Why Did You Lie? (8 page)

Heida breaks the momentary silence. ‘I work for the firm that imports the radio equipment.’ She wraps up the rest of her sandwich, which she has barely touched, and puts it in her pocket.

‘Have you been there long?’ Tóti wriggles over to the lighthouse and, following Ívar’s example, leans against the wall and closes his eyes.

‘Years.’ Heida clearly isn’t going to volunteer any more information.

‘Strange I haven’t run into you before,’ Ívar comments. ‘I usually go along when they have to do maintenance on the transmitters.’ He picks a yellow stalk of grass and puts it in his mouth. It waggles up and down as he chews it.

‘I’ve always been based in the office.’ Heida fiddles with the ring-pull from her can, then crushes it in her small, neat hand.

‘You must know Konni then?’ Ívar spits out the grass stem and it blows back in his face.

‘I’m his daughter.’ Heida stares at Ívar’s closed eyes but he merely nods. It seems to Helgi that Tóti gives more of a reaction; he twitches, but that might just be because he’s falling asleep.

They sit like this for a while, Ívar and Tóti dozing, Heida and Helgi chatting about the weather and the gulls. It becomes increasingly difficult to keep the stilted conversation going and by the time they finally abandon the attempt Helgi is scarlet in the face. He’s never been particularly socially adroit and with women the small ration of conversational ability God gave him tends to desert him completely.

Heida stares in the direction of the helipad, squinting now and then, as if trying to discern something in the dense cloud. Helgi follows her gaze but can’t see anything. ‘Is there something up there?’ He can’t imagine it’d be anything but a gull.

‘No.’ Heida lowers her gaze. ‘It’s just so creepy somehow. You can’t see, and yet you can. If it was just solid grey it would be different, but it’s always shifting, so you keep thinking something’s about to appear.’

Helgi stares into the fog and immediately understands what she means. The constant movement of the tiny drops of moisture makes it impossible to focus on one spot. ‘How long can fog last out here?’

‘No idea. Perhaps they know.’ She jerks her chin towards the dozing workmen. ‘It wasn’t forecast, but then I’ve heard that weather models can’t cope with fog. I suppose it’s completely unpredictable.’ She no sooner stops speaking than the fog lifts slightly. Instead of smiling at the coincidence, Heida shudders and there is a remote look in her eyes. ‘I’ve always found fog really creepy. It disorientates you and makes the world seem different. Perhaps it’s because fog doesn’t follow any rules. The truth gets lost. Do you know what I mean?’

Helgi looks into Heida’s glowing dark eyes and doesn’t know how to answer. The truth has never seemed particularly clear to him, with or without fog. Experience has taught him that most things in life are too complicated for easy distinctions between right and wrong. But he doesn’t feel up to trying to expound his personal philosophy in the present circumstances. It’s not especially profound, after all. It’s based on the idea that life is tough and the sooner you accept the fact, the less painful your failures will be. ‘Yes, I think so.’ The spark in Heida’s eyes is extinguished and Helgi realises he has disappointed her, though he can’t work out how.

She turns and strains her eyes south to where the ocean is hidden behind a grey curtain. ‘My uncle used to work on a fisheries development project in Africa and they told him there that if fog stays around for a long time it signifies bad luck. If it lasts more than half a day it means that some important person will die, presumably the village headman.’

‘Which of us fits the description – if the fog sticks around that long?’

‘Ívar, I suppose.’ Heida glances at the man sleeping propped against the wall. His jaw is slack, his mouth half open. ‘He’s the oldest, anyway.’ She turns back to Helgi. ‘And the bossiest.’

Although Ívar is plainly sound asleep, Helgi is not quite so sure about Tóti. His eyes are closed but his alert expression suggests that he has not quite dropped off. Helgi would love to agree with Heida and ask if she too finds the guy sinister, but changes the subject in case Tóti’s eavesdropping. ‘How do you suppose superstitions like that come about?’

Heida shrugs. ‘Maybe a headman died after a fog and people connected the two.’

‘People die every day, headmen included. You’d have thought it would take more than that to convert an incident into a full-blown superstition.’

‘Are you implying that it might have some basis in reality? That fog is an evil omen?’ Heida smiles scornfully. It doesn’t suit her. But the expression vanishes when he starts speaking again.

‘No, of course not. But perhaps it happened more than once in short succession. It must take quite a lot for a whole people to adopt something like that as a superstition.’ Copying Ívar, Helgi puts a blade of dry grass in his mouth and waggles it to and fro. It’s ludicrous to think this African belief might have any substance to it. But irrational as it is, the longer he sits there, the more he can’t help wondering. The cloud seems to be thickening, which only enhances the effect.

‘He also said they believed the dead would appear in fog if they had a score to settle with the living. How do you explain that?’ Heida sounds as if she actually wants to hear his opinion.

‘I can’t. Ghost stories rarely have any rational explanation. Maybe that’s why they’re so tenacious.’ Helgi peers in the direction of the helipad in the hope that visibility is improving after all. An icy chill runs down his spine when he spots a dark shadow where the platform ought to be. He squints to get a better view. It must be a rock he hasn’t noticed before. That’s odd though, because it appears to be quite a large boulder or pillar of stone, roughly the size of a human figure. The fog closes in again and the shadow disappears. Yet Helgi’s eyes remain fixed on the spot and when a light gust of wind sweeps the cloud away, he can see nothing but the square helipad and irregular crag beyond. Nothing that can explain the shape he thought he saw.

Realising how fast he’s breathing, Helgi concentrates on trying to calm down. He has been warned that Stóridrangur can have a bad effect on the inexperienced. People can lose their heads and if that happens the only solution is to sit down and focus on taking deep, even breaths. At the time he was told this he’d smiled at the idea, but now he is far from amused. The simple advice helps. Breathe in. Breathe out. What he thought he saw was all in his head. Breathe in. Breathe out. Slowly.

Then he looks at Heida. She is staring fixedly at the same spot, apparently equally shaken. Her eyes meet his and she says in a low, breathless voice: ‘What the hell was that?’

Helgi can’t answer her, any more than he can explain what he’s doing out here, balancing precariously on a pillar of rock in the middle of the ocean. He shouldn’t be here. There’s no longer any doubt in his mind: the fog has come bearing gifts. But surely there can’t be any truth in what Heida said about the dead having a score to settle with the living? If there is, there aren’t many of them to choose from.

Chapter 6

23 January 2014

It was midday when Nói finally awoke under the baking-hot duvet. He shook off his drowsiness and the remnants of a dream involving a dark night at the chalet. He had no wish to recall the details. Reaching for Vala, he encountered thin air, and vaguely remembered an unappealing invitation to get up and help her unpack their cases. The hopelessly clashing sheets, which they hadn’t used since they’d first lived together in student accommodation, irritated his skin when he moved. He couldn’t remember noticing anything wrong with them in those days and reflected ruefully that once one had become used to smooth, expensive, high-thread-count cotton, there was no turning back.

He made a mental note to change the sheets before evening. Poverty held no charms for him; it was too reminiscent of the relentless struggle and privations of his childhood. It had motivated Nói to pull out all the stops from his very first day at school, despite the lack of support from home. Fortunately it had been instilled in him as a small boy that those who were diligent in their studies went on to get good jobs and become rich, so he had done everything in his power to avoid ending up a feckless alcoholic like his mother. Now that he had realised his dreams there was no question of looking back through rose-tinted glasses. The sheets were going in the dustbin and he wouldn’t listen to any talk from Vala of using them for rags.

The face that confronted him in the large mirror of their en-suite bathroom was puffy from sleep, with pronounced bags under the eyes. There was a rasp of stubble as he rubbed his cheek. He splashed himself with cold water, glad to be free of the chlorine smell you got in America. He would have liked to let the pure, icy stream play over his face and rinse away the tiredness but decided to jump in the shower instead. As he washed, the longing for a mug of strong coffee became so insistent that he could almost taste it on his lips in the cloud of steam. He was fed up with knocking back American dishwater from giant cardboard cups. His relief at being home was suddenly so overwhelming that he wanted to emit a holler of triumph like a hunter who has brought down a lion. He felt an urge to run downstairs and put the family’s passports through the shredder so they would never be tempted to go abroad again. The sound of movement in the bathroom interrupted his domestic bliss and spitting out soap bubbles he called out to Vala.

No answer.

‘Vala, is that you?’

There was no sound but a furtive rustle. Nói turned off the tap. ‘Tumi?’ No response. The rustling had stopped. Foam dripped down his forehead, stinging his eyes, and he turned on the water again. It must have been Púki, though usually the cat avoided the bathroom like the plague if someone was in the shower.

When he stepped out of the cubicle, the cat was sitting outside the bathroom door, yellow eyes glaring, following his every movement. Although Púki had never bitten or scratched, Nói could have sworn that he was preparing to pounce and sink his claws into him. Anyone would have thought the cat had read his thoughts about lion hunting and wanted to take revenge for his distant kin in Africa. Nói closed the door and thought he heard Púki hiss. The cat was nowhere to be seen when he emerged shortly afterwards.

Down in the kitchen he was met by the aroma of coffee from the brimming jug and was again filled with a heart-warming sense of being back where he belonged. He wandered out in search of Vala, still in his dressing gown; he was in no hurry and savoured the sensation as the caffeine began to take effect. By the time he found her cramming dirty clothes into the washing machine in the utility room, he was feeling restored. He kissed her on the nape of her neck, wishing he could tempt her back into bed, but didn’t speak the thought aloud.

‘Afternoon, sleepyhead.’ Vala smiled at him. Her teeth were strikingly white in her attractively tanned face. The Florida sun had obliterated all trace of Icelandic winter pastiness. She was wearing an old, threadbare top that she’d owned for donkey’s years and only brought out for doing the household chores. It was like a red flag: if Vala appeared in this shirt, both father and son knew to do as they were told. Yet in spite of this Nói liked the top; it had worn so thin that you could see the outline of her pert breasts, and the baggy neck revealed her sharp collarbones. Ever since he had first set eyes on her, Vala had been slim, but because she worked as a personal trainer he had no idea if she was naturally slender or owed her figure to constant exercise. It used to fill him with pride when they were in company to see that she was in better shape than all the other women her age and most of the younger ones too. She made sure that he kept fit as well, dragging him out running with her and insisting that he attended her gym three times a week. Before he met her it had never crossed his mind to do any exercise. When he was a boy there had been no money to pay the membership fees for sports clubs, let alone buy the necessary gear, so he had never developed the taste for it. It gave no tangible rewards and merely took up valuable time when there were more important goals to be met. Were it not for Vala he probably wouldn’t even own a pair of trainers.

She’d had less success with their son. Tumi had never been persuaded to take up any sport or show his face at her workplace, as his weedy figure attested. Of course, his gangling frame would fill out one day, and Nói hoped this would happen sooner rather than later. Still, before long an interest in girls was bound to spur him on to making more effort with his appearance and becoming more sociable.

Tumi and his friends still seemed happiest in each other’s company, spending long hours hunched over computer games, mowing down figures jerkily seeking refuge. They spoke little among themselves; in fact the only words his small group of friends seemed to exchange were monosyllables like ‘fuck’, ‘shit’ and ‘man’, which they yelled at the games as they crowded round the large TV monitor in Tumi’s bedroom. It was something of a relief to Nói that all his son’s friends were social misfits to a man. He took it as proof that Tumi’s indifference to anything except computers couldn’t be blamed on his failings as a parent. Since Nói had never known his own father, he tended to worry that he wasn’t performing well enough in the paternal role. He had nothing, either positive or negative, to measure himself against.

‘Where’s Tumi?’

‘Asleep.’ Vala upended a plastic bag of dirty clothes on the floor and sighed. ‘Why didn’t we wash this back in Florida?’

‘The weather outside was too tempting, remember? And we were supposed to be on holiday. I don’t know about you, but in my opinion laundry and holidays don’t go together. Neither does sweltering heat, actually, but that’s another story.’

Nói dodged as Vala threw a dirty sock at him. Coffee slopped out of his mug and he dried the splash with the sock that he had caught in mid-air.

‘Would you mind waking him? I need you two to help.’ She made a face. ‘I want to blitz the whole house today. Get rid of everything associated with those people.’