‘Er. Hi. It’s Steini.’
‘Steini? Sorry . . .’
‘Steini the diver.’
‘Ah, right. Hi. Anything else about that car in the dock at Sandeyri?’
She heard him muffle a cough. ‘Well, no. Actually . . . No, nothing new there. I was, er, wondering if you’d like to meet up for a drink or even a meal or something?’
Gunna sat in surprised silence for a moment. ‘That’s good of you to ask, Steini, but . . .’
She thought for a moment. Steini and Raggi had been good friends and she was suddenly terrified of reopening old wounds.
‘What did you have in mind?’ she asked finally.
‘If you’re not busy this evening, there’s a place in Grindavik called the Salt House that does a fine seafood buffet on a Thursday evening.’
Gunna felt an unaccustomed fluttering in her stomach, chuckled and quickly stopped herself.
‘Old ladies like me don’t get that many invitations,’ she said. ‘See you there in an hour?’
She snapped off the TV and marched to the kitchen with her plate and mug. She placed the crockery in the sink with the rest of it. Alone in the flat, she hadn’t bothered loading the dishwasher all week. The cognac bottle in the fridge whispered its sweet promises through the door, but now she dismissed them sternly. Gunna breathed deep, and made for the shower.
15
Saturday, 13 September
It was already a hot day and the marchers had gradually discarded more and more clothing as the sun rose higher in the summer sky. With bare arms, midriffs and legs displayed everywhere, Skuli felt uncomfortably overdressed in heavy jeans and an anorak.
Anticipation had been building up for days as the march drifted slowly out of Reykjavik and gathered way, straggling past the last of the houses and shops and on to the open road. Under a glaring sun in an azure sky, the marchers sang and chanted while around them the bilberry-covered tundra gradually gave way to black rock and lingering pools of still water.
By the time it reached the top of the first pass on the way to Hvalvik, the march had doubled in size as brightly dressed people joined in handfuls and carloads, swelling the procession to a respectable band. As it approached the outskirts of Hvalvik, TV news stations began estimating the size of the march in thousands and also reported that several groups of activists arriving from Britain, Germany and Scandinavia had been detained at Keflavik airport.
Certain that this would be tomorrow’s lead story, Skuli felt nervous about covering something so visible and volatile, made up of such a large number of people he felt an uncomfortable empathy with.
He wondered where Dagga was. This was a story big enough to warrant two of them covering it, as well as the freelance photographer Reynir Oli had been forced to agree to hire for the day.
Behind them somewhere was a support car that Skuli hoped would not be too far away. Ahead of him was Lara with a heavy camera over one shoulder and another at her eye as she took pictures of a tall young man in an oversized green bowler hat who juggled red, white and blue balls, winking suggestively at her as he loped along ahead of the Clean Iceland banner at the head of the march.
‘Any luck?’ an out-of-breath Dagga asked as she caught up with Skuli.
‘Not a lot.’
Dagga pulled a sheet of paper from her shoulder bag and tried to read it without slowing her trot. The sun was high in a perfect blue sky and a miasma of dust kicked up by many feet hung in the still air.
‘There’s a woman called Asta who’s supposed to be the media contact, but her phone is dead or out of range and I can’t reach her. Then there’s this Kolbeinn who’s supposed to be in charge of the schedule, but it doesn’t look like there’s a schedule anyway, so maybe he’s not here either.’
‘I suppose we can get a few quotes from some of the marchers and then take police quotes from the TV reports.’
‘How about your policewoman friend? Isn’t she likely to be round here somewhere?’ Dagga asked.
‘Gunna? I expect so.’
Skuli looked up to where a helicopter swung into view and swooped low as the procession waved at the cameras levelled at them.
‘Police or TV?’ he wondered.
‘Channel Three, I think. Must be nice working in TV, just a quick jaunt in a helicopter and back home to do a ninety-second report.’
The procession picked up pace as it approached the sprawl of Hvalvik. At the Please Drive Carefully sign a hundred metres outside the village’s furthest house, a small group of police officers stood resolutely in the middle of the road.
The marchers whooped as the procession drew to a halt and the group at the front went ahead to confer. Lara stepped forward and was rewarded with a scowl from the senior police officer and a grin from the juggler as she raised her camera.
‘We’re just going straight through the town and out the other side. Anything wrong with that?’ the juggler demanded.
‘I’d like to know where you’re planning to go after that. I’m warning you right now that I will have no alternative but to make arrests if there is any trespassing on private land.’
Skuli had his recorder in his hand and tried to edge closer. Apart from the calm senior officer, the five police officers appeared ill at ease. Lara shot half a dozen frames of the juggler and the senior policeman facing each other, and this was enough for one of the younger policemen, who detached himself from the group.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded.
‘Press,’ Lara retorted. ‘You know that, Gummi.’
‘Press cards?’
Lara pulled out a wallet, flipped it open in front of his face and quickly closed it again. With a touch of pride, Skuli showed his very new press card.
‘Identification?’ the policeman snapped at a tall man who appeared to have come from nowhere.
‘Very sorry. I don’t speak your language,’ the man replied smoothly in English.
‘Papers, please. Do you have a press card?’ the policeman asked more politely this time and the man delved into an inside pocket to draw out a laminated card.
‘From Germany?’
The man nodded.
‘Newspaper?’
‘News magazine.’
‘OK.’
Satisfied that he had done his duty, the policeman rejoined the group where the senior officer and the juggler were still sparring.
‘Are you able to assure me that there will be no attempts to enter private land?’
‘This is an entirely peaceful protest. I can assure you that Clean Iceland has no intention of carrying out any illegal acts.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it. But before I can allow you to carry on with this gathering, I have to be sure that there is no intention to provoke a confrontation. If I have reasonable suspicion, then I will prevent you from continuing.’
‘You mean you’re prepared to stop a peaceful gathering making its way along a public road? I’m sure that will look good on the news, and there’s more than just a few local hacks here today,’ the juggler pointed out.
Skuli felt a close presence and glanced sideways at the tall man with German press credentials.
‘Can you tell me what they are saying?’ the man murmured.
