Yrsa Sigurdardottir - Last Rituals

As soon as Matthew had paid the bill, Thora took him by the arm and almost dragged him away.

"What's up?" he asked in bewilderment as Thora pushed him through the door.

"There's a domestic crisis and I have to get home as soon as humanly possible."

He took her at her word, and with no further questions he threw the bags inside the Jeep and climbed behind the wheel. They drove straight to Reykjavik through Hella, Selfoss, and Hveragerdi. Matthew said little on the way. It was not until they reached the Kambar slopes that he asked whether there was anything he could do, but Thora told him she did not even know what the problem was, let alone how to resolve it. She did tell him that it concerned her son and some news he was going to tell her. They were making good time as they passed the ski lodge, and they were still plugging along when they reached the transport cafe. But right as they were passing Lake Raudavatn, on the outskirts of the city, they blew a tire.

"What the hell!" shouted Matthew, tightening his grip on the wheel to stop the car from swerving out of control. They slowed down and stopped by the roadside.

"Oh no, oh no," Thora moaned. She looked at her watch. Twenty-five past twelve. They could still make it to Seltjarnarnes by one if they had no problems changing the tire.

"Stupid cheap tires," muttered Matthew as he struggled to remove the spare from the tailgate. At last it came free and they concentrated together on jacking the car up and changing the tire. Matthew took the burst tire and tossed it through the tailgate where it landed on top of Thora's flight bag. She couldn't have cared less. It was rapidly approaching one.

They jumped into the car and Matthew roared off. "Wait here," Thora said as they pulled up outside her house. She ran toward it, taking out her keys on the way so that the doorbell would not delay her. She rang with her left hand to let Gylfi know she was back while putting the key in the lock and opening the door with her right. "Gylfi!" she panted.

"Hi, Mom." Soley ran out to greet her, all sunny smiles. If something had happened, it had escaped her notice entirely.

"Hello, sweetie. Where's your brother?" Thora pushed her way past Soley to look for her son.

"He left. I've got a note for you," she said, pulling a folded scrap of paper out of her pocket.

Thora snatched the note from her. While she unfolded it she asked: "When did he go? And where?"

"He just left. An hour ago." Soley had still not figured out the mystery of telling time. Gylfi could have gone a few seconds ago, or two weeks ago for that matter. "He went where it says here." A little finger pointed to the note as if to clear up any confusion with other pieces of paper.

"Come with me." Thora saw that the address was in Seltjarnarnes, too, so thankfully it was quite close. "Let's go for a drive with the nice man." She threw one of Gylfi's coats over Soley's shoulders, crammed her into some boots, and pushed her outside. Thora swung open the rear door of the Jeep and swiftly helped her daughter inside. Then she jumped into the passenger seat and told Matthew to drive away. "Matthew, this is my daughter, Soley. She speaks only Icelandic. Soley, this is Matthew. He doesn't speak Icelandic but I'm sure you'll be good friends."

Matthew stole a glance into the back to greet the little girl with a smile. "Pretty, like her mother," he said, turning where Thora indicated he should. "Same taste in clothes too."

"Herethen first right. I'm looking for number forty-five," Thora said, still agitated. The house soon came into sight. It was easy to recognize because walking up the drive was Gylfi. "There, there," Thora gasped, pointing to her son. Matthew sped up a little and pulled up alongside the sidewalk outside the housethe driveway was already full. Thora recognized Hannes's car. She flung open the door the moment the car stopped. "Soley, you wait here with nice Mr. Matthew."

Gylfi did not look round until his mother had repeatedly called his name as she ran toward the house. He had reached the front door where he stood slouching after ringing the bell. "Hi," he said morosely.

"I was delayed." Thora was panting. She put her hand on her son's shoulder. "What's going on, darling? Who lives here?"

Gylfi looked at her with an expression of absolute desperation. "Sigga's pregnant. She's only fifteen. I'm the father. Her parents live here."

The front door opened as he finished speaking. Thora stood frozen to the spot, her mouth gaping. For some reason her eyes were glued to the iPod her son was wearing round his neck, perhaps because she had been looking at it when the world collapsed around her. If the enraged middle-aged man who opened the door had not been blue in the face, he would surely have laughed at her moronic expression. "Hello," he said to her, then looked at Gylfi, narrowed his eyes contemptuously, and said: "You too." But those two words were obviously not to be mistaken as a welcome. Their implication was more along the lines of: Get lost, you deflowerer of the young and innocent daughters of worthy citizens .

Politeness won out from force of habit and Thora gritted her teeth into a smile. "Hello, I'm Thora. Gylfi's mother."

The man grunted but invited them in. They took off their shoes under his watchful gaze as he leaned menacingly in the doorway. Thora had the impression that the man expected Gylfi not to stop at the daughter of the household but to burst in and ravish the mother for good measure.

"Thank you," she said to no one in particular as she walked in past him. She had both arms on her son's shoulders, guiding him along in front of herin case the man tried to go for his jugular. They walked straight into a large open-plan living room where three people were seated: Hannes, whom Thora recognized from the nape of his neck; a woman of roughly her own age, who stood up when they approached; and a young girl who was sitting in an armchair with her head bowed in total resignation.

"So, you made it at last," the woman half shrieked. Oh, Lord, may the unborn child inherit my deep alto, Thora prayed silently. She tried for a second time to squeeze out a smile. Her hands did not leave her son's shoulders.

"Hannes," Thora said, looking at her ex-husband. She tried to signal that he should do his duty now and allow her to join him where he was seated. But instead of signaling back "message received," he glared back furiously. "Hello, Sigga," she said in the friendliest voice she could manage to the young girl, who then looked up. Her eyes were puffy, with heavy tears glittering in each corner.

Gylfi finally shook off Thora's grip and ran over to her. "Sigga!" he moaned, clearly moved at the sorry state of his beloved.

"Oh, great!" snarled the mother. "Romeo and Juliet. I'm going to throw up."

Thora swung round to face her. She was seething with rage. Two youngsters had made a terrible mistake and this woman had the nerve to mock their fate, even though one of them was her own daughter. Thora rarely lost her temper, but it happened now. "Excuse me, but this is difficult enough as it isdon't go spicing it up with sarcasm." Hannes leaped to his feet and Thora felt him push her down onto the sofa before she could even begin to resist. Sigga's mother gaspedanger blazed from her eyes.

"I see where your son gets his manners from," she said, and sat down, too, her back straighter than a ballerina's. Her husband chose to remain standing, towering over them from the middle of the floor.

"Mom!" Sigga wept. "Shut up!" Thora took an immediate liking to the girlher prospective daughter-in-law.

"What's all this bitching about?" said Sigga's father. "If we can't discuss this like civilized human beings, we might as well forget it. We're here to face up to this terrible news and let's do just that." The word "terrible" was stressed with great drama.