TE22 Potpourri

Lilja Sigurðardóttir

Cold as Hell

she told him how much she regretted this now.

This was one of those expressions that sounded so weird, such anartificial wayof speaking. Aseveryone knew, most Icelanders would gladly knock back a whole mug of coffee, or even the whole pot if it was an offer. She got to her feet and followed him into the kitchen, rather than sit awkwardly on the sofa until he brought her coffee, as if she was some kind of fine lady who demanded to be served. ‘Your mother said that you’re searching for your sister,’ Daníel said as he opened a kitchen cupboard and took out a coffee jar. The kitchen was quite bare, as if he had only just moved in. The kitchen worktop was completely clear, and there was an oldfashioned net curtain in the window that looked to have been there for a long time. He heaped spoonfuls of coffee into a cafetière while he waited for the kettle to boil. ‘Give me your take on all this. From the beginning,’ he said, and Áróra again noticed how mild his voice was. This tone had to be something he used to his advantage when he questioned people. The warmth was reassuring and relaxing. Áróra sat on a kitchen stool and told the story of how Björn had assulated Ísafold, and ho Áróra had come to Iceland three times to help out, getting her to a doctor or a counsellor, and once staying with her to cook mashed-up meals that her sister could eat despite her wired-up jaw. She told him how, on the fourth occasion, she had refused to run a rescue mission to Iceland, telling her sister to sort out her own problems, or get Björn to help her, as she always went back to himanyway—and 64

30 When Grímur returned home with his Sunday pastries and opened the main door, he was unpleasantly surprised by a woman almost walking into him as she left the building. It was Björn’s new girlfriend. He sucked in his belly and pressed his back against the wall to allow her to squeeze past, sensing the aroma of herbal shampoo and wet hair. The smell called to him, triggering a longing in his heart, and a pain he hadn’t experienced since he had first got to know Ísafold. Itwas a scent of innocence, of spring, of new beginnings. At the same time he longed to yell at the woman, to tell her to save herself, to never again come near this building, to avoide the apartment block like the plague. His eyes followed her as she strode across the car park, heading for the bus stop opposite. The fact that she was leaving Björn’s place at this time on a Sunday meant that she had spent the night there, and as Grímur approached the door of his own flat, he could feel a pressure growing inside his chest. Their relationship developing so rapidly added to the urgency. There was no time to waste to organise everything. He would have to work fast. He dropped the shopping bag on the kitchen table. He had bought a couple of doughnuts and two pieces of an oat cake 65