. So was this as much up to her as to him, making no apology necessary?

He reached the corner of the building and the weeds were now gone. His fingers were sore, and he could feel the sweat on his torso, even though his ears had gone numb with cold. He stood up and stretched his back. He took off the gloves and went around the house to the garden. The shed was open, so he dropped the gloves on a shelf, shut the door and slid the bolt into place. As he turned around, he noticed a large dandelion growing from a crevice in the rock. It was in his line of sight, so he wondered how he had missed it. He reached out a hand to pull it up when he heard Lady Gúgúlú’s voice behind him.

‘You don’t really need to pull up every single flower, do you?’

Lady stood in the garage doorway, wearing just a pair of nylon tights. They reached up to her middle, where a pack of cigarettes and a lighter were tucked into the waistband.

‘It’s a dandelion,’ Daníel said. ‘I don’t want it spreading seeds over the lawn.’

‘Imagine how beautiful the lawn would be – green with yellow spots.’

‘Weeds aren’t pretty,’ Daníel said, and Lady shook her head in disgust.

‘That’s the trouble with you straight types,’ she said. ‘With your rigid definitions of beauty.’