Yrsa Sigurdardottir - Someone to Watch Over Me

Thóra left their meeting with Tryggvi’s father feeling reasonably pleased. Not much new information had emerged, of course, but Einvarður had promised to be ready to assist her, which was something of a step forward. If she needed data or information, he’d see that she got it. Thóra reflected that it must be nice being part of that mysterious elite who always seemed to get their own way. Einvarður’s offer wasn’t subject to any provisos that this information would depend on others’ consent, nor was it an offer to explore whether he could help in some way. He simply intended to help them out, and appeared convinced that he’d be able to do so. Thóra was unused to this level of cooperation and thought for a moment that she’d misunderstood him – not because of his being so certain that he could get hold of what she needed, but because he appeared to be prepared to hand the material over unconditionally. Useful information went hand in hand with power, which people were seldom keen to share with others. Thus it could be difficult to extract it from certain people, and it was rare to hear of it being served up on a plate. The more usual scenario would have been for the man to make her chase him before he reluctantly shared the information in order to emphasize his own importance. Maybe Einvarður’s amen-ability was the reason he hadn’t tried to claw his way up the ladder in politics.

In an additional act of collaboration, before saying goodbye to Thóra and Matthew, Einvarður had called his wife and informed her that she should follow his example and provide Thóra with all the assistance she might need. Thóra sat listening but adopted the expression of someone who, though forced to be in earshot of a couple’s conversation, is so distracted that it goes completely in one ear and out the other. Of course, she heard everything that Einvarður said as well as the faint sound of his wife’s replies, though she couldn’t distinguish the individual words. The message was clearly delivered as an instruction, yet it was completely free of any unpleasant or bullying tone. Nevertheless, it was abundantly clear that Einvarður expected his wishes to be followed. He then informed Thóra and Matthew that Fanndís could meet them whenever it suited them, scribbled her mobile number on a slip of paper and handed it to Thóra. As she took hold of it, instead of releasing his grip on it, he looked resolutely into her eyes. ‘We all want the right man to be convicted – in fact I insist upon it.’ Once he’d made his declaration, he let go of the paper and Thóra sat there unsure about whether his comment was meant generally, or was directed at her alone. As they parted, she muttered something about that being fair enough.

Matthew hadn’t understood much of what had transpired at the meeting, but he was slowly but surely putting together the main details of the case. ‘What do you suppose it’s like to have such a severely disabled child?’

‘Difficult, no doubt.’ The snow crunched beneath Thóra’s feet. In more heavily populated areas, the layer of white had probably already turned to slush, but here few people had been out and about, even though it was nearly noon. ‘Difficult, and sad – but it must be rewarding, too. Small victories become big ones, and it’s amazing how people can adapt to different circumstances and accept their lot in life.’

‘You’re sounding quite philosophical.’

‘That’s your question making me think that way.’ They crossed the street towards the car. ‘To be honest, I actually have no idea – I can’t even get my head around it.’ This was the honest truth; since accepting the case, Thóra had frequently, if unintentionally, found herself wondering what Orri’s life would be like if he were trapped inside an undeveloped body or mind – though she always pushed away these thoughts as soon as they appeared. She’d also wondered whether some subconscious prejudice was clouding her vision, but she was pretty certain that that wasn’t the case. In her opinion, prejudice fed on hatred, and in this case she felt quite the opposite: she found it unbearably sad to think about these young, severely disabled people who missed out on so much of life. It was also perfectly clear to her that they must be hurt by this kind of attitude; not to be considered as individuals, but instead defined by their disability. She resolved to cultivate a more informed manner of thinking and was sure this would help her with her investigation. ‘I could really do with something proper to eat.’ She looked up along Hverfisgata Street, hoping to spot a restaurant. ‘I don’t know whether I’m depressed or starving, but I need some sus-tenance.’

They went over to a little café-restaurant nearby and when Thóra saw on the menu hanging in the window that bacon and eggs were on offer, that settled it. Matthew wasn’t quite as excited. The place was decorated with old books on shelves that appeared even older and on the verge of collapsing. There were very few tables inside. Thóra found the place cosy, but Matthew disagreed, quietly muttering that he doubted very much if the dust was regularly wiped off the books. Thóra hoped for the employees’ sake that this was indeed the case – besides, it would hardly be great from the diners’ perspective if the staff were constantly stirring up dust that could otherwise have lain on top of the old tomes, troubling no one. However, she said nothing, having long ago realized that Matthew preferred the places where he ate to maintain the same standards of hygiene as an operating theatre. ‘Just be sure you don’t bite the books,’ she told him. He gave her a dirty look before studying the menu in search of something boiled to eat.

‘I think we should contact Fanndís, Einvarður’s wife, straight away. Strike while the iron’s hot.’ Thóra watched the girl at the counter pour them two cups of coffee. ‘They might change their minds if we wait.’

‘Do you want me to go with you?’ Matthew didn’t seem too thrilled at the prospect. ‘I don’t have much to add, and she might find it disturbing, me just sitting there silently between you.’

‘It didn’t seem to bother her husband. He spoke freely even though you didn’t say anything.’

‘Women are different. I’m absolutely certain she’ll trust you with more information if you go on your own. I don’t quite know where to put myself when these disabilities are discussed. Unfortunately I seem to understand everything that’s said about them, even though I’d prefer not to.’

The coffee was placed on the table in front of them and they remained politely silent as the waitress served them. When she was finished, Thóra spoke up again. ‘It’ll be fine. You get used to the topic quickly. And maybe she’s the kind of woman who gets all aflutter when there’s a handsome man in the vicinity and says more than she meant to.’ She took a sip of the aromatic coffee. ‘Besides, I don’t want to go alone.’

They finished their food, which had been served at remarkable speed and had disappeared just as quickly into their bellies. Thóra felt much better afterwards, and it didn’t hurt that the food had been particularly good. Matthew had even cleared his plate, after a cautious start. ‘They won’t have to wash up after us,’ said Thóra, looking at her gleaming plate, ‘so maybe they’ll have time to dust off the books.’ She smiled at Matthew as she dug out Fanndís’s number.

Lena watched her mother put down the phone and stare into space. She had rubbed her ear continually as she spoke. After Lena’s brother Tryggvi had died, her mother’s nervousness had increased so much that one ear had turned almost permanently crimson from all the rubbing. ‘Who was it?’ Lena tried to appear uninterested.