The Girl Who Died Read online

  She picked her way along the beach until she was level with the fishery owner’s house, which dominated the village from its eminence, then climbed back up from the shore, approached his front door, caught her breath, and knocked.

  In the only glimpse she had so far caught of Guffi he had been wearing an old-fashioned fisherman’s jersey and a woollen hat, so she had been half-expecting him to be similarly clad now. Disconcertingly, however, he was formally, if not very fashionably, dressed, in a blue shirt and checked suit. Instead of looking pleased to see her, he stood there unmoving, with the door half open, not saying a word.

  Una was thrown by this reception. After all, he had invited her to come round and see him. Unless someone was playing a trick on her? ‘Hello, sorry,’ she stammered, ‘I … I got your message.’

  ‘Yup, right,’ he said gruffly, holding out his hand. ‘Come in, then.’

  She shook his hand. His clasp was warm but tight and he gripped her hand for so long that she wondered if he was ever going to let go. Finally, he did, and she followed him into the hall and down a set of stairs. The house was so gloomy inside that it was hard to see the furnishings in much detail, but Una had the feeling of going back in time. The present day seemed to have passed Skálar by in more ways than one.

  ‘My office is down here,’ Guffi said curtly, switching on the light in the passage.

  His office, which was smaller than she’d expected, contained an old desk and a bookcase, and looked more like a study than a place where he conducted his business. A single leather armchair stood beside the bookcase. The only other chair was behind the desk.

  ‘Sit down,’ Guffi said. He was tall and very thickset, with a heavily lined face and eyes of flint.

  When Una made to sit down in the armchair, however, he laid a heavy hand on her shoulder and steered her towards the office chair instead. She slipped out from under his grip and took a seat behind the desk, at the back, while he settled himself in the armchair, beside the only door to the windowless room. She had a disturbing sensation of being in a prison or cage, entirely at the mercy of this odd man.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ she said, after an awkward silence, when it appeared that he wasn’t going to say anything. ‘You own the fishery here, don’t you?’

  ‘That’s right,’ he said, brusquely. He sat quite still, staring at her, without a hint of a smile on his face. Then went on: ‘So you’ve come here to teach the children.’

  Una nodded.

  ‘Why did you want to move out here?’

  She was momentarily tongue-tied, then said: ‘It’s … it’s a beautiful place.’ It sounded unconvincing even to her.

  ‘How could you know that?’ he said dismissively. ‘Had you been here before?’

  ‘What? No, actually, but … but …’ She couldn’t even claim to have seen any photos.

  Gudfinnur interrupted: ‘It isn’t even a particularly picturesque spot for a village, I have to say. Or perhaps you think it is?’

  ‘It’s … it’s all right. I’ve only just got here, you know.’

  ‘And how long are you planning to stay, Una?’

  Before she could answer, he ploughed on: ‘I understand you have a teaching degree. I can’t think why someone like you would want to kick your heels in a place like this. Nor do I understand why we should have to fork out for a professional teacher for two kids. Frankly, it seems like a disgraceful waste of money to me.’

  Una nodded, though she didn’t agree.

  ‘It’s Salka’s fault, like so much else. She seems to be under the impression that she runs the place, though I don’t know why she should think that.’

  He sat there, solid and immovable, and Una was assailed again by the suffocating awareness that she couldn’t leave until he decided to let her out.

  ‘I believe she did you a disservice,’ he continued, ‘by tricking you into coming here.’

  Una could feel the sweat breaking out on her body but tried to maintain her composure: ‘Well, I suppose time will tell.’ This came out more shakily than she would have liked.

  ‘Oh, I think you can take my word for it. This isn’t a suitable place for you, Una. It’s not easy for outsiders to fit in here or to understand how our little community works.’

  She nodded warily, unsure where the conversation was leading.

  ‘If you ask me, you should think again, Una. It’s not too late to change your mind, even though you’ve come here. We would understand. The isolation, being so far from anywhere, the darkness. You could hardly get any further from Reykjavík if you tried. And the house you’re living in has a history. Not everyone feels comfortable there. You could pack up your bags and go home, and we’d manage. Just as we’ve been managing all these years.’

  Although the last thing she wanted was to let him get away with threatening her like this, it did cross her mind that it might be best to abandon the whole idea. Clearly, she wasn’t welcome here. On the other hand, there was nothing waiting for her back in Reykjavík. She had quit her old job and they had hired someone else to take her place for the winter, so financially, she had no real choice but to stay. And, besides, she thought, with sudden indignation, she had no intention of letting him bully her like this.

  ‘Thanks for the advice,’ she said, finally managing to suppress the tremor in her voice. ‘I think I’ll go now.’ She stood up and walked steadily towards the door. Gudfinnur gave no sign of moving, but at the last minute he got to his feet and opened the door for her. He drew back his lips in a smile for the first time since she had met him, but his eyes remained stony. ‘You can find your own way out, Una.’

  IX

  After this unpleasant encounter, Una took herself to the shop, partly as a distraction, partly because she needed to buy some food. She had tried to go the day before, only to find the Co-op shut.

  The woman behind the counter, who looked to be in late middle age, greeted her with a broad smile. ‘Welcome, Una.’ At least there was no need to introduce yourself here. ‘I’m Gunna … Gudrún, that is. It’s nice to meet you.’

  ‘Yes, hello, you too. I was just going to … to look around.’

  ‘We stock everything here, pretty much.’ Gudrún gave her another friendly smile. ‘It’s so nice to have young people come to the village. We don’t get much fresh blood here, you know. It’s always the same story: slowly but surely everyone’s moving away. That’s why it was so lovely when Salka moved here with her little girl, and now here you are. I gather we have Salka to thank for that too.’

  Una nodded. ‘Yes, I suppose …’

  ‘Anyway, what can I do for you today?’ Gudrún continued, barely pausing for breath. ‘The freezer’s over there in the corner. You can dig up all sorts of stuff in there. Then there’s fresh fish on the counter …’ She pointed to the right, where there appeared to be a single fillet for sale. ‘As for alcohol …’ She winked at Una. ‘We keep that round the back. Because there’s no ríki closer than Thórshöfn, we have a special licence to sell it.’

  Una perked up at this. Thanks to Iceland’s restrictive laws on the sale of alcohol, you could normally only buy drink from a small number of special state-licensed shops called ríki and she had been wondering if she would have to drive all the way to Thórshöfn, or even further afield, every time she wanted to replenish her supplies.

  ‘Ooh, in that case, I think I’ll have a bottle of red wine,’ she said, although she still had the box she’d brought with her from Reykjavík, just to be on the safe side. ‘What do you recommend?’

  ‘Well, of course, I don’t touch the stuff myself – my husband and I are strict teetotallers – but people say the French and Italian wines are the best. I’ve got both kinds.’

  ‘Then I’ll take one of each, please.’

  Gudrún vanished round the back and reappeared with two bottles. ‘Next time, you can just go in there and have a look for yourself, because I’m clueless about wine, as you can tell.’

  ‘Thanks. Could I have two
small bottles of Coke too, and a packet of liquorice? Oh, and that fillet of fish as well?’

  ‘The haddock? Yes, of course. You’re lucky to get the last one. It usually sells up straight away, and if it doesn’t, it goes in the freezer. We’re used to freezing food here, as it’s the only sensible thing to do. And do you know? I can’t tell the difference; it always tastes fine to me.’

  Una took out her chequebook and opened it.

  ‘Oh, sorry, dear. I don’t take cheques.’

  ‘What? Ah. I … I don’t have any cash on me, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Don’t you worry. I’ll put it on the tab.’ Gudrún smiled. ‘But there’s something you can do for me in return.’

  ‘Oh, what’s that?’

  ‘Pop in for a coffee with me and Gunnar. How about tomorrow? Would three suit you?’

  ‘Three? Er, yes, that should be fine.’

  ‘Wonderful, Una dear. I’ll look forward to it.’

  X

  ‘It’s so nice of you to come round and see us.’ Gudrún beamed at Una, then poured her coffee. The cup was genuine Danish seagull china, of the kind Una hadn’t seen for donkey’s years. An elderly aunt of hers in Reykjavík used to have a set. Come to think of it, Gudrún’s sitting room might have been cut out of a magazine from twenty years ago. She and her husband, Gunnar, lived down by the sea in an old wooden house, which was handsome, though not as grand as Guffi’s place.

  The floor was covered in a curry-yellow carpet, the sofa upholstered in a rather threadbare scarlet fabric, there was wallpaper on the walls, and the rest of the furniture was clearly antique. Every available surface was cluttered with knick-knacks, most of which seemed to be birds made of wood or china.

  From what Salka had told Una, Gunnar was not quite sixty, but the couple both looked at least ten years older, with plump, kindly, slightly careworn faces. Gunnar didn’t look as if he could have many years left as a fisherman. Una’s first thought when she saw him was that he must be starting to think about retirement.

  Gudrún offered her milk and sugar, but Una declined both.

  ‘People usually drink their coffee white with sugar here,’ Gudrún remarked, though in a matter-of-fact rather than critical tone. ‘But of course you city folk do things differently. It must be a big change for you, moving here?’

  ‘I haven’t had a chance to find out yet,’ Una replied.

  Gunnar was still hovering in the background. ‘It’s a good thing for the children to have a proper teacher,’ he said, speaking for the first time. ‘Inga’s taken care of all their schooling up to now. Have you met her? She’s Kolbeinn’s wife.’

  ‘Yes, but I haven’t managed to have a proper chat with her yet – or with him either. She was, er …’ Una let her words trail off, unwilling to find fault.

  Gudrún saved her the trouble: ‘She can be a bit short with people, can Inga. She’s not very approachable, never has been. But they’re good people at heart, and so’s their little girl. Gunnar works with Kolbeinn, you know.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Gunnar said, finally making up his mind to sit down on the sofa, uncomfortably close to Una. ‘We may not fish on a very big scale, but we do make a decent living.’

  ‘Kolbeinn’s always on about quitting and moving away, though,’ Gudrún chipped in, before he could say anything else. ‘Of course, they’re still relatively young, and they have a child to think of, so it can’t be easy for them living here, though Gunnar and I are used to it. We’re part of the surroundings, really.’ She smiled.

  ‘There’s no sense throwing in the towel and leaving,’ Gunnar said, sounding suddenly harsh. ‘What would happen if all the young people left? The village would die – it would completely disappear. That would be a shame, a real shame, for a place with a history like this. I was born and raised here and it’s never crossed my mind to leave – or Gunna’s either. Has it, dear?’

  ‘I should think not. You just have to put up with things and make the best of them,’ Gudrún agreed. ‘But I have to say, I do understand how they feel – as a young couple.’

  Una began to wonder if Gunnar and Gudrún had forgotten she was there.

  ‘Well, I don’t. But I do know why Kolbeinn’s always harping on about leaving. And you know too, don’t you, Gunna?’

  Gudrún nodded. ‘Yes, you’ve told me before.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve told you, but not Una.’ Gunnar turned to her, so they were nose to nose on the sofa. ‘The fact is, Guffi pays too well; we have it too good, Gunna and I, and Kolbeinn and Inga too. I have no need for all that money; it just goes straight into the bank. But Kolbeinn, he’s always on about moving to Thórshöfn, or even down south to Reykjavík, claiming he has enough capital to set up his own company there.’ Gunnar shook his head. ‘Damn it, I don’t know …’

  Una sat on the sofa feeling awkward, unable to understand why they’d invited her round, since neither of them seemed remotely interested in her.

  But Gudrún took advantage of the silence following Gunnar’s tirade to say: ‘Una, I gather you’re going to organize the Christmas concert at the church?’

  Una nodded, though all she knew about it was what Salka had told her the first evening.

  ‘I’m delighted to hear it,’ Gudrún said with sudden enthusiasm. ‘It’s an important occasion, especially for the children, and always has been. Of course, there used to be more of them in the old days, but that’s the way it goes – everything changes, nothing stays the same. But I think I’m safe in saying that it’s the high point of the Christmas celebrations here in the village. Don’t you agree, Gunnar?’

  Gunnar nodded and grunted.

  ‘We always hold it in the evening. It’s such a beautiful occasion, with the church all lit up by candles in the winter darkness, and everyone coming together. No one’s allowed to sit at home on the last Sunday before Christmas.’

  ‘Yes, I hear it’s going to land on me this year,’ Una said. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I gather it’ll be my responsibility.’

  ‘How old are you, dear, if you don’t mind my asking?’ Gudrún said. ‘You look so young.’

  ‘Thirty.’

  ‘Goodness me, that’s no age at all,’ Gunnar broke in. ‘You’ve never been here before, I take it?’

  ‘To the village? No, I … well, to be honest, I didn’t even know it existed.’ She added, untruthfully: ‘Though I might have heard of it.’

  ‘It is a bit isolated,’ Gudrún said, and sighed.

  ‘A bit isolated? It was good enough for the American army, let me tell you,’ Gunnar exclaimed, becoming agitated, ‘and plenty of people lived here in the old days. It was quite a sizeable town at one time, I think I can safely say, although it was always referred to as Skálar Village.’

  ‘Gunnar was born and brought up here,’ Gudrún explained, although her husband had already told Una this. ‘He has very strong ties to Skálar. The village grew up early this century when people moved here for the fishing. You’ve probably noticed the ruins of the old jetty? Though, of course, Guffi’s invested in a new, improved one.’

  Una nodded. ‘How many people used to live here?’ she asked, regretting that she hadn’t read up on the history of the place beforehand.

  Gudrún glanced at her husband. He frowned, then said importantly: ‘Tch, over a hundred people, closer to a hundred and twenty at its height.’

  ‘Seriously? Over a hundred people?’

  ‘Believe it or not. And that’s not all; the population used to double in summer with all the migrant fishworkers. It was a place in its own right, you know.’

  ‘And you mentioned that the American army was here?’ Una asked. It was the first she had heard of it.

  ‘Yes, that was no joke. First it was the British. I remember them well, though I was only in my teens at the time. They were here for two years. Then the Americans arrived. They built a camp above the village. You can still see the ruins if you walk up the hill.’

  Una hadn’t yet explored the
higher ground behind Skálar.

  After a brief pause, Gunnar went on: ‘They used to call it Camp Greely. There was a whole load of Quonset huts – it was a proper radar station, with a radio mast, a machine-gun nest and I don’t know what else. They used to keep an eye on the air traffic in the area. I remember it so well – it was quite an adventure. Well, it was deadly serious, of course, but for me and my mates it was a real eye-opener. We used to spend as much time as we could hanging around up there, trying to take in the fact that the war had come all the way out to find us, in the remotest corner of the country. I reckon there were nearly fifty soldiers here at one time.’

  Una stole a sidelong glance at Gunnar, seeing from the rapt look on his face that he was lost in his reminiscences, as if he’d travelled back forty years in time. Una could hardly imagine it: military barracks on the barren slopes above the village, dozens of armed American soldiers swarming all over the place, in the middle of a world war and yet so far removed from the fighting.

  Gunnar hadn’t finished: ‘Guffi and I were best mates then, as now. We tried to make friends with the soldiers. I don’t remember finding their presence at all threatening; for us it was just exciting. Of course, there was a bit of a language problem, as you can imagine, as we didn’t speak a word of English, but we managed somehow and by the end we’d got quite good at making ourselves understood. It wasn’t a bad school.’

  ‘And what … what sort of relationship did the locals have with the soldiers?’

  ‘Excellent, no problems at all. Us boys spent a lot of time talking to them and they did their best to cause as little disruption as possible. It was an odd feeling for us to have a foreign army in the back garden all of a sudden. Unbelievable, really. But it can’t have been easy for them either. Not everyone can cope with the winter here, with the cold and the dark. The storms can be something else: freezing winds, often blowing up a gale, and hardly a scrap of shelter to be found, and when you add snow to the mix, all hell breaks loose. As you’ll discover. I don’t really know how they stuck it out up there as it can’t have been warm in those flimsy huts. But, like I said, they were very friendly. They gave us all kinds of goods, I remember; food, mainly – things we’d never seen before.’