Yrsa Sigurðardóttir - I Remember You

She shook her head. ‘Did we drop something yesterday that the wind could have picked up? Could it have been a piece of clothing or some carpet? The sun’s so low that it’s hard to make out anything properly. It was probably just some litter. Maybe it was the fox.’

‘Maybe.’ He nudged the sagging porch with his foot. ‘I need to repair this. No matter where I look, there’s some sort of project.’

‘At least you don’t have to do anything more to my wall.’ Katrín grinned proudly. ‘It’s ready for the first guests, all white and beautiful.’ She was glad he wanted to change the subject. She didn’t want to wonder any more about what Garðar and Líf had seen or not seen. The idea that there was someone else in the area was ridiculous, and made her feel uncomfortable. They were just unused to the silence and the empty environment. ‘I guess I’d better start the next wall while there’s still some light.’ Then she remembered Garðar’s reason for going up the hill. ‘What did the estate agent say? Could you get reception?’

‘He didn’t answer. It might be better to try at the end of the day; he could be somewhere in town showing a property, or just busy.’ Garðar looked back at the house. ‘We’ll just look in the boxes and if it’s clearly junk, we’ll leave it. Otherwise we’ll take it back with us if we don’t get hold of the agent. I can’t be bothered to keep going up there just to try and get hold of him. It would be a lot less hassle just to carry the stuff down to the pier when we leave.’

Katrín sighed. ‘I never want to hear the word “carry” again.’ She leaned up against Garðar, wrapped her arms around his waist and shifted her body weight over to him. ‘Maybe you’ll have to carry me . I’m worse than I was this morning.’

‘You’ll be lucky, today. You’re not the only one with aching muscles.’ He kissed her on the head, somewhat distractedly, before straightening up. ‘I’m starving. Shall we go and have some of the delicious provisions Líf’s preparing?’

The thought of the tinned food, bread and other things that they’d bought for their trip didn’t whet her appetite much. ‘I’d kill for a pizza.’

Garðar smiled faintly. ‘Not on the menu.’ He unwound himself from her embrace and prepared to go inside. ‘And even if we could get some, I don’t feel like climbing back up the mountain to order it. Come on; let’s have something to eat while it’s still fresh. I don’t know what we’ll have left by the time we get to our last few days, so we may as well enjoy eating something besides instant noodles.’ Through the kitchen window they could see Líf chopping something, her lips moving as she spoke either to herself or to the dog. Katrín wondered if this was why Líf had decided to get a pet: after Einar died, obviously Líf had no one to talk to at home, which must have been difficult for her. Katrín slipped her hand into Garðar’s palm and entwined her slender fingers in his strong, stubby ones. Although they’d been together for over five years now, there were still moments when she found herself wondering how it had happened. During their time as schoolmates – through half of primary school and all of secondary school – he had never shown any interest in her, so she’d settled for admiring him from afar and letting herself dream. He’d been part of a clique to which she would never belong; the good-looking, clever kids on their way up had little in common with a young woman who was neither a beauty queen nor particularly brainy. That was the world of Garðar, Líf, Einar and others whom life had spoiled in every way imaginable. But despite the fact that she was very average-looking, constantly struggling to lose a few pounds, and always had her head buried in a book, Garðar had made a beeline for her at a club downtown two years after graduating and they’d never looked back. That same evening Líf and Einar had paired up, and it was precisely because of this parallel that Katrín always got goose bumps at the thought that Einar was now dead and Líf a widow. She had to remind herself regularly that she wasn’t going to suffer the same fate just because her relationship with Garðar had started on the same day.

Garðar freed his hand from her grip and sat down on the porch. As he was taking off his shoes, which he declared were grafted onto his feet, Katrín went in to check on Líf. She found her still in the kitchen, where they were keeping their food even though there was no refrigerator or running water. There was a sink, which Garðar said he thought could be fed from the stream, but none of them had any idea how to hook it up. Líf had her back to Katrín as she cut bread on a warped chopping board they’d found in a drawer, the board rattling against the countertop with every stroke of the knife. Katrín stopped in the doorway and had to raise her voice to make herself heard. ‘How was it?’

Now it was Líf’s turn to be startled. She gave a little cry and straightened up abruptly as the chopping board clattered on the counter. Then she turned around with the knife flat against her chest, where her hand had moved reflexively in fright. ‘Jesus.’

Katrín regretted not being more careful in approaching her. All her irritation at Líf for having dragged her feet when it came to the renovation work drifted away. ‘God, sorry. I thought you’d noticed me.’

Líf paused to catch her breath before speaking. ‘It’s not your fault.’ She let the knife fall and exhaled. ‘I’ve been sort of highly strung since Einar died. First I couldn’t be alone, and now I can’t be in others’ company.’ She smiled. ‘It’s kind of frustrating.’

‘I can imagine.’ Katrín had no idea how she should react. Líf was much more open than she was and had repeatedly tried to discuss Einar’s death with her, but Katrín never knew how to respond for fear of coming across as too cold, overly solicitous, or somehow stupid. It was unbearable, in fact, and Líf couldn’t have failed to notice how nimbly she generally managed to avoid discussing Einar’s death. Garðar, on the other hand, was brilliant; it had surprised her to see how naturally he interacted with the tear-sodden Líf during the worst of the trauma. Maybe it was because of how close he and Einar had been, best friends since primary school, which meant Einar’s death was a huge loss for him too. Katrín made a rapid decision not to act like a coward. They were going to live together for the next week and it would be impossible to skirt around the topic completely or leave it up to Garðar to do the sympathizing when Einar’s death came up. ‘It must have been terribly difficult for you. It must still be.’

‘Yes, it is.’ Líf turned back to the bread and began cutting again. ‘Did you know that a woman in Hesteyri watched her husband and son drown out there in the fjord?’

‘No.’ Katrín knew nothing about the area and if all the local folklore was like this, she didn’t really want to know any more. At least not while they were there.

‘She remarried, and the new husband drowned as well.’ Líf turned back to Katrín, holding the plate of sliced bread. ‘It makes my sorrows pale in comparison.’

‘But you don’t feel any better just because other people have suffered worse.’

‘No. It just helps to know that people have dealt with harder things and survived.’ She laid the bread on the little kitchen table, then placed her hands on her hips and looked over the spread, apparently satisfied with the results. ‘I don’t understand what happened to the ham. I’m sure we bought several packets.’ She looked at Katrín. ‘It looks like a lovely meal, anyway. Don’t you think?’ She reached for a packet of sliced cheese and placed it next to the bread.