The Girl Who Died by Ragnar Jonasson (ap literature book list .txt) 📕

‘Sounds like a good exchange,’ Una said. ‘I know my way around a kitchen, and I bet you can get lovely fresh fish here?’

‘You won’t find better anywhere else. By the way, I stocked up the fridge with milk, cheese and some other bits and pieces for you, and there’s bread in the cupboard.’ Salka gestured to the right: ‘Your bedroom’s through there. It has a fairly large dormer window too, though no view of the sea, I’m afraid. I put clean sheets on the bed, and there’s a washing machine downstairs that you’re welcome to use, of course. There’s a bathroom up here too. It’s a bit dated, and there’s only an old bathtub, but if you’re careful you can have a shower in it. So, all in all, it’s a pretty cosy set-up, I think; old-fashioned but homely.’

‘I’m sure I’ll be happy here. It’s not much smaller than my flat in Reykjavík,’ Una said, and it was true that there wasn’t much difference in size. It was a pity her father hadn’t left more money when he died, as life had always been a bit of a struggle for her and her mother. With his medical training he could have got a very well-paid job, but he would never hear of working in a hospital or GP’s surgery. All he’d wanted was to stay within the university environment, doing research, trying to make the world a better place. He’d had neither the head for money nor any interest in making it.

‘Of course, it’s a cultural desert here,’ Salka remarked. ‘I must lend you some books – and maybe a painting too? Or did you bring that kind of thing with you from Reykjavík?’

‘No, it didn’t occur to me, so anything of that sort would be gratefully received.’

‘There’s a radio over by the sink. You can get Channel One on long wave but the quality’s a bit up and down. You can never rely on the reception here, but the radio has an inbuilt cassette player, as you can see, and I’ve put some tapes in your bedroom, both pop and classical, and there are more downstairs. I mainly use the record player myself, so you’re welcome to borrow as many tapes as you like.’

‘Thanks. That’s very kind. What about a TV?’ Una asked hopefully.

‘I’m afraid there’s no reception here. I hope that won’t be a problem. They’re always working on it, or so they claim – it’s a constant bone of contention – but nothing ever happens. It’s hard to get them to prioritize such a tiny village, but I suppose it’ll reach us eventually.’

‘Oh … What about a video rental?’

Salka laughed. ‘We’re not in Reykjavík. There’s no video rental here, though some people do have VCRs and their own tapes; Guffi for one, and no doubt some of the others too. You’ll just have to come to an arrangement with them. I don’t even own a television set, let alone a video recorder.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Una had in fact brought her video machine with her, but it hadn’t occurred to her to bring along a TV as well. She’d also grabbed some VHS tapes from the shelf at home, of programmes and films she’d recorded off the television, including the Live Aid concert she and Sara had watched together earlier that summer. She could happily watch that on repeat.

‘One can get used to anything,’ Salka repeated. ‘Here are the keys. You can let yourself in and out of the flat by the back door, so you’ve got your own separate entrance, if you want it. Anyway, that’s enough for now. I’ll let you get to bed.’

V

Una lay in bed, staring at the darkness outside the window.

This was her home now; this was where she would be living for the next few months, sleeping in this bed, this room. The thought was rather daunting. Normally, she had no difficulty dropping off, but now she felt wide awake. Of course, she was tired and that was bound to affect her impressions of the place, but the truth was she didn’t feel at ease, either in the village or in this house.

She had tried reading, but it hadn’t helped and she had soon given up. After that she had lain there for a long time on her side, curled up under the warm duvet with her eyes closed, waiting for the sleep that stubbornly refused to come. She’d brought a box of red wine and several bottles of Campari with her from Reyk-javík, and toyed with the idea of having a nightcap, but resisted the temptation. She wasn’t sure what the locals would think about drinking. This had been a source of worry to her before she came here, as her image of country people was that they had stricter attitudes to alcohol than the citizens of Reykjavík did, and it wouldn’t do her image as the local teacher any good if she was viewed as some kind of alcoholic. But what she did in the privacy of her own home was her affair.

The attic flat wasn’t bad at all, she told herself firmly. It was small, with a sloping ceiling, but snug nonetheless, and although the house was old, it was in good condition and she had everything she needed up there: bedroom, living room, kitchen and bathroom. And it was possible to leave the house without having to go through Salka’s rooms.

Perhaps that was what she needed to help herself unwind; to go outside, confront the darkness and fill her lungs with fresh air – that pure sea air that was supposed to be so healthy, far from the pollution in town. And if anywhere could be considered out ‘in the sticks’, it was surely this little village, located as far from the capital as you could get without dropping off the edge of Iceland.

She got out of bed, feeling dog-tired but not letting that