The Darkness(15)

‘And your father?’

‘Never met him.’

‘Really? Did he die before you were born?’

‘No. I just never knew him – he was a foreigner.’ Her thoughts wandered back. ‘Actually, once, years ago, I did go abroad to try and trace him, but that’s another story …’

She smiled politely at Pétur. Though she tolerated these personal questions, she wasn’t keen on them. No doubt he expected her to respond in kind, by asking about his family and past life, to bring them closer. But that wasn’t going to happen. Not yet. She felt she knew enough about him to be going on with: he’d lost his wife and lived alone (in a house that was far too big for him), and, more importantly, he came across as a decent, kind man; honest and reliable. That would do for Hulda.

‘Yes,’ he said, breaking the silence, sounding a little tipsy now. ‘We’re two lonely souls, all right. Some people take the decision early in life … to be alone, I mean. But in our case, I think it was fate.’ He paused. ‘My wife and I made a conscious decision to put off having children – until it was too late for us to change our minds. Towards the end, we often discussed whether it had been a mistake.’ After a moment, he added: ‘I don’t believe in having regrets: life is what it is, it plays out one way or another. But having said that, I really wish I weren’t so alone at this point in mine.’

Hulda hadn’t been expecting this level of candour. She didn’t know what to say, and after a brief silence Pétur went on: ‘I don’t know how you two ended up childless, and I don’t mean to pry, but that sort of thing, decisions like that, they have a profound impact on our lives. They matter, really matter. Don’t you agree?’

Hulda nodded, glancing discreetly at the clock, then at the bottle, and Pétur got the hint: it was time to say goodnight.





XI


No matter how busy she was, she always turned up punctually to visit her daughter. Twice a week without fail, never missing a day. However heavy the snow or fierce the storm. Not even illness could deter her, since the glass dividing them ensured that she couldn’t infect her baby. Twice now these visits had landed her in trouble with unsympathetic employers, and on the second occasion she had handed in her notice. Her daughter came first.

Physically at least, the little girl appeared to be thriving. Her second birthday was rapidly approaching and she was healthy and tall for her age, but there was a faraway look in her eyes that made her mother anxious.

Perhaps, deep down, she knew that too long had passed: that her visits weren’t achieving anything; that the invisible thread connecting mother and daughter had snapped at some point during these two years of separation. Maybe it had happened at the very beginning, on the day when, against her will, she had relinquished her daughter into the hands of strangers. Her parents, ashamed of their daughter for having a child out of wedlock and wishing to hush up the affair, had considered it for the best. They had presented her with a stark choice: either give the child up for adoption – something she would never dream of doing – or place her in an institution for infants ‘to start off with’.

She had been living with her parents when her baby was born and couldn’t afford to move into a place of her own, so for her the choice was simple: since giving up her baby for good was out of the question, the second option had seemed the lesser of two evils.

After finishing her compulsory schooling, she hadn’t taken any further qualifications, and felt it was too late to make up for that now. In any case, her parents had never encouraged her to get an education, placing all their expectations instead on the shoulders of her younger brother, who was now at Reykjavík College.

But things were about to change. She had been working for two years, putting money aside, and, although she was still living with her parents, it wouldn’t be long before she could afford to move out into her own flat. And then she could realize her long-desired dream of reclaiming her daughter from the institution.

Her relationship with her parents had become increasingly strained. At first, too numb to stand up to them when she fell unexpectedly pregnant, she had allowed them to push her around. Now, she was afraid she would never be able to forgive them for parting her from her child. Looking back, she couldn’t understand how she had ever agreed to such a thing.

She only hoped her little girl would find it in her heart to forgive her.





XII


After saying goodbye to Pétur with a chaste kiss on the cheek, Hulda went back into the sitting room and reclaimed the old armchair. She was too restless to go to bed straight away, couldn’t face being alone in the dark with only her thoughts for company. There were too many of them circling, waiting to pounce, each more upsetting than the last.

The Russian girl was still uppermost in her mind, though she had pushed the thought of her away while drinking wine with Pétur. The wine – good point: there was still a splash left. No call to waste it. Reaching for the bottle, Hulda tipped the dregs into her glass. The Russian girl … But thinking about Elena inevitably brought Hulda round full circle to the circumstances in which the young woman’s death had ended up on her desk: she had, to all intents and purposes, been given her notice today; told to clear out her office; swept out of the way like a piece of old rubbish.