Far North - Michael Ridpath [64]
‘Yes?’ She smiled hesitantly.
‘Unnur?’
‘That’s me.’
‘Do you mind if I speak with you for a few minutes? My name is Magnús Ragnarsson.’ Magnus waited a beat for the name to register. ‘I am Ragnar Jónsson’s son.’
For a moment, Unnur seemed confused. Then her lips pursed.
‘Yes, I do mind,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to talk to you.’
‘I want to speak with you about my father.’
‘And I don’t want to talk to you about him. That was a long time ago and it has nothing to do with you.’
‘Of course it has something to do with me,’ Magnus said. ‘I have only just found out about the affair. It explains things about my childhood, about my mother and my father. But there is still a lot I don’t understand.’
The woman hesitated.
‘I know it will be painful for you, and for me too. But you are the only person who can help me. I don’t talk to my mother’s family any more, or rather they won’t talk to me.’
Unnur nodded. ‘That doesn’t surprise me.’ She took a deep breath. ‘All right. But my husband is due back soon. He works at the hospital. When he returns, we change the subject, OK?’
‘OK,’ said Magnus.
Unnur led him into the living room, and disappeared to get some coffee. Despite her initial hostility, she couldn’t skip on this basic prerequisite of Icelandic hospitality. Magnus scanned the room. It was comfortable and, like every Icelandic living room, it had the full complement of family photographs. One wall was lined with books in Icelandic, Danish and English. Through a big picture window there was a magnificent view over the grey waters of Breidafjördur, dotted with flat islands, and the silhouettes of the mountains of the West Fjords on the far side.
Unnur moved a pile of exercise books off the sofa to make room for Magnus. ‘Sorry. Marking.’
He sat down.
‘I think I could just about recognize you,’ Unnur said. ‘Your hair’s a bit darker, it used to be really red. You must have been seven or eight then.’
‘I don’t really remember you,’ said Magnus. ‘I wish I recalled more of that time in Reykjavík.’
‘Before everything went wrong?’ Unnur said.
Magnus nodded.
‘So, what can I tell you?’ she asked as she poured Magnus some coffee. Her face was hard and firm, almost defiant.
‘Can you tell me something about my mother?’ Magnus said. ‘What she was really like? I have two different memories of her. I remember warmth and laughter and happiness in our house in Reykjavík. Then distance – we didn’t see her very much, my brother and I stayed up here with my grandfather and she was in Reykjavík a lot of the time. At the time I thought she was always tired; now I am pretty sure she was drunk.’
Unnur smiled. ‘She was good fun. Really good fun. We were at school together, here in Stykkishólmur.’
‘I went to school here as well,’ Magnus said.
‘It was a good school,’ Unnur said. ‘It still is. I teach there now – English and Danish. Anyway we became best friends when we were about thirteen, I suppose. Margrét was smart. She loved to read, as did I. And the boys liked her. We both spent a summer together in Denmark at a language school, which was fun. And we decided we wanted to go to Reykjavík and become teachers.’
Unnur was warming up. ‘We had a blast. We shared a flat together in 101; we had a great time. We both qualified and started teaching in schools in Reykjavík, different schools. Margrét met your father, they fell in love, got married, and I moved out to make room for him. We got along very well, the three of us. We were all good friends.’
Unnur paused. ‘Are you sure to want to hear this?’ she asked Magnus.
‘Yes. And please tell me the truth, however unpleasant it is. Now I am here I want to know.’
‘All right. That was when your mother started to drink. I mean we