Why Did You Lie? by Yrsa Sigurðardóttir, Katherine Manners, Hodder, Stoughton Page A

sleep or stave off depression, though with every day that passed the thought of such solutions became increasingly attractive. She was held back by stubbornness and the certainty that dulling her senses wouldn’t help in the long run. Any more than drawing the curtains would cause the garage to disappear.
    Nína licked her fingers and wiped her eyes in a vain attempt to hide the signs of exhaustion. The image the mirror presented her with was unchanged: a familiar face imprinted with shadows. She slapped her cheeks to make them pink, which slightly improved the overall effect.
    The doorbell rang again and Nína hurriedly answered it. ‘Is the bell broken?’ People often said the sisters looked almost identical, but right now few would have thought so. Berglind was the picture of health, a natural glow in her cheeks. Her long blonde hair swirled around her head in the wind and she had to pull a thick strand from her lips. ‘Aren’t you going to let me in?’
    Nína stepped aside and Berglind entered the hall with a sigh of relief. Nína received an icy kiss on the cheek and watched as her sister tried to tidy her hair.
    ‘Should I just throw my coat on the floor?’ Berglind eyed Nína’s jacket. As she looked up her gaze encountered the Santa Claus and Nína regretted not having smashed the bloody thing after all. Berglind was regarding her anxiously. ‘You look terrible. Worse than last time, and that’s saying something.’ She frowned. ‘And what on earth’s wrong with your cheeks?’
    Clearly her attempt to bring a little colour to her face had misfired. ‘Nothing. I’m just tired.’ Nína led the way to the kitchen, eager to go in there as soon as possible so Berglind wouldn’t have a chance to look around. The kitchen was her stage and that was where the audience member was to sit. ‘Coffee?’ Behind her she heard Berglind say yes to a small cup. The element was on the blink in the coffee-maker and no steam rose from the cups when Nína poured them. She sat down facing her sister. ‘Sorry, it’s not very hot.’
    ‘Doesn’t matter.’ Berglind took a sip and put down her cup. She didn’t take another. ‘How are you doing?’ She glanced around, apparently more satisfied with the kitchen than the hall. Nína’s efforts hadn’t been wasted. ‘I haven’t heard from you for ages.’
    ‘I’m always up at the hospital. Or at work.’
    Berglind nodded. ‘I see.’ She opened her mouth to say something else but thought better of it. She looked down at the table as if for inspiration, then raised her eyes again, her expression sombre. ‘How long can you carry on like this?’ Nína could feel her own face hardening. Her sister took her hand. ‘I’m not suggesting you should stop visiting Thröstur. Only wondering if you could cut down your visits a bit so you can start living again – give yourself time to do something else apart from just working.’
    ‘It’s not as if he …’ Nína always had trouble finding the words for what Thröstur had done. If he had died it wouldn’t have been a problem, then she could say he had committed suicide, killed himself, taken his own life, topped himself, done himself in, passed away … But he was neither alive nor dead. ‘It’s not as if he’s been like this long. It takes time to get over it. To accept it.’ But Nína didn’t want to accept it. She wanted everything to go back to how it had been.
    ‘It’s been nearly eight weeks, Nína.’ Berglind squeezed her hand. ‘No one’s expecting you to be on top of the world but you’ve got to start looking to the future. A little bit at a time. You could start by breaking up your hospital routine in some way. If you just go on like this, working and sitting with Thröstur forever, it can only end one way. Try going to the gym, or swimming, or to the cinema. I’ll go with you.’ Berglind squeezed her hand again. ‘At least take some time off work – surely they’d understand? If you like you