Far North - Michael Ridpath [73]
They read on. ‘Look at that!’ exclaimed Ingileif, pointing to the section headed Death.
Magnus was a couple of lines behind her; he skipped a bit, and read the section. ‘Jeez.’
In 1985 Benedikt Jóhannesson was found murdered at his home in Reykjavík. The crime was never solved, but the police assumed it was a burglar.
‘There you are, Mr Detective,’ said Ingileif. ‘There’s something to get your teeth into.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
August 1942
HILDUR’S BACK ACHED as she raked up the hay. Her brother Benedikt was twenty metres away, laying low the tall lush grass with rhythmic sweeps of his scythe. Hildur glanced up towards Bjarnarhöfn Fell. A black cloud was gathering on the other side of the mountain, preparing to pounce. They had only harvested half of the home field, and time was running out if they were to get all of it in for the winter. Cutting the hay was the easy part. The difficulty was drying it and then keeping it dry. A row of haycocks behind her testified to their efforts so far.
She saw a figure on a horse picking its way along the Berserkjagata through the lava field. Hallgrímur. He was eighteen and although not tall, he was broadening out. Some of the younger girls in the region even found him attractive, much to Hildur’s disgust. She was surprised to see him pause as he passed her younger brother. Usually the two of them ignored each other.
‘Hello, Benni!’
Benedikt paused and straightened up. ‘Hello, Halli.’
‘What are you bothering to get the hay in for? I thought you’d sold the place?’
‘The new owner will need to feed his sheep this winter just like we do.’
‘Huh. He’s from Laxárdalur, isn’t he? Can’t he bring his own hay?’
Benedikt shrugged at the stupidity of the remark and made as if to go back to work.
‘I hear your mother has bought the clothes store in town?’ Hallgrímur said.
‘That’s right.’
‘So you will be selling ladies’ underwear?’
‘I’m going to school in Reykjavík. The Menntaskóli.’
‘That’s a bit of a waste of time, isn’t it? But I suppose your mother won’t need you at home any more once she sells the farm.’
‘I suppose not.’
‘Well,’ Hallgrímur said. ‘When you get to Reykjavík, remember what I told you.’ He glanced at Hildur, who looked away. ‘In the church, when we were kids. Do you remember?’
‘I remember,’ said Benedikt. ‘I remember very well.’
‘And you will keep your word?’
‘I always keep my word.’
‘Good,’ said Hallgrímur. He kicked his horse on.
‘Oh, Halli,’ said Benedikt.
Hallgrímur paused. ‘Yes?’
‘Do you remember what I said in the church?’
Hallgrímur frowned. ‘No. No, I don’t.’
Benedikt smiled and went back to his scything.
Hallgrímur hesitated and then rode off. Hildur approached her brother. ‘What was all that about?’
‘Oh, nothing.’
‘Was it something to do with Dad?’
‘Really, Hildur, you don’t want to know.’
Hildur did want to know, but she knew there was no point in pushing her brother. He was stubborn in his own way.
‘I’m glad that boy won’t be our neighbour any more,’ she said.
‘So am I,’ said Benedikt. ‘So am I.’
Sunday, 20 September 2009
Magnus put the cup of coffee down on the nightstand inches from Ingileif’s head and climbed into bed beside her. As he sipped from his own mug, he studied her back. Her fair hair was spread over the pillow and her shoulders were moving up and down in a tiny shallow rhythm. She had a cluster of faded freckles above one shoulder blade that formed the shape of a crescent – he had never noticed them before. He felt an urge to lean over and run his hand down her spine, but he didn’t want to disturb her.
He smiled. He was lucky to wake up next to someone like her.
As though she could feel his eyes upon her, Ingileif stiffened, grunted and rolled over, blinking.
‘What time is it?’ she said.
‘Just after nine.’
‘That’s a bit early for a Sunday, isn’t it?’
‘I need to get going soon. I’ve got to go back up to Grundarfjördur.’
Ingileif sat up, her back against the pillow, and sipped her coffee. ‘Again?’
‘Now we know Harpa saw Óskar in London over the summer it’s all the more important to check up on her boyfriend.