Snowblind (7 page)

He felt at home in Siglufjördur. Except on the fifteenth of January. That date would never fade from his memory.

They say that time heals all wounds, but Leifur wasn’t sure that he believed that. The sorrow was still there. He was still angry with someone: his brother’s killer.

He, or maybe she, was probably living a good life right now, probably having moved on from it all. It may have been someone who hadn’t even known Árni and didn’t care what or whom that young man had left behind.

Árni would undoubtedly have wanted his family to carry on, absolving the reckless driver of any responsibility. That’s just the way Árni was– an innocent teenager who had always been ready to forgive.

Leifur didn’t forgive anything.

Linda Christensen said she wasn’t feeling well and went home early.

She was thankful that it had only snowed lightly the last few days. The cold was a burden, but the darkness was more difficult to cope with; she found it unnerving.

‘I’m off now,’ she called to the nurse in charge. Born in Iceland but having spent many years in Denmark, Linda spoke almost perfect
Icelandic. The Danish accent had stayed with her for a year after moving back to Iceland, but now it had gone completely, although she still felt like an outsider – more Danish than Icelandic. Maybe that would change over time.

She put on her coat and set off home.

The weather was unusually clear as Leifur strolled home.

It was bitterly cold but the walk was fairly short from the theatre to his home, passing a few colourful houses on the way. Some of them needed repair while others had been given a new lease of life by new owners. Leifur knew that to an extent some of the old houses in the centre of the town were being taken over by people from Reykjavík, who were using them as holiday homes. He wasn’t sure whether that was positive or not, but at least it brought some vitality to the town.

As Leifur turned the corner into Thormódsgata, he saw his neighbour, Linda, outside the house. Her coat was clutched tightly around her and her face was pale, her eyes tired. She seemed surprised to see him.

‘Hello,’ she said and paused. ‘Are you bunking off early from the rehearsal?’

The concern in her voice was clear, even though she did her best to hide it with a half-hearted smile.

‘No way, Úlfur would never allow that,’ Leifur answered, returning her smile. ‘We all finished a quarter of an hour ago.’

He couldn’t help noticing the confusion, anger and disappointment that flitted across her features, before she carefully rearranged them. Nodding her head, she took out her key and made her way into her flat.

Anna Einarsdóttir had missed the rehearsal the night before, as she did every Thursday, when she had an afternoon shift at the hospital. It didn’t matter much as her part, unfortunately, wasn’t a prominent one. It was convenient for the director to rehearse the scenes with Ugla and Karl on their own, every Thursday.

On Friday, Anna was at the theatre on the dot of four, as soon as her shift at the Co-op was finished. It wasn’t far to go, just across the town square, and she had hurried through the rain. The weather had been clear and calm for most of the day, but not long before four it had begun to rain – hard.

In the lobby she carefully wiped her shoes on the big mat by the door. In the sales booth Nína Arnardóttir sat with her knitting on her lap, looking up to greet Anna warmly.

‘Hi,’ Anna answered. ‘Have you been here long?’ She asked the question even though she knew the answer already; when the Dramatic Society had an opening night in preparation, this became Nína’s second home. She lived alone and seemed to relish the bustle and the tension, always the first to show up and the last to leave.

‘I’ve been here since lunchtime. Someone has to make sure it’s all ready for the stars when they make their entrance,’ Nína said with a smile.

Looking around the lobby, with its old posters hanging on walls, some dating back to the war years, Anna felt transported to a long-gone era – a time she knew only from books and films. She was twenty-four, born and raised in Siglufjördur before moving south to
Reykjavík to go to college and then straight onto university. During college she had been able to live with her mother’s sister, but when she had started her history degree at the university, she had moved into a student flat at the first opportunity. Now that her studies were over, and with her BA behind her, she decided to keep an old promise to herself and take a year off to move back home before deciding on the next step to take in life. Work wasn’t easy to come by in Siglufjördur and the only job on offer was in the Co-op, in addition to a few shifts at the hospital, which had the added advantage of giving her an opportunity to see her grandfather, who was a patient there.

A week into the New Year, she knew she would have to make decisions about the future. Not long after moving back north, she had heard that there would be a teaching position available at the primary school by the spring. It was a job that appealed to her, making it possible for her to stay in the town where she always felt most at home. Teaching jobs were hard to find in the south, with widespread cuts in the wake of the crash. She had long dreamt of being able to share the knowledge she had acquired in her studies, and teaching at a primary school would suit her perfectly. She had already let the head teacher know that she was interested, and it had obviously become common knowledge, with many expressing their delight at the idea that a young woman would be joining the school’s staff. Nothing had been signed, but most people seemed to assume that the job was hers.

When Leifur came in, shaking the rain from his hair, he saw Anna gazing at the posters, in a world of her own. From his vantage point, Anna looked almost like a model, her long, dark hair and finely chiselled nose and lips striking in profile. She turned to him.

‘Hi.’ She smiled politely, barely acknowledging his presence.

Leifur returned the greeting, noticing how she changed once
he could see her face. Suddenly she looked plain, all that glamour falling away as if it only existed in her profile. It was strange how a change in viewpoint could make this happen; she’d become a girl with two faces.

Maybe he ought to get to know her better. Not that being sociable was his strong point – and she was also a good few years younger than he was. He was sure she wouldn’t be interested in spending time with him. But then he mentally kicked himself for succumbing to his characteristic negativity.

Looking out through the open door onto the street, Leifur saw a red Mercedes pull up outside as the chairman of the Dramatic Society arrived.

‘We’d best try and make this miserable play work!’ Hrólfur said, as he stepped out of the car and appeared in the lobby, his voice louder than necessary.

‘I think it will go very well,’ Anna said politely.

‘Oh you do, do you? It’ll never be anything special, not with a script that’s no better than average and a stage full of amateurs. But we could get away with it.’

He took off his overcoat and automatically handed it to Nína without a word.

‘I recall being in Edinburgh, around ’55, I think. I was there to read from my book and went to several productions as part of an arts festival. That was theatre, I can tell you, proper theatre. Sometimes I wonder why I bother with these part-timers.’

Nína hung up Hrólfur’s overcoat, and turned as both Pálmi and Úlfur arrived. Pálmi furled his umbrella before coming inside, and Úlfur followed him, stamping the water from his boots, his face like thunder.

‘Then maybe it’s time for you to step aside,’ Úlfur said in a low voice, but one that carried.

Hrólfur turned around and looked down at the stocky figure in front of him. With his round glasses and black felt hat, Úlfur looked old and tired.

Úlfur had always reminded Leifur of an old statesman slightly out of his league. He
almost
looked the part,
almost
knew how to behave, sought respect and admiration a little
too
much. Leifur always saw him as a slightly comic figure, and the arrogance of the old diplomat did nothing but enhance his comical features, in Leifur’s view.

‘Step aside?’ said Hrólfur. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses? I’m the only one who can keep all this together. I’ll continue to sacrifice my time for this, and I have many years left. Have no fear of that, Úlfur.’

It was obvious that Úlfur had an angry retort ready; his cheeks flushed and his eyes narrowed as he snatched the felt hat from his head to reveal the bald pate beneath.

Hrólfur gave him no chance to reply, turning instead to Nína.

‘Nína, my dear. Could you possibly find my overcoat for me? I left something in the pocket.’

She handed him his coat without a word.

Leifur watched as Hrólfur took a newspaper from his coat pocket, along with something that looked suspiciously like a small bottle, before handing the coat back to Nína and walking as fast as his old legs would allow into the auditorium. This wasn’t the first time that Hrólfur had turned up to rehearsals with the little bottle. This time he was also driving, so there was every chance that he would ask Anna, who also lived on Hólavegur, to chauffeur him home that evening. Leifur had seen it all before.

Leifur gazed after the elderly gentleman as Karl and Ugla arrived at the theatre. Úlfur looked around. It was clear that he was upset, but trying his best to give the impression that nothing had happened, he clapped together his hands and forced a smile.

‘Right, let’s get to work, shall we?’

From where she stood on the stage, Anna could see Ugla and Karl deep in conversation in the middle of the auditorium. She turned to
watch Pálmi, who seemed unusually preoccupied. He was quick for an old man, she thought, but his age was evident in both his features and his movements. He was still a handsome man, in spite of his years, and she could well imagine that in his heyday he had been considered quite a catch. For some reason though, he had remained the perennial bachelor.

Now retired, he lived on his own in Siglufjördur and kept himself busy in the cold and the dark by writing.

Was this what Anna wanted for herself? Was she doing the right thing by applying for the job at the school? Putting down roots here? Would she be better off in Reykjavík? She wasn’t entirely sure that she was making the right decision, but it was the most obvious and simplest option – easier than going back to Reykjavík, where she would have to stand on her own two feet. Here she could live in the basement of her parents’ house for a few more years before finding herself a fairly cheap place to live. Partly she felt that maybe she lacked the drive some of her friends had. Living alone in Reykjavík had been fun in some ways, but she had found a life filled with responsibility harder than she had expected. She wanted to postpone all that for a while; and there was also the unspoken request from her parents not to leave.

She looked from Pálmi up to the gallery where Hrólfur and Úlfur were seated, rather imperiously taking in their view everything beneath them. Ugla and Karl were on the stage, ready for the dress rehearsal, and Leifur was undoubtedly lurking somewhere behind the set. Anna always felt a twinge of irritation when she saw Ugla, who had stolen
her
lead role, an out-of-towner who should have just been grateful to be part of the company.

Anna was pretty sure how this had come about. The old man, Hrólfur, had taken a shine to the girl who had rented his basement flat and they continued to meet for coffee long after Ugla had moved out. He was clearly holding a protective hand over her, and Anna had no doubt that this had made all the difference when it had come to casting the roles. Of course, Úlfur was the director, in name at
least, and supposedly the one to take the decisions, but Anna knew better.

The strong, decisive figure of Hrólfur was always there in the background. And everyone knew it.