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.
Klara was a horse lover and had dragged Hannes into the sport. It was a source of endless torment for Soley and Gylfi, who had inherited Thora's nervous dispositionif anything, the fear genes had doubled from mother to child. Thora had trouble driving on icy roads, climbing mountains, taking elevators, eating raw foodin fact, she didn't do well with any activity that could conceivably end in disaster. For some incomprehensible reason, however, flying was the one exception. So she understood perfectly her children's horror at the prospect of horseback riding, convinced as they were that each ride would be their last moment on earth. Hannes refused to admit that this condition was permanent and constantly tried to persuade his children that they would get used to it in the end. 'Are you sure that's a good idea?' she asked, although she knew full well that she had little sway over Hannes's plans. 'Gylfi's a bit down at the moment and I'm not sure that a riding trip is exactly what he needs now.'
'Rubbish,' Hannes snapped back. 'He's turning into quite a horseman.'
'You reckon? Try to talk to him, anyway. I suspect he's having girl trouble and you know more about those things than I do.'
'Girl trouble? What do I know about those things?' yelled Hannes. 'He's just turned sixteen. You can't be serious.'
'No, maybe not. But keep it in the back of your mind and try to deliver some words of wisdom.'
'Wisdom? What sort of wisdom? What do you mean?' Hannes was floundering, and Thora smiled.
'You know, to help him deal with life's challenges.' Her smile widened.
'You're joking,' Hannes said hopefully.
'Actually, I'm not,' replied Thora. 'I trust you'll find a way. I'll do the same for your daughter when her boy problems start. You can try taking him aside on the riding trip and having a quiet chat from the saddle.'
They ended the conversation and Thora had a hunch she had just lowered the odds that they would go riding. She tried once again to reimmerse herself in televised unreality. In vain, though, because the phone rang again.
'Sorry to call so late, but it occurred to me that you might be thinking about me,' Matthew said calmly after they'd said hello. 'I decided to let you hear my voice.'
Thora was flabbergastedshe could not tell whether Matthew was mad, drunk, or joking. 'I can't say you caught me doing that.' She stretched over for the remote to turn down the television volume so that he would not hear the trash she was watching. 'I was reading.'
'What are you reading?' he asked.
'
'Really,' said Matthew. 'Is that anything like
Thora clenched her fist, annoyed that she hadn't chosen Halldor Laxness or another Icelandic author he would not know. She had always been a hopeless liar. 'I mean Tolstoy. So was there anything special? I'm sure you didn't call to discuss literature.'
'Just as well, because I'd have got the wrong number,' rejoined Matthew. When Thora said nothing he added: 'No. Sorry. I called because the lawyer of the man in police custody phoned me just now.'
'Finnur Bogason?' asked Thora.
'That's just what I would have said if I could pronounce Icelandic,' said Matthew. 'He wanted to let me know that we can meet the lad tomorrow if we want.'
'Have we got permission?' asked Thora, amazed. Remand prisoners were not normally allowed visits from strangers.
'This Finnur,' Matthew said, pronouncing the name as Fie-neur, almost with a French accent, 'managed to persuade the police that we were working with him on the defense. Which, of course, we are, indirectly.'
'What made him do that?'
'Shall we say I gave him a small incentive?'
Thora asked no more, not wanting to be party to anything under-hand. She doubted that Matthew had threatened the lawyer, and thought it more likely he had promised a fee for arranging the interviewwhich would have been unethical at best. She felt better imagining they would be assisting the defense counsel.
But to hell with ethics. She had to meet Hugi. Maybe he was guilty after all. Nothing could match talking to people in person, looking the speaker in the eye and watching his movements and body language. 'Shouldn't we get a move on, then? We need to see this guy.'
'I agree. I just need to let Fie-neur know.'
'Why did he phone you so late?' asked Thora. 'Surely he hasn't just got permission tonight?'
'No, no. He left a message for me at the hotel but I've only just got back. I don't like handing my phone number around.'
Thora hated herself for wanting to know where Matthew had been after they parted waysalthough the most likely explanation was that he had simply gone into town for something to eat.
They decided that Matthew would fetch Thora from her office at nine to drive from the city to Litla-Hraun prison. She looked out the window at the snow tumbling down and hoped with all her heart that he knew how to drive on winter roads. If not, they were in trouble.
CHAPTER 13
Thora was sitting at her computer in her office when Matthew showed up at nine o'clock. She was just
