Grímur sat in the chair facing him across the desk and gazed out of the window at his side, while the social worker peered at the computer screen in front of him. The view from the window took in the Kópavogur church, where a funeral was clearly in progress, the flag at half-mast and a hearse at the door. The curved arches of the building looked more imposing than usual, as a damp grey mist hugged the ground, smothering both colours and shapes so that the reality outside looked washed out, like a pale watercolour. With any luck, it would clear up and the mist would lift, as it was always pleasant to see a little brightness as a funeral came to an end, when the flag was raised again and the soul had flown away to heaven, overjoyed at being freed from Earth’s gravity.

‘You’re disabled due to mental-health problems, aren’t you?’ the social worker mumbled, peering closer at the screen.

‘Yes,’ Grímur said. ‘That’s right.’

‘And how’s your health now?’

‘I’m pretty well balanced right now.’

‘And the future?’ the social worker asked. ‘How do you see the future? Do you have any intention of making use of your aptitude for study to finish the physics course? You were the student with the highest marks at college, and excellent marks at university. You even won a prize for outstanding achievement.’

Grímur smiled patiently. It was obvious that his file stated that 126he hadn’t been far off completing his studies, as every social worker he spoke to touched on this.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ he replied, hoping that a note of regret could be heard in his voice. ‘The pressure would be too much. My mother said I read too much at college, and that’s what screwed me up.’

The social worker nodded, understanding but disappointed.

‘It says here that you run a car?’

The social worker looked up again, eyes enquiring over a pair of reading glasses. Grímur stifled a sigh that he longed to let out with a deep groan. This was an annual event, the meeting with the social worker to renew his request for assistance from the municipality in addition to his disability benefit.

‘I have a car, but it’s an old banger that’s not worth anything,’ Grímur explained slowly. ‘I hardly use it, except for fetching groceries or if there’s heavy snow in the winter. I normally take the bus.’

He couldn’t afford to answer too many questions about the car. He had to keep it, as he would need it for his plan.

‘Well, I suppose the insurance costs something,’ the social worker said thoughtfully.

‘Naturally. But the main burden is child maintenance,’ Grímur said, sending the conversation in a new direction.