The Darkness(36)

For the second evening in a row, they overdid the red wine. Hulda was dreading the morning, worrying that she would oversleep again and be too hung-over to achieve anything useful. But Pétur seemed to like having her there, and she had to admit that she was enjoying his company. It was well past midnight; the hours had passed in a blur, conversation seemed to come so easily to them. Reluctant to put an end to a lovely evening, Hulda sat tight on his leather sofa.

They were sitting side by side now, still a discreet distance apart. Pétur was obviously taking care not to get too close: he knew what he was doing.

‘You told me yesterday that you’d never met your father,’ he remarked.

Hulda nodded.

‘Did your mother ever marry? Or did she bring you up on her own?’

‘No, she never married. We lived with my grandparents,’ Hulda said. ‘My grandfather and I were great friends – he was the person I was closest to. I think we must have been very alike in some ways. I suppose he was like a bridge to that side of my family. My mother and I were never that close, but thanks to Granddad I felt I belonged, if you know what I mean. I never met my relatives on my father’s side. Without Granddad, I don’t think my childhood would have been a very happy one.’

Pétur nodded and she sensed that he understood.

‘I’d like to have met my father,’ she went on, in a low, disconsolate voice, feeling weepy all of a sudden. That was the wine: she knew she was tipsy but was enjoying it too much to stop drinking.

‘What was it like,’ Pétur began, considerately changing the subject, though without straying too far from what they had been discussing, ‘growing up with a single mother in those days? I know it’s taken for granted now, but I remember how people used to talk about one of my schoolfriends who didn’t have a father – I mean, no one knew who his father was.’

‘It was tough,’ Hulda acknowledged, reaching out for the bottle and refilling their empty glasses. ‘Very tough. She was forever changing jobs, from what I remember. It was unusual at the time for a woman to be a breadwinner, as you know, and she couldn’t always work as much as she wanted to because of me. It was a real struggle. We were quite hard up – I don’t think it’s any exaggeration to say that. The only reason we had a roof over our heads was because we were lucky enough to live with my grandparents. We always had food on the table but there was no money to spare for anything else; none of us could afford any luxuries. Growing up, I found that hard, as I’m sure you can imagine.’

‘Well, to be honest, I can’t really imagine what that’s like,’ Pétur said slowly. ‘My father was a doctor like me, so we were always well off. Luckily. The worst thing about poverty is the effect it has on the children.’

‘Actually …’ Hulda broke off, feeling a bit fuddled by the wine and wondering about the wisdom of what she had been about to say. How much ought she to tell this man? Could she trust him? Then again, maybe it would be good, healthy even, to open up about the past once in a while. She’d been bottling things up for far too long: maybe this was the chance she’d been waiting for. She had never been able to discuss personal matters at the office. None of her younger colleagues was remotely interested in hearing about the ups and downs in the life of a sixty-four-year-old woman. What’s more, she could count her friends, her real friends, on the fingers of one hand, on a good day. She decided to risk it: ‘Actually, things could have turned out very differently.’

‘Oh?’ said Pétur. His answer came so promptly, with no sign of slurring, that Hulda wondered hazily if she had knocked back more of the wine than him.

‘My mother put me in an institution when I was a baby – a home for infants, almost like an orphanage. I heard the story from Granddad; my mother never breathed a word about it to me. It was considered the right and proper thing for unmarried mothers to do in those days. From hints Granddad dropped, I think he and Grandma must have pressurized her into it and that, later, he came to regret it. He said I was taken away from my mother shortly after I was born. Do you remember those homes?’

‘Not personally, though of course I’ve heard about them.’

‘Apparently, my mother visited regularly, which is only natural, I suppose. Granddad said he was proud of her. As soon as she’d managed to save up enough money, she went and claimed me. She had every right to, though I think the babies in those institutions were usually fostered or adopted.’

‘Were you there long?’ asked Pétur.

‘Nearly two years. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, in all that time my mother was never once allowed to touch me or hold me. I gather parents were only allowed to see their babies through a glass partition. The staff thought that if the parents got to cuddle them, it would be too hard on the children when they left.’

‘I don’t suppose you remember …?’ Pétur left the question hanging.

‘No, I don’t have any memory of that time,’ said Hulda. ‘I was far too young. But I did once visit the building where the home used to be. This was donkey’s years ago. Walking through the door was such a weird feeling. I had this overwhelming sensation of déjà vu. The glass partition had gone, but I’ve seen pictures of it. And as I was walking along the corridor I instinctively stopped dead by one closed door and asked the woman showing me round whether the children used to sleep in there. She nodded and said I was quite right, and the moment she opened the door it hit me. I knew, I just knew, that I’d slept in that room. You don’t have to believe me, but it was a peculiar experience.’