Yrsa Sigurdardottir - Last Rituals

Hannes, her ex, was an ER surgeonin other words, he was in a stable and well-paid job. After their divorce Thora had had to relinquish many things she had begun to take for granted. It was no longer a matter of course to go out for a meal, take a weekend break abroad, buy expensive clothes, or do any of the other typical things people who don't need to worry about money do. Although not all the disadvantages involved money no sex flashed through Thora's mindwhat she missed most was the lady who had come to clean their house twice a week. When Thora and Hannes divorced she had been forced to let her go, simply in order to make ends meet. So Thora now stood by the broom closet doing her best to shut the door without crushing the vacuum cleaner hose that repeatedly sprang out and prevented it from closing. When she succeeded at last she heaved a sigh of relief. She had vacuumed all the floors in a house of more than two thousand square feet and felt quite pleased with herself.

"Doesn't it make a world of difference?" she asked her daughter, who was sitting in the kitchen absorbed in drawing pictures.

Soley looked up. "What does?"

"The floors," Thora answered. "I've vacuumed. Don't they look nice?"

The girl looked at the floor and then back at her mother. "You missed this." She pointed with a green crayon at a ball of fluff under one leg of the chair she was sitting on.

"Oh, sorry, madame," said Thora, kissing her daughter on the head. "What's that nice picture you're drawing?"

"It's you and me and Gylfi," Soley replied, pointing to three figures of different sizes on the paper. "You're wearing a pretty dress and so am I and Gylfi's wearing shorts." She looked at her mother. "It's summer in this picture."

"Wow, don't I look smart," Thora said. "I'll definitely get myself a dress like that next summer." She looked at her watch. "Come along. I'll brush your teeth. It's bedtime."

While Soley put away her crayons, Thora went to her son's room. She gave a light rap on the door before opening it. "Isn't this just as good as new?" she asked, again referring to the floors.

Gylfi did not answer immediately. He was lying on the bed talking on his mobile. Seeing her, he said a quick good-bye and in a half whisper promised whoever he was talking to that he would ring later. He half sat up and put down his phone. Thora thought he looked dazed. "Are you okay? You look so pale."

"What?" Gylfi said. "Sure, everything's okay. Great, really."

"That's nice," she said. "I just came to see if you didn't think the air is fresher since I vacuumed your room. And if I wouldn't get a kiss as a reward."

Gylfi sat up properly. He looked around vacantly. "Eh? Oh, yeah. Cool."

Thora studied her son closely. Something definitely wasn't right. His normal reaction would have been to shrug or mumble something about not caring what the floors looked like. He darted his eyes and avoided looking at his mother. There was something wrong, and a pang shot through Thora's stomach. She hadn't been looking after him properly. He had changed from a little boy into a half man since the divorce, and she had been too preoccupied with herself and her own problems to pay enough attention to him. Now she did not know how to act. Most of all she wanted to hug him and run her fingers through his unnecessarily long hair, but that would just look sillythat time had passed, it was long gone. "Hey," she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. She had to crane her neck to look him in the face, because he was looking away. "Something's wrong. You can tell me. I promise not to get angry."

Gylfi gave her a thoughtful look but said nothing. Thora saw tiny beads of sweat on his forehead and for a moment she thought he might have the flu. "Are you running a temperature?" she asked, stretching out her hand to press the back of it against his brow.

Gylfi dodged her deftly. "No, no. Not at all. I've just heard some bad news."

"Oh?" Thora said cautiously. "Who was on the phone?"

"SiggaI mean Siggi," Gylfi answered without looking his mother in the eye. He added hastily: "Arsenal lost to Liverpool."

Thora was not born yesterday and was perfectly aware that he had just cooked up this excuse on the spot. She did not recognize the name Siggi from Gylfi's circlealthough of course he had countless acquaintances whose names and faces she did not know. But she did know her son well enough to realize that he was not so into soccer that he'd get depressed over the English league results. She wondered whether to press him further or let it go. Given the situation she judged the latter option more appropriatefor the time being. "Oh, dear. Rotten. Bloody Liverpool." She looked him straight in the eye. "If you want or need to talk to me, Gylfi, then promise me you won't hesitate to do just that." Seeing his flustered expression, she swiftly added: "About the game, I mean. Arsenal. You know you can come to me, dear. I can't solve all the problems in the world but I can try to tackle the ones that end up on our table."

Gylfi looked at her without saying a word. With a wan smile he mumbled something about an essay he needed to finish. Thora muttered something back, left the room and closed his door. She could not imagine what kind of setback could upset a sixteen-year-old boyshe had never been one, nor could she remember her own adolescence clearly. All that occurred to her was girl problems. Maybe he had a crush on someone. Thora decided to find out diplomaticallyshe could pop a few subtle questions to him over breakfast the next morning. This crisis might even have blown over by then. It could all be a storm in a teacuphormone shock.

After brushing Soley's teeth and reading her a story, Thora settled down on the sofa in front of the television. She called her mother, who was on vacation for a month with her father in the Canary Islands. Constant bickering greeted her whenever she phoned. The last time it was not being able to buy curds for breakfast that was killing her parents. Now it was the Discovery Channel, which her father had become addicted to, on the hotel televisionif her mother was to be believed, that is. As they exchanged good-byes, her mother said wearily that she was going to flop down beside her husband and hear all about the mating habits of insects. Smiling to herself, Thora put down the phone and returned to watching TV herself. Just as she was dozing off in front of a banal reality show the telephone rang. She sat up in the sofa and reached for the phone.

"Thora speaking," she answered, carefully choosing a voice that did not betray the fact she had just nodded off.

"Hello, it's Hannes," said the voice on the other end.

"Hello." Thora wondered whether she would ever stop feeling uncomfortable talking to her ex. These excruciating exchanges surely sprang from the transition from intimacy to forced politeness, like when she met old boyfriends or men she had slept with when she was youngeran unavoidable hazard when living in a small country like Iceland.

"Listen, about the weekend, I was wondering if I could just call round to collect the kids a bit later on Friday. I'm taking Gylfi out for a driving lesson and I think it's better to do that after rush hour, around eight o'clock."

Thora said yes, although she knew quite well that the delay had nothing to do with driving lessons. Undoubtedly Hannes had to work later or planned to go to the gym after work. One of the reasons for their endless quarrels after the divorce had been that Hannes never seemed able to take any responsibility; it was always the fault of someone else or fictional circumstances beyond his control. This was not her problem anymore, but his new partner Klara's. "What are you doing over the weekend?" Thora asked for the sake of saying something. "Should I pack them any special clothes?"

"We might go horseback riding so it would be good if they have outfits for that," Hannes replied.