Yrsa Sigurdardottir - Someone to Watch Over Me

‘I’m not making this up, Halli. I would have thought you’d understand that.’ Berglind clamped the phone between her shoulder and ear so that she could fold the washing. ‘The clothes smelled disgusting; I washed them three times using more and more detergent but the smell won’t go away.’

‘Please, Begga, not now.’ Halli sounded tired. ‘Of course I believe you, but there has to be some explanation. Maybe a neighbour’s cat just sprayed the clothes?’

‘Didn’t you hear what I said? This isn’t the odour of cat urine. I don’t know what it could be. Something spoiled or rotten.’

‘Then maybe the cat just ran into the washing with a dead animal, I don’t know.’

‘The washing doesn’t hang down to the ground, Halli. And even if it did, cats don’t carry prey that’s rotten.’ Berglind immediately regretted having said this. She realized how unreasonable she must sound to her husband.

‘Begga. I’ve got to go to work. I know nothing about this and it seems anything I say will just annoy you more. Throw the damn stuff in a bag and I’ll take a look at it when I get home. If the stink is as bad as you say, then it’ll still smell this evening.’ He didn’t heave a sigh as he said this, but he might as well have done.

‘Fine.’ Berglind put down a white T-shirt that was spark-lingly clean but smelled as if it had recently been dug up from a damp grave. ‘See you later. Sorry to disturb you.’ This wasn’t meant to sound bitter or sarcastic, but it did anyway.

‘Okay,’ said Halli. There was a brief silence, which she found herself unable to fill. ‘Don’t hang the clothes outside, Begga. Use the dryer.’

‘I will.’ There was such a lot that Berglind wanted to say to him, but she could neither put it into words nor expect him to appreciate the timing. ‘Come home early.’ He didn’t acquiesce immediately, as she had hoped he would. ‘Please.’

‘I’ll try.’

‘ I’ll try ’ was the same as ‘ maybe ’. Both were polite ways of saying no. The smell seemed worse when the conversation finished; Berglind turned from the table, grabbed a plastic bag and hurriedly stuffed the washing into it. Then she tied a knot at the top and put the bag into a corner of the little utility room. She hurried out and shut the door behind her, determined not to think about the stench any more or to let it put her off her chores. There was plenty to do and it would soon be time to feed her son. ‘Pési, darling? Are you hungry?’ she called. No answer. The silence made the house seem empty, as though she wasn’t even there herself. ‘Pési? Where are you, sweetie?’ Still no answer. Berglind rushed to the hallway on the ground floor where she could see into the kitchen and the living room, but Pési wasn’t in either of them. Upstairs also appeared to be empty, but that didn’t really mean anything: Pési was still so little that he didn’t make much noise. He was probably doing a puzzle in his room or messing around with something. All the same, Berglind dashed up the stairs, two steps at a time. Her worries weren’t assuaged when she found her son’s room empty – as, it transpired, were all the other upstairs rooms.

On her way back down the stairs it crossed her mind that Pési might have wandered outside while she was on the phone; maybe he got bored in the house and missed preschool. Berglind’s decision at the end of last week to let him stay at home for a while had, in retrospect, perhaps not been a good one, and every time he asked to be allowed to return she’d had to face the fact that Pési’s absence from class wasn’t just for his sake but for hers as well. She felt so much better having him at home and not being alone in the house while she was on this ludicrous so-called sick leave. It was an absurd thing to call it. Physically she was perfectly healthy, and mentally she was a little bruised at worst. No holiday from work was going to heal those particular wounds, and sometimes she thought her absence was mainly for her colleagues’ benefit. She felt guilty at this thought; her boss’s suggestion had been made out of concern. An unusual level of concern, come to think of it. It would have been nice if her closest relatives had been as understanding and had displayed as much genuine interest in her problems. Her disappointment at Halli’s reaction on the phone still smarted. ‘Pési?’ Silence. He must have gone outside.

The front door was kept locked and Pési had never quite been able to open it by himself. Naturally, he grew bigger and stronger every day, so it could just be that this was the first time he’d managed it. Berglind opened the door and was hit by an ice-cold gust of wind. The weekend’s fine weather was well and truly over. Her coat hung on a hook in the hall, with Pési’s jacket next to it. If he had gone out, he was inadequately dressed, even ignoring the fact that he was too young to be wandering around alone. Instead of putting on her coat, Berglind ran back to check whether he’d been messing about in the garden. He could sometimes manage the sliding door if he pulled with all his might, and he was used to playing outside – though he’d rarely gone out there in the sleet of recent months. It was also possible that she’d left the door half open. She couldn’t remember whether she’d shut it behind her when she took the clothes from the line, irritated at foolishly letting the fine weekend weather dupe her into hanging the washing outside. Mind you, it was cold out and there was no chance that the door had stood open all that time. When she entered the room she saw the curtains moving in the breeze.

‘Pési?’ Berglind drew them back and was relieved to see her son out in the garden. She pushed her way out through the half-open door. Her son had his back to her, and appeared not to hear her. Fortunately, he was wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt, but he still had far too few clothes on for the middle of winter. His blond hair fluttered in the wind, reminding Berglind that he was well overdue for a haircut. ‘Pési? You can’t go out like this without letting Mummy know.’ He remained absolutely motionless, giving no indication that he was aware of her. He stood directly underneath the line where the white washing had been hanging that morning. It could be that he’d found the dead animal Halli had been talking about, which would explain the stench. That would definitely scare him; she didn’t know whether Pési had ever seen anything dead. ‘Come on, Pési, darling. You’ll catch cold if you stay out for long dressed like this.’ She went over to him and spoke calmly, so as not to startle him when she took his shoulder. It was rare for him to be so distracted; it did happen from time to time, of course, but always in the evenings when he was very tired.

‘Bad smell here, Mummy.’ He didn’t turn around.

Berglind felt a stabbing pain in her heart; he was the only one who knew that it wasn’t her imagination. ‘I know, darling. Let’s go inside.’ She had nearly reached him when he moved slightly, pawing at the grass with his bare feet. ‘Your feet must be like blocks of ice, Pési, sweetheart. I think I’ll need to make you some hot chocolate if we want to get them warm again.’

‘I don’t want hot chocolate. I want to be outside.’ He finally turned around and looked at his mother with sad eyes. His hair still blew in the wind a little, but suddenly it looked almost as if it was being smoothed down somehow; protected from the gusts by invisible means.

‘Come on, Pési.’ Berglind gave up trying to seem bright and cheerful; instead her voice was full of urgency and unease. ‘Let’s go inside.’ The air was tinged with a familiar metallic tang. ‘It’s too cold to be outside.’