his phone again and set the alarm for six. “What’s the matter with you anyway? You’ve been like a cat on hot bricks the last few days.”
She sat on her side of the bed and hauled her dress over her head, rolling it into a ball, which she threw clumsily toward the washing basket by the bedroom door, where it hit the wall and landed on the floor instead.
“I’m all right. Just tired.”
He sat on the bed and lay back, trailing fingertips down the vertebrae studding Agnes’s back as she unclipped her bra and sent it flying to land next to the dress. More curves than when they’d met all those years ago, but that’s no bad thing, he thought.
“Shall we …?” Jóel Ingi asked invitingly. “It’s not that late yet.”
“A second ago you were tired.” Agnes dropped her nightdress over her head without turning around. “Just get some sleep, will you?”
Friday
I T WAS DARK , and the damp chill promised a miserable day, although the drizzle that had replaced the last few weeks of sporadic snowfall had started the long process of melting the hardened ice in the street outside Jóel Ingi’s apartment. He swept the car out of the underground garage and into the street, where the tires juddered on the ridges and troughs left in the packed snow. He swore quietly. Agnes had wanted to buy a 4×4, but he’d told her not to be ridiculous. Apart from the rare visit to the tourist attractions of Gullfoss or Thingvellir with visiting foreign friends requiring a fine summer’s day, they never went further than the airport at Keflavík or the new shopping mall at Korputorg, and the grey Audi was more than good enough for that.
“It never snows in Reykjavík, or hadn’t you noticed?” he had asked with a derisory laugh that Agnes hadn’t failed to remind him of once the unseasonal snow began to fall.
He pushed the car cautiously along the city’s main road. He could have walked easily enough, but today he felt like using the car and there was the chance that he might need it later. The roads were quiet, while the car park at the gym was already half full with 4×4s and a handful of cars.
Jóel Ingi ran for a few kilometers, cycled for six and did some bench presses for the sake of his abdominals, which he felt were starting to get a little too soft for comfort. A shower and an hour later, he plunged from the gym back into themorning darkness, the door swishing shut behind him. As the Audi hummed onto the road and into the wake of a slow-moving truck spreading grit, a tired Renault appeared in the mirror and he wondered if it had followed him from the gym.
He noticed the short-lived rain had turned to occasional flakes of snow spinning in his headlights and that the Renault stayed with him all the way along Sæbraut. He tried to see the driver in the darkness, stepping on the brake at intersections to throw a little light onto the face that had to be there. Eventually he simply told himself to stop being so stupid and that the car probably belonged to some deadbeat in a dead-end job who couldn’t afford anything better. The Renault rolled past him, its nailed tires rattling on the newly scraped road surface, and on along Snorrabraut as he turned off for the ministry. He still hadn’t managed to catch sight of the driver, other than a glimpse of bulky green coat and a baseball cap.
T HE MOMENT G UNNA woke, the previous day’s news came flooding back to her, and she arrived at the Gullfoss Hotel brooding over the frustration she had suppressed on the morning drive to Reykjavík. Usually driving for almost an hour to Reykjavík provided valuable thinking time but today it had been agonizing, with work driven from her mind. Deciding to start at the hotel rather than going to the station at Hverfisgata, where piles of paperwork and emails awaited her, she found Kolbeinn in the hotel’s bar. He looked up from polishing a glass, put it on the rack on his side of the bar and let loose a winning smile.
“Good
She sat on her side of the bed and hauled her dress over her head, rolling it into a ball, which she threw clumsily toward the washing basket by the bedroom door, where it hit the wall and landed on the floor instead.
“I’m all right. Just tired.”
He sat on the bed and lay back, trailing fingertips down the vertebrae studding Agnes’s back as she unclipped her bra and sent it flying to land next to the dress. More curves than when they’d met all those years ago, but that’s no bad thing, he thought.
“Shall we …?” Jóel Ingi asked invitingly. “It’s not that late yet.”
“A second ago you were tired.” Agnes dropped her nightdress over her head without turning around. “Just get some sleep, will you?”
Friday
I T WAS DARK , and the damp chill promised a miserable day, although the drizzle that had replaced the last few weeks of sporadic snowfall had started the long process of melting the hardened ice in the street outside Jóel Ingi’s apartment. He swept the car out of the underground garage and into the street, where the tires juddered on the ridges and troughs left in the packed snow. He swore quietly. Agnes had wanted to buy a 4×4, but he’d told her not to be ridiculous. Apart from the rare visit to the tourist attractions of Gullfoss or Thingvellir with visiting foreign friends requiring a fine summer’s day, they never went further than the airport at Keflavík or the new shopping mall at Korputorg, and the grey Audi was more than good enough for that.
“It never snows in Reykjavík, or hadn’t you noticed?” he had asked with a derisory laugh that Agnes hadn’t failed to remind him of once the unseasonal snow began to fall.
He pushed the car cautiously along the city’s main road. He could have walked easily enough, but today he felt like using the car and there was the chance that he might need it later. The roads were quiet, while the car park at the gym was already half full with 4×4s and a handful of cars.
Jóel Ingi ran for a few kilometers, cycled for six and did some bench presses for the sake of his abdominals, which he felt were starting to get a little too soft for comfort. A shower and an hour later, he plunged from the gym back into themorning darkness, the door swishing shut behind him. As the Audi hummed onto the road and into the wake of a slow-moving truck spreading grit, a tired Renault appeared in the mirror and he wondered if it had followed him from the gym.
He noticed the short-lived rain had turned to occasional flakes of snow spinning in his headlights and that the Renault stayed with him all the way along Sæbraut. He tried to see the driver in the darkness, stepping on the brake at intersections to throw a little light onto the face that had to be there. Eventually he simply told himself to stop being so stupid and that the car probably belonged to some deadbeat in a dead-end job who couldn’t afford anything better. The Renault rolled past him, its nailed tires rattling on the newly scraped road surface, and on along Snorrabraut as he turned off for the ministry. He still hadn’t managed to catch sight of the driver, other than a glimpse of bulky green coat and a baseball cap.
T HE MOMENT G UNNA woke, the previous day’s news came flooding back to her, and she arrived at the Gullfoss Hotel brooding over the frustration she had suppressed on the morning drive to Reykjavík. Usually driving for almost an hour to Reykjavík provided valuable thinking time but today it had been agonizing, with work driven from her mind. Deciding to start at the hotel rather than going to the station at Hverfisgata, where piles of paperwork and emails awaited her, she found Kolbeinn in the hotel’s bar. He looked up from polishing a glass, put it on the rack on his side of the bar and let loose a winning smile.
“Good
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