The fallout, p.29
The Fallout, page 29
‘What about the biological parents?’ Huldar was eager to spin out the conversation, to distract Erla from demanding more details from Freyja’s confidential chat with Númi.
‘The father died of an overdose and the mother was judged unfit as she was an addict. There has to be a hell of a lot wrong before the authorities will take a child away from its parents these days and I gather the little girl carries the scars of her early life. She’s got galloping ADHD and she’s behind at school. Her eyesight’s badly affected too because she was very premature as a result of her mother’s lifestyle. Still, at least she’s lucky to have found a good home.’
Lína glanced up. ‘So Mía’s bad luck was her good luck. That’s sad.’ She immersed herself in her papers again without waiting for a response.
Freyja raised her eyebrows at this comment, then continued. ‘I suppose so. I also asked him why his daughter had been let out of school early. Apparently it was due to a malfunctioning fire alarm. So, in other words, Gudbjörg is a pupil at the school where Ólína’s phone turned up.’
Erla’s expression didn’t change. She’d asked Freyja to check this, and no one was surprised as the school was the local one for the Skerjafjördur catchment area where Númi and Stefán lived. ‘I thought so.’ She raised a hand to her forehead as if checking whether she had a temperature. ‘How the hell does it all hang together?’
‘Shouldn’t we just ask to talk to the girl?’ Huldar winked at Saga, who had been staring fixedly at him ever since she’d spilt her drink. Perhaps she was fascinated by the fact that he was the only adult who hadn’t reacted with disapproval. As far as he was concerned, it wasn’t a big deal. Drinks got spilt and ice-creams fell out of their cones. Such was life.
‘We can try. But we won’t get permission. Not as matters stand. Stefán’s a lawyer, remember, and he’s not exactly well disposed towards us.’ Erla shook her head in defeat. ‘He’ll dig his heels in and the only argument we’ve got is that she’s at the school where the phone turned up. Along with five hundred other kids.’
Freyja agreed. ‘They won’t let us talk to her, if only because she doesn’t know about Mía.’
‘What?’ Huldar couldn’t hide his amazement. ‘Why not?’
‘Because they’ve had to break a lot of very difficult news to her over the years, so they decided it could wait. They didn’t want her to feel second best.’ Freyja handed the teaspoon back to Saga, who immediately began banging it on the table again. As the soaking napkin no longer muffled the noise, Freyja put her hand underneath and got hit for her pains. It didn’t really hurt but she flinched and withdrew her hand anyway. ‘I don’t blame them at all. It’s their decision and they know Gudbjörg better than anyone. She overheard us mention Mía and asked who we were talking about. Númi just said no one she knew and sent her back to her room. Clearly, though, if Mía’s found, it won’t be possible to put off telling her any longer.’
‘Not if – when she’s found—’ Erla broke off and put a hand to her belly. It looked to Huldar as if she was pushing a foot back into place. There had definitely been a movement in there. ‘Who the hell can have taken the baby?’
‘Bríet?’ Gudlaugur suggested. ‘Isn’t her daughter eleven?’
‘No, ten. And she’s only recently had a birthday. She’s big for her age but that doesn’t mean anything.’ Freyja opened her mouth as if to say more, then changed her mind.
‘Droplaug’s sister? What’s her name – Ellý?’ Although Huldar thought it unlikely, it was the only name he could come up with.
Erla seemed to agree it was unlikely, judging by her lack of enthusiasm. But Lína raised her head from her papers, her eyes wide. ‘Ellý? What’s her patronymic?’
‘Er . . . Droplaug’s was Thórdardóttir, if I remember right. As far as I know, they had the same father.’
Lína bent over her papers again and started leafing through them. When she found what she was looking for, she held out a page. ‘Ellý. Ellý Thórdardóttir. She’s friends with Ólína on Facebook. They must have known each other.’
Erla immediately perked up. At last they had a link of sorts between the murder case and Mía. Ólína, who had been sawn into pieces, and Ellý, Mía’s aunt, had known each other. It was tenuous – but it was a link, nonetheless.
Chapter 30
Friday evening
The girls were giggling as if at something forbidden or something they weren’t old enough to understand. Sædís remembered that kind of whispering from her childhood, but then it wasn’t that long since she’d been eleven years old herself. Even though, strictly speaking, it was half a lifetime ago, as she was now twenty-two.
‘What are you lot whispering about?’ Sædís shot a glance over her shoulder at the three friends.
‘Nothing.’ More giggles.
Sædís felt suddenly overcome with anxiety. She bent down and caught sight of herself in the wing mirror. Her smile had gone and her brow was knotted with worry. If she went on like this, she’d end up with deep furrows between her eyes – long before she reached the age when the salesmen of eternal youth would start swooping down on her in the cosmetics aisles.
But her foolish fear of wrinkles did nothing to distract her from her other worries, and after a moment her thoughts returned to her young passengers and the secrets they might be keeping.
She was most concerned about Rósa. Sædís suspected that her home circumstances left a lot to be desired. She didn’t know much about the family except that Rósa’s father was an electrician and her mother was unemployed. On the rare occasions that Sædís had met the couple, the woman had reeked of booze and the man had been surly, bad-tempered and hard-faced. The poor kid was often shabbily dressed, her appearance screaming neglect. As she was taller than the rest of her year at school, she was very conspicuous and couldn’t hide her unkempt hair or ancient bobble hat, just like Sædís at her age. Sædís hadn’t been properly looked after either, but for different, more forgivable reasons. It wasn’t her mother’s fault that she was ill or her father’s that he couldn’t cope. He’d done his best. It was just unlucky for the family that it hadn’t been enough.
Gudda was the complete opposite of Rósa: small and slight, always smartly dressed, with brushed teeth and combed hair. But it was as if her clothes and her body operated on different networks. Her garments were always askew, as if they were trying to come off. And it was the same with anything in her hair: her plaits unravelled, her clips got dislodged and her hair ties slid off, fell on the floor and were lost. Her glasses, too, were always crooked, smudged and forever being mislaid. But there was one thing Gudda never lost and that was her happy temperament and the smile she wore at every opportunity.
Selma, Sædís’s sister, was in the middle, in height, appearance and behaviour. They made quite a threesome.
Sædís stopped at a red light and stole another glance over her shoulder. Sure enough, Selma was sitting in the middle, between big Rósa and scruffy Gudda. All properly strapped in, preoccupied with each other and living in the moment. Untroubled by past or future. They could have given lessons in mindfulness, despite never having heard of the phenomenon.
She smiled at them.
Then fear reared its head again. Would they manage to stay friends into adulthood? Or would some conflict arise and ruin it? She prayed it wouldn’t. None of them found it easy to make new friends, and the three of them fitted so well together. Like a three-legged stool, they were strong and solid together, but if one leg was removed, it would fall over.
Sædís hoped her decision wouldn’t spoil everything. Would the child she was carrying upset the balance? She hadn’t given it any thought when she’d embarked on this journey. Naively, she had just assumed that it would strengthen the bond between the girls. At least between Selma and Gudda, who would be forever tied through the child. But the reality would be different. Sædís had forgotten that her own relationship to the baby would be terminated as neatly as an umbilical cord being cut, and with it the ties between her little sister Selma, and Gudda. If she herself became persona non grata at Gudda’s house, the same would presumably apply to Selma. And Sædís would not be welcome – that was part of the deal. It hadn’t been stated openly but it was there between the lines.
She wasn’t to approach the child, either in person or on social media, by email or phone. For the first six months she was to express her breast milk, put it in the freezer and hand it over daily or every other day. They would pick it up from her. If she saw them with the child in public, she was to steer clear and stay out of sight. She had no right to news, photos or anything else. And so it went on. Her only possible role in the child’s future would be if it ever needed a kidney or bone marrow. Then they might turn to her, but she gathered that she was allowed to refuse. This point had been a bit hazy, though. The contract was long and often unintelligible, with tortuous sentences and a drily authoritative tone. She had found it so difficult to follow that in the end she had given up the struggle to understand some parts.
Hopefully that wouldn’t matter. She trusted them and understood what lay behind their overcautiousness. It wasn’t as if they’d made a secret of it. Once bitten, twice shy. They were decent people, or at least Númi was.
But even decent people sometimes do bad things. They become blind to everything but their goal and forget those they trample underfoot to reach it.
She reminded herself that it had been her idea. She had volunteered. They had even been reluctant to accept her offer.
Because the girls generally preferred to play at Gudda’s house, Sædís had often dropped by to pick up Selma – and Rósa too, as her parents never offered to do any of the lifts. Just under a year ago Sædís had gone round on a Saturday, only to find that the girls hadn’t got back from swimming yet. Númi had taken pity on her and invited her in. It was the first time since Selma and Gudda had become friends that she had been further inside than the hall. She’d found it hard not to stare, dazzled by the stylish affluence of the interior. Númi had invited her into the living room where there was a huge glass of white wine on the coffee table and a half-full bottle with a cork, rather than a screw-top, and a French label.
At first she had felt like the country mouse in the story she used to read to Selma. She hadn’t expected to be invited in, which involved taking her shoes off, and there was a hole in one of her socks.
But Númi didn’t seem to notice it. Or her ugly T-shirt. He had even hung her worn anorak in the hall cupboard, as if she’d turned up in a fur coat. Once she had sunk into the big leather sofa, he’d offered her a glass of wine but she had declined as she was driving. The moment she said it, she turned bright red. He must have known she was driving since she was there to collect her sister. At least she’d had the sense not to add that she didn’t drink; it might have made him feel awkward, as if she were judging him.
The girls had kept them waiting and she had ended up sitting with Númi for over an hour. To begin with, he had asked innocent questions about her and the girls, in an attempt to make conversation, but she was so flustered she simply answered in monosyllables. She blamed this on being shy and stressed. He was quite a bit older than her and somehow so smart and self-assured. But gradually she found herself relaxing, perhaps because Númi gave up trying to get her to talk and started telling her things instead, regularly refilling his glass until the bottle was empty and his eyes were glittering.
Towards the end of the hour he confided in her about how much he and Stefán longed for a child. A baby. He told her about the ordeal they had gone through when their daughter Mía was abducted and all the problems they’d had before that. Then he added quickly that she mustn’t misunderstand him – they adored Gudda and regarded her as their own daughter, just like Mía had been. Sædís had nodded, trying to hide how uncomfortable she was finding the conversation. She suspected that later he’d regret having shared all these confidences with her. When he began talking about how much the name Mía meant to them and how awful he found the nickname Gudda, she was no longer in any doubt: he would regret opening up like this.
What followed was a rather incoherent account of their failed attempts to change their adopted daughter’s name. Gudbjörg was supposed to be rechristened Ísold, which would have ensured that she was no longer referred to as Gudda. But the Child Protection Agency had got wind of their plan and kicked up a fuss. Apparently you’re not allowed to change a three-year-old child’s name for what the agency described as trivial reasons. Númi rolled his eyes at the memory and took a big slug of wine.
It was then that Sædís spoke up unprompted, for the first time since she had arrived. Without even stopping to think, she offered to carry a child for them. She’d be up for it, she said.
Númi was momentarily silenced. Then he laughed off the idea, yet she could tell from the gleam in his eyes that he wanted to leap up, throw his arms around her and accept her offer. Next time she’d come round to collect Selma, he had dropped hints about the subject, and then again every time she turned up after that. Eventually, he invited her out to dinner with him and Stefán, which was the first time they had seriously discussed the possibility. The men had talked so much, and asked her so often if she was absolutely sure, that they didn’t even notice that she hadn’t touched the weird fish on her plate. Shortly after that, they had produced the contract, which she had read and duly signed.
Her offer had been impulsive, not thought through at all, and she wasn’t even sure why she had done it. She had just been gripped by the desire to restore joy and harmony to their elegant home. She was the child of an alcoholic and had settled into the role of co-dependent. She longed to make the two men happy again. In her mind the universe had shifted things around to make this happen. It was meant to be.
Even if it left her in a mess.
Her eyes grew hot and she felt tears pricking at them. But giving in to the urge to cry was out of the question with the girls in the car. She’d promised to take them to the cinema and it would spoil the mood if she started blubbing. They’d been looking forward to it so much. She opened the car window in the hope that a blast of cold, fresh air would revive her. Sure enough, it did.
Right up until an image from her scan appeared in her mind’s eye. A tiny creature with a head out of all proportion to its body, like an alien in a film. Her pregnancy wasn’t even half over but it looked to her as if most of what a child should have was already in place: fingers, stomach, nose and umbilical cord. Thank God. She’d been worried that there might be something seriously wrong with it. What would have happened in that case? Would she have been left holding the baby, forced to bring it up without any help from the fathers or support at home? What kind of life would that be for the poor little thing? And for her? There must have been something about that eventuality in the contract but she couldn’t face reading it again to find out.
Bloody scan. She hadn’t meant to look but the woman doing the ultrasound had prompted her, telling her she just had to see. Númi had encouraged her too, presumably to avoid suspicion. They had to come across like a couple who were expecting a baby together. Sædís had had no choice but to obey and raise her eyes to the screen. It hadn’t done her any good, only made her emotional. The child growing inside her had acquired an image. And a gender. It was a little girl.
There was no way of erasing, on demand, what you had seen. Or heard.
From the back seat Rósa piped up: ‘Can we go to a horror film?’
‘No.’ Sædís glanced in the rear-view mirror and caught Selma’s eye. ‘You’re not old enough and it’s out of the question.’ She realised her voice had been overly shrill but the girls didn’t seem bothered.
‘But we know it’s all make-believe.’ Rósa wasn’t about to give up. ‘Pleeease?’
‘No. I’m not even discussing it.’ Sædís turned into the cinema car park. ‘We’re going to a film that’s age appropriate, and that’s final.’ She glanced in the rear-view mirror again and could have sworn Selma was looking relieved. Hopefully this would be the end of the discussion.
There were plenty of spaces by the cinema but she chose to park at the furthest end from the entrance because of the street lamp. All the other lights in the area were switched off. She’d caught sight of a van in the mirror which seemed to be following them; a thought which had filled her with trepidation. She’d first noticed it just after Rósa had got into the car, but the man could have been following them before that. If he was. Perhaps it was just a coincidence. After all, he hadn’t turned into the car park after her.
Sædís had no sooner stopped than the girls tumbled out. They charged off, keeping pace with one another, almost as if they were joined at the hip, all talking at once and gesticulating excitedly.
Sædís locked the car and set off after them more slowly. They were waiting impatiently by the entrance now, beckoning to her to hurry. They were anxious to sit together and didn’t seem to have noticed how empty the car park was. They’d be able to bag three seats in any row they wanted, by the aisle, in the middle or anywhere in between.
Just as well the cinema wasn’t busy. One of the things Sædís had failed to take into account was that once she started to show, she would have to forgo her usual company. Her friends were sure to ask about her bump and she wouldn’t be able to tell them the truth. Firstly, they’d never understand how she could have agreed to do it: other people’s problems with having children, or the subject of children at all, were so far outside their area of interest. And secondly, she was afraid they’d accuse her of being cold and unfeeling. What kind of person would offer to give their child away? So there was no alternative; she would have to stop seeing her few good friends. She could only get away with meeting them for another month – and then only in settings where she could keep her coat on.
Then there were the people she couldn’t hide from. Although she lived with her parents, she still hadn’t told them. Of course it would be better to do it before they worked it out for themselves, but she was reluctant. She had turned down the offer of being put up in a summer house for the last few months of her pregnancy, but the offer still stood; it was in the contract. If she accepted, no one need ever know. She wouldn’t lack for anything – she’d seen pictures. But that wasn’t the problem.
