Yrsa Sigurðardóttir - I Remember You

‘Have you spoken to the headmistress?’ Dagný pushed down hard on the camera in order to close the bag.

‘Yes, and she’s not too pleased with the situation; I mean, she understands, but she’s still annoyed. The children must be getting cold.’

Freyr waited for Dagný to snap that they would just have to grin and bear it, but she didn’t. On the contrary, she displayed an unusual amount of consideration, for her: ‘They should be able to have the smaller room in fifteen minutes or so. It was empty, so it wasn’t damaged much. They’ll have to eat with their plates in their laps, though; I still haven’t come across any undamaged furniture.’

‘I’ll let the headmistress know. She’ll be relieved.’ Veigar walked out and left the door open, giving them a clear view of the devastation.

‘I’d better get going. I don’t think I can be of much more use here – if I was of any use to start with.’ Freyr looked back towards the window and the children playing outside. They seemed even more restless than before. They were probably starting to get hungry. His attention was caught by a boy of three or four, not because he reminded him of his son but because unlike the others he stood stock-still, staring at Freyr as he stood there at the window. Although an attempt had been made to shield the children from what had happened they had sensed that everything wasn’t as it should be, and this boy’s expression suggested that he believed Freyr to be the evildoer who had destroyed the schoolroom. The child appeared fearless, in fact, his stare and frozen expression suggestive of pent-up rage, which seemed to be directed at Freyr. Freyr tried to smile and waved at the child to let him know that he wasn’t the bad guy, but it had no effect. There was not a flicker in the child’s stony face.

‘Are you making faces at that kid there?’ Dagný had come up beside him and was now pointing at the boy in the green snowsuit. ‘Weird kid.’ She rubbed her upper arms as if she felt cold, even within the warmth of the school.

‘It looks to me like he thinks I’m the vandal. At least he’s glaring at me like I am. Maybe he’s scared.’

Dagný nodded slowly. ‘It’s strange that more of the kids don’t seem scared.’

‘I’m sure some of them are worried, but hopefully they’ve shrugged it off and got lost in playing games instead. Most children have an incredible ability to block out bad feelings, but this little boy clearly isn’t that type.’ Freyr couldn’t take his eyes off him. The other children had obeyed a staff member and gone inside to eat. The boy must have heard her too, but he hadn’t moved a muscle and didn’t take his eyes from the window. Suddenly the headmistress came out and pulled the boy away. As they walked off he turned back so as not to lose sight of Freyr. It wasn’t until he’d gone around the corner that they broke eye contact.

‘Well, well!’ Dagný raised an eyebrow at him. ‘If I hadn’t seen you this weekend I might have reason to question you about your movements.’ She smiled, which was rare; a real shame considering how beautiful and genuine her smile was. His ex-wife had smiled often and it had been a lovely sight, until life deprived her of any reason to do so. Freyr smiled back, delighted that she had paid him any attention at all. But Dagný’s expression immediately resumed its usual seriousness. ‘I don’t know why, but all of this is making me feel kind of uncomfortable.’

Freyr surveyed the destruction in the classroom again. ‘I’m not surprised. You have every reason to be concerned, and even to wonder what this individual is going to do next.’

‘No, I don’t mean uncomfortable about that. I mean I’ve got a strange feeling, as though I’m forgetting or have overlooked something, as though there’s more to this than just someone giving in to their destructive urges. I was hoping you could explain it.’

Freyr was silent for a moment as he considered his reply. He didn’t want to interact with her as a psychiatrist; it was one thing to examine the weekend’s evidence as a participant in a police investigation, but quite another to approach her personally in his clinical capacity. One of the main reasons he had taken the job in Ísafjörður was that it gave him the opportunity to practise general medicine alongside his specialism. There was no need for a full-time psychiatrist here, and that suited him well. He had enough on his plate dealing with his own mental state, without having to immerse himself in others’ every day of the week. He noticed that Dagný was fidgeting, impatient at his lack of response to her question, so he hurriedly replied: ‘I expect it’s a combination of things – this dreadful scene, which would leave a bad taste in anyone’s mouth, and the urge to find the guilty party. You’re under pressure to tie up the investigation of the crime scene, so you’re also concerned about missing something that might matter. And to top it all off, your mind is trying to process all of this. The outcome is the feeling you describe.’ He stopped there, although he could easily have gone on for much longer.

‘I see.’ She didn’t seem very convinced but said nothing further, since Veigar had stuck his head round the door. ‘Dagný, we need to get going. Gunni and Stefán have come to finish up here, because we’re needed elsewhere.’ He gave her a look meant to convey that something even more serious than the desecration of a children’s classroom had taken place.

Dagný hurriedly said goodbye and rushed off with Veigar, leaving Freyr standing there. He had to content himself with calling goodbye to them before the door banged shut.

He stood in the lobby, surrounded by children, and by teachers who were deftly removing the youngsters’ snowsuits. One of them bundled four children into the corridor, telling them that now they would get to eat in the little gym, what fun! Freyr winked and waved at several of the children on his way past, then bid farewell to the staff, who responded in kind without looking up from their work. As he took hold of the front door handle, he felt a tug at his trouser leg and looked down with a smile. It was the boy who’d been standing outside. He was still wearing his green snowsuit. The boy stared silently up at Freyr without releasing his trouser leg. For some reason Freyr felt slightly uncomfortable in the child’s presence, although he was used to odd behaviour in his dealings with his patients. He bent down to the boy. ‘Did you see the police here before? I’m helping them catch the bad guy.’ The boy carried on staring, still not saying a word. ‘The police always catch the bad guy.’ The boy muttered something that Freyr didn’t catch properly, but before he could ask the boy to repeat it one of the teachers called the child over. Freyr straightened up and went outside. Apparently the child wasn’t immune to the effects of the mess and destruction inside after all – he thought he’d whispered ‘ Dirty .’

Katrín sat on the edge of the porch behind the house, closed her eyes and relished breathing in the clean air. The wood had sunk into the ground in one corner, meaning she had to lean in to the house to keep her balance. The sun was already up, hanging low in the sky as if it had turned up sick for work and didn’t expect to make it through the whole day. Its rays didn’t feel hot, but rather lukewarm, although Katrín had no complaints after having been inside the cold house. Anyway, you couldn’t make demands of the sun this far north in the dead of winter; you simply took what little sunshine you were given and were grateful. Gentle gusts of wind blew over her face and the fresh breeze carried away the paint smell that had settled in her clothing and hair. The feeling was profoundly satisfying and she breathed as deeply as her lungs allowed. The smell of chemicals always made her feel uncomfortable, since each inhalation reminded her of the toll the toxic vapour was taking on her limited number of brain cells. No doubt today’s painting frenzy had killed a good number of them.