Page 24 of The Darkness
The claustrophobia wasn’t as intense now, but something about this encounter in Áki’s living room had triggered the memory.
She rose to her feet. ‘It was nice to meet you. Thanks for agreeing to see me unannounced like this.’
Áki stood up as well. ‘My pleasure, Hulda. Do get in touch if I can assist you any further with your inquiries.’ He extended his hand and she shook it in parting. ‘Of course, I’ll get in contact if I hear anything,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Though it’s rarely that exciting in the wholesale business. Hulda – Hulda Hermannsdóttir, wasn’t it?’ he said, and this time there was no mistaking the menace underlying his words.
X
The day of the trip had arrived. She stood to one side, watching him pack two rucksacks, one of them for her. ‘Do I really need all that?’ she asked, as it dawned on her that this trip was going to be a lot tougher than she had realized. Nodding, he told her she couldn’t get away with any less kit. The pack contained a sleeping bag that would keep her alive during the freezing nights, food supplies, a thick scarf, a pair of gloves that looked too big for her, a woolly hat and an empty bottle. When she asked if she should fill it with water, he laughed. Don’t forget we’re in Iceland: there’s more than enough clean water here. We’ll be staying overnight in a mountain hut and the water in the stream there is far purer than anything you’ll get out of the tap.
Just when she thought there wasn’t room for anything else, he had added a torch and some batteries then announced that he reckoned that was it. She lifted her pack with difficulty, gasping at the weight and exclaiming that it was far too heavy. ‘Nonsense,’ he said. ‘You won’t notice it once it’s on your back. You’ll need these, too … He reached for a pair of walking poles and strapped them to the outside.
After loading both packs into the car, he asked if she knew how to ski. She shook her head, spotting a ray of light, a possible way out. She’d never skied in her life, she told him, and it was far too late to start now. Perhaps they’d better not go on the trip after all. He laughed and said there was no way he was going to let her down like that. Then he disappeared and returned with a pair of skis, two poles and a thick rope.
She asked nervously if he was planning to go skiing without her.
It was a safety precaution, he explained: if anything went wrong he could ski for help. Seeing her eyes on the rope, he added that it was necessary in case the car got bogged down.
‘Are you expecting that to happen?’ she asked, her breath catching in her throat.
‘No, no chance,’ he reassured her. And she believed him.
She climbed into the passenger seat and he switched on the ignition, then suddenly appeared to remember something. Telling her to hang on a minute, he hurried back inside, leaving the engine running. She watched him in the mirror and, when she saw him return, carrying two axes, her heart missed a beat. He shoved them in the boot and got back behind the wheel.
‘Were those … axes?’ Her voice trembled a little, though she did her best to hide the chill that had flooded her heart at the sight.
‘Sure, ice axes – one each.’
‘Why on earth do we need ice axes?’ she asked. ‘I don’t want to take any risks: I’m not used to extreme sports.’
‘Don’t worry, they’re just a precaution. It’s better to be prepared for every eventuality. It won’t be dangerous, just an adventure.’
Just an adventure.
XI
Hulda had a clear memory of the day Jón died.
She had been working late, as she often did, looking into a violent attack in the centre of Reykjavík. She wasn’t officially in charge of the case, but she had borne most of the weight of the investigation. Incidents like this were fairly frequent at weekends, when the bars were open until late. When they closed, everyone poured out into the streets, creating a carnival atmosphere every Friday and Saturday night. With so many people drunk, the police often had to intervene, and sometimes the cases were serious, leading to formal charges.
It was a Thursday, and Hulda had spent the week interviewing witnesses and trying to establish who had attacked the young man in question, who was still in hospital.
It was nearly midnight when she got back to their house on Álftanes.
A house, but no longer a home.
The couple hardly spoke to each other any more.
Everything about the house felt cold and bleak, from the trees outside to the atmosphere indoors, the furniture, even the bed. She and Jón no longer shared a room.
She came in to find Jón lying on the living-room floor, so very still, so very dead.
When, in due course, the ambulance arrived, the paramedics had pretended at first that something could be done, trotting out meaningless phrases in an attempt to comfort her, but of course it was too late. He had passed away earlier that day.
‘He had a heart condition,’ was all Hulda had said. Two colleagues from the police arrived at the scene, young men. She knew them both, though they weren’t friends. She didn’t have any friends in the police. She had gone to the hospital in the ambulance, staying close by Jón’s side.
Since that evening, she had been alone in the world.
XII
