Yrsa Sigurdardottir - Someone to Watch Over Me

‘Well, now.’ Matthew drove slowly up to the building’s entrance. There he stopped the car and glanced at Thóra. ‘Are you happy to look at it from here or do you want to walk around the house?’

Thóra had already buttoned her coat up to her chin to keep out the cold. ‘We’re getting out, of course. I’m hoping we can get inside.’ And with that she quickly climbed out of the car, so as not to have to listen to Matthew’s objections. As soon as she shut the door she noticed two things: the bracing cold, that would be unbearable if the wind were blowing, and a vague smell of smoke, despite the considerable amount of time that had passed since the fire. Thóra took a deep breath to convince herself that she wasn’t imagining it, and although the smell was faint it still made her nose prickle. She pulled the collar of her coat right up under her eyes to keep out the unpleasant odour. She saw Matthew wrinkle his nose too as he stepped out of the car, but he only shuddered slightly before pushing his repulsion aside. He wasn’t the kind of person who would hold his nose, but Thóra knew him well enough to realize that was exactly what he was longing to do.

They walked around the house, surveying the damage. The windows were boarded up from the inside with plywood panels, and around them the white paint of the exterior walls had turned black, especially near the top, where you could almost make out the shadow of the flames that had blazed up into the sky.

‘The glass probably shattered in the heat.’ Matthew shone his torch on one of the frames. ‘I’m no fire expert, but I doubt the residents who died broke the windows themselves.’ He lowered the beam. ‘Or the fire-fighters might have done it when they were trying to rescue them.’

Thóra bent down and picked up a large piece of glass she’d stepped on. ‘I don’t think so, as the glass has fallen out here – the windows must have been smashed from inside.’ She let it fall. ‘Anyway, I have a report from the Fire Prevention Unit that I’m sure will explain. It looked too complicated to read when I first went through the files.’ They came to a side door, which led through to the garden behind the building. It had a large board nailed across it, and beyond it stood a garden table with two broken legs and no accompanying chairs.

There was a large gap at the lower edge of the board. ‘The catch has come off.’ Thóra pushed carefully on the hastily attached fastening and it gave way. ‘We can go in if we want.’

‘Er, yeah – no thanks.’ Matthew looked unimpressed. ‘You can see it isn’t safe. The roof is probably hanging by a thread and it could collapse on top of us. I don’t care about me, but you’re not going in there.’

‘Come on.’ Thóra took a torch, pushed again on the board and shone her light on the ceiling of the side passage. ‘The ceiling here is made of concrete, so it’s not going anywhere. Have a look.’ Matthew seemed grudgingly convinced about the sturdiness of the structure but continued to try to dissuade Thóra. Even as he was using all his strength to enlarge the opening so that they could slip through, he carried on warning her about all the dangers that might await them. Then they were inside the building.

The torch wasn’t much use in the pitch-black. All the windows were covered, preventing the dull gleam of the streetlights from filtering in, yet a layer of water glistened on the floor. ‘I didn’t realise we would ruin our shoes.’ Thóra felt the ice-cold water leak through the seams of her canvas trainers.

‘We’re not the first unauthorized visitors to come here.’ Matthew aimed his torch at a corner, where several beer cans lay, along with a cigarette packet and some other paper rubbish. ‘This could hardly have been here when the house caught fire.’

‘No, I suppose not.’ It looked to Thóra as if it had been a kind of living room, although the furniture had been removed. On a wall, empty shelf-brackets jutted out forlornly. Shards of broken pottery were scattered in the water on the floor but it was difficult to work out where they had come from; probably vases, or pots for houseplants. ‘Shall we try and go further into the house? It’s divided into various apartments and it would be good to have a look at them. Our shoes are ruined anyway.’

Matthew pointed the light down at her feet. ‘You’re not kidding.’ He then shone it back into the house to check what lay ahead. At the end of the room a corridor led in two directions. ‘We can have a look around, though I don’t quite understand what you think we’ll find. There’s nothing here that’s going to make any difference. It’s an empty shell and it’s been inspected plenty of times before – and under better conditions.’

‘I’ll feel better having seen it with my own eyes. The descriptions I read only tell half the story – they give a two-dimensional view of the situation instead of the three-dimensional one that will help the witnesses’ testimonies really make sense.’ She was grateful that it was too dark in the building to see Matthew’s expression. She doubted he’d think much of this justification and it was imperative that she set off before he could protest and drag her out. She walked in the direction of the corridor. ‘It won’t take long.’

They set out cautiously; they had no idea what might be hidden in the shallow water and neither of them was interested in falling into it – the fact that it had soaked their feet was quite enough. The water deepened a little when they entered the corridor, enough to cover the edges of their shoes at the ankles. They both shivered, and Thóra recalled the old saying that as soon as the cold gets hold of your feet, you’re cold all over. Once they’d passed the little kitchen, the doors of the apartments began. They were all open, and Matthew pointed out that they were obviously flame-resistant fire doors, because the only damage visible on them was a layer of soot. Then he pointed his torch up at the ceiling, and they both stared at the little sprinklers running the length of the corridor.

‘This shouldn’t have been possible.’ Thóra felt as if the smell of smoke had intensified just at the thought of how horribly the residents died, and how they’d been screwed over both by other people and by fate. ‘It was a total fuck-up; maybe that’s why they were in such a rush to close the case. I’m sure there’s a reason it was wrapped up so quickly, though I suppose it didn’t help that they couldn’t keep the suspect in a normal detention cell.’

She followed Matthew into the first apartment. They quickly took stock of everything inside it. Most of the furnishings had been removed. They called them ‘apartments’, but this tiny space barely deserved the name; the sleeping area, kitchen and sitting room were all in one open-plan area, with the bed in a nook next to the bathroom, the only part of the apartment that could be called spacious. They peeked into it and saw that it was tailored to the needs of a severely disabled resident; the shower area alone was at least twice as large as the one in Thóra’s house, and needed to be to accommodate the various handles and supports fastened to the walls. A shower-curtain, once cheerfully decorated with pictures of colourful fish, hung in tatters from the ceiling, sooty, crumpled and partially melted Thóra was careful not to touch the remains for fear of getting even filthier than she already was, and she wondered whether they’d have to install a shower area like this once eight people were living in her house, which currently had only one shower. Matthew still hadn’t been anything but positive about the prospective changes to the household, but Thóra knew he was only being polite; he must be dreading it as much as she was, if not more. Now that his job at the bank was a thing of the past, he’d be the one who’d have to sit at home most of the day with her parents. She’d have to take him with her whenever she could, otherwise everything would fall apart. She was even considering having a Brazilian wax, which a girlfriend of hers had raved about, in order to surprise him. Even though she’d heard that the first time it was like being skinned – without anaesthetic.