Yrsa Sigurdardottir - Someone to Watch Over Me

Lena just restrained herself from shrieking at her mother. ‘It’s hardly fair to let the wrong man rot in prison just to protect a few people’s feelings, is it?’ How could her mother, who pretended to be so good, not let such a thing bother her? Lena felt bad enough herself.

‘Oh, darling, come on – that’s enough.’ Her mother walked to the window and pushed the net curtain aside. ‘He’s not in the driveway. But the car’s there, so he hasn’t gone far.’

‘Maybe he went out for a run, Mum. Jesus. If you’re so worried about him, spend more time with him and less on the phone.’

‘You’re one to talk.’ Her mother’s mask had slipped now and she made no attempt to hide her anger. ‘Where did you go last night?’

‘Out with my friends.’ Lena looked at her curiously. ‘You already knew that.’

Her mother grabbed her earlobe and rubbed it energetically. ‘Yes, that’s right.’ She plonked herself into a chair opposite Lena. ‘I’m really not myself. Your father’s acting a bit oddly these days and I don’t know whether it’s because of work or the reopening of the case.’ She feigned interest in the book between them. ‘He went to work last night after you left. He hasn’t worked in the evening in years, let alone at the weekend.’

‘He’s super-busy right now. You know that.’

‘Yes, yes. But I’m still concerned. He’s reached the age when his heart could give out and he should think about slowing down, even if things are frantic.’

‘If he had a study here at home he wouldn’t need to go to work at the weekend or in the evenings.’ Lena spoke carefully, knowing this was a sensitive issue. Although the house was large, there was only one spare room – Tryggvi’s old room. Everything in it had been left undisturbed, as if they were still expecting him to come home on weekends, as had been the idea when he moved to the unit. After he died, the door to his room had been shut and Lena never went inside; nor did her dad. She didn’t know how many times her mother had looked in there but twice she’d found the door open and seen her mother crying on the bed. Both times Lena had crept away unseen. She knew very well her mother’s tendency to dramatize every little thing and had quickly suggested to her dad that they clean out Tryggvi’s room and turn it into the study her father had long dreamed of. She didn’t attempt to gloss over the reason for her suggestion, and together they’d been trying slowly but surely to make it happen, while her mother always deftly avoided taking the final decision.

‘Yes, we need to think about that.’ In other words, discuss it endlessly.

‘Why can’t we just do it now? Nothing’s going to change in the near future. I know it’d make Dad very happy.’

‘Yes, I’ll speak to him about it tonight.’ Another delaying tactic.

Lena sat up. ‘How about we just take a look at the room now? Go over what you want to do with his things? I’m not saying we have to start boxing them up tonight.’

Her mother opened her mouth and closed it again. Her slender fingers stopped rubbing her ear. ‘Well, I’m not feeling well enough to do it now, Lena. You have to understand that I simply haven’t recovered yet.’

‘Maybe because you still have to work through it properly. I think sorting out Tryggvi’s room would actually do you good. There are so many people having a difficult time at the moment, who could make good use of a lot of what’s in there.’ Lena prepared to stand up. ‘Come on – Dad will be so pleased, and if you really are worried about him having a heart attack or whatever then surely you can see that this will help.’ She wriggled to her feet. ‘Come on, it’ll take fifteen minutes, max.’

‘We’re not going to start packing anything? Just have a look?’ Lena nodded and her mother sighed deeply. ‘I really can’t be doing this. I still need to do the shopping, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg.’ It would be difficult to squeeze as much as a child-sized carton of chocolate milk into the jam-packed fridge, but Lena let it go; it was a major victory to get her mother to consider this at all.

The air in the room was heavy; it was much hotter in there than in the rest of the house and the smell was different. It was as if they were entering someone else’s home, where the heating was turned up to tropical levels. ‘Shall I open the window?’ Lena didn’t wait for an answer. However, the fresh air didn’t seem to have much effect. ‘Well, where do we start?’

Her mother was still standing in the doorway. ‘We’ll never manage to finish this in such a short time. Shouldn’t we start on it after I’ve done the shopping and the cooking?’

‘No, Mum. Let’s start now.’ Lena opened the wardrobe. In it were countless hangers, one suit and a pile of old jumpers and T-shirts that had been left behind when Tryggvi went to the residence. ‘This, for example, could go to the Red Cross. The suit is almost new and I’m sure there’s someone who could use it.’

‘It’s brand new. He was supposed to wear it at Christmas.’ Her mother’s voice was devoid of all emotion. ‘I’m not sure I want to give it away. Or the jumpers. Your late grandmother knitted one of them.’

Lena shut the wardrobe slowly, though what she really wanted was to slam the door as hard as she could. ‘Okay. What about the books?’ High shelves full of illustrated books about animals, cars and astronomy stood at the opposite end of the room. ‘I doubt any of us will read them.’

‘I was taught never to throw books out. Don’t you remember how he used to look at them for hours? There’s something horrible about the idea of getting rid of them.’

‘Yes, Mum, of course I remember.’ This was going to be more difficult than Lena had expected. ‘We don’t need to throw them out or give them away; we can box them up and store them.’

‘It’s all the same in the end.’

Lena wasn’t going to give up that easily. ‘We can put the ones on the shelves into storage, at least. They haven’t been opened since I don’t know when.’ Lena pulled out the smallest drawer in her brother’s sturdy desk, yanking it so forcefully that she was lucky not to pull it completely off its runners. In it were all sorts of things: crayons and other stationery, a deck of cards Tryggvi had used to build cardhouses and dice he’d loved playing with. At the back of the drawer was a bright red cigarette lighter she wouldn’t have noticed if she’d opened the drawer normally. She decided not to say anything and shut the drawer again without mentioning its contents. ‘We can probably give most of this away.’

‘It depends what’s in there, of course.’ Lena’s mother leaned against the doorframe, clearly not intending to actually enter the room . ‘Even if things aren’t in constant use, that doesn’t necessarily mean they should be recycled.’

‘Who said anything about recycling?’ Lena opened the next drawer. It was larger and heavier than the previous one, and she had to use some force. ‘Although we shouldn’t rule it out.’ The drawer was full of stones and pebbles, but not the kind of stones she’d imagine someone wanting to keep, She remembered a trip to a mineralogical museum where the stones had been beautiful and eye-catching, in every colour imaginable, many of them sparkly. These ones were all grey, irregularly shaped and uninteresting – just rocks. ‘Where did he get these stones?’

‘From outside. I let him keep them in there.’

‘Did he used to just pick them up off the ground? I never noticed him doing that.’ She’d taken countless walks around the neighbourhood with her brother, and he’d never shown any interest in stones – insofar as he’d shown an interest in anything.