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

So much for his support. Yet again, Una found herself baffled by their relationship. One minute he was sitting hugging her on the sofa, listening to her most intimate secrets, the next he was totally ignoring her.

She stood there for a moment, at a loss. Having boasted that she was going round to see Guffi, she realized she had no choice, though it was the last thing she wanted to do. She dithered a while, not daring to look round. The villagers had all returned to their houses and the night seemed oppressively quiet again, but she had a horrible feeling that they were all peering out at her from their darkened windows.

The first steps she took towards the big house felt impossibly hard, but she couldn’t back down now, couldn’t let the others see that she’d been bluffing, that she was too much of a coward to confront the man who seemed to have the entire village in his grip.

XXIV

Una stood outside Guffi’s imposing house, summoning up her courage, then rang the bell. She had been expecting to be kept waiting, but the door opened almost instantaneously, as if he had been waiting for her.

‘Una, what an unexpected pleasure,’ he said, meeting her eyes with an icy stare. ‘Won’t you come in? It’s a long time since I’ve seen you.’

‘Thank you. Yes, I’ve been busy.’

‘Is that so? My wife’s resting upstairs, as usual, so why don’t you come down to my office?’

Una baulked at this, reluctant to re-live the claustrophobic fear she had experienced before in that cramped, windowless space. Then she reminded herself that this time she’d come here on her own initiative to confront him and it was vital not to let him wrongfoot her. Naturally, he had invited her downstairs since that was where he felt in control. And precisely because of this, because she could see through him, she nodded and said: ‘Yes, sure. Let’s talk there.’

He led her down the stairs and she took a seat in the office chair, the same as before, to show that she wasn’t remotely intimidated by him. After all, why should she be afraid of this man? Other people in the village might owe their livelihoods to him, but she didn’t. She wasn’t intending to live in Skálar long term and, anyway, she had a signed teaching contract. He couldn’t just sack her on a whim.

No, she told herself firmly, she wasn’t frightened of him.

She waited for him to take the armchair, as he had last time, but, instead of sitting down he shut the door and positioned his imposing bulk in front of it. Despite her resolve not to be intimidated, Una felt unnerved. It was as if he had adopted the role of jailer.

Her heart began to pound and she drew a deep breath, trying not to let it show. She reminded herself that she had told Hjördís and Thór she was coming to see Guffi. It was just as well that someone knew … Perhaps she was a little afraid. But if anything happened, Hjördís and Thór would side with her, they’d fetch help … wouldn’t they? Surely she could rely on them? Assailed by a sudden doubt, she felt her discomfort intensifying.

‘Well, Una,’ Guffi said after a weighty pause. ‘I’m not convinced you understand the community you’ve moved into.’

It wasn’t a question, but she felt compelled to answer anyway.

‘Actually, I think I do.’ Her voice emerged sounding shriller than she would have liked.

‘I’m not so sure about that, Una – no matter how often we’ve tried to explain to you how things work, for your own good …’ He stressed the last words and she shivered at the implied threat.

The situation felt oddly nightmarish: the airless little basement room, the dim illumination of the single wall light and the greenish glow of the desk lamp that reminded her disturbingly of the lamp in her father’s study; her exit blocked by this vile man in his dark-yellow jumper and worn jeans, with his rough hair and that nasty smirk on his face.

Briefly closing her eyes, she summoned up the image of her father. She remembered him so well, sitting at his desk, the complete opposite of Guffi: neat, polite, always well turned out, never raising his voice. If anything, he had been a little too placid sometimes, viewing the world with a dispassion that bordered on indifference. And she had loved him so dearly that not a day went by even now when she didn’t think of him. In fact, she’d always been closer to him than to her mother, and losing him without any explanation like that had been a shattering blow from which she had never recovered.

Guffi broke the silence again, speaking in a loud, bullying tone: ‘I hear you’re claiming you saw a man in the village, a man you think the police are looking for.’

‘Yes … yes, I think I did,’ she faltered, cursing herself for not being bolder, more defiant, but she was feeling too cowed. He had succeeded in creating a menacing atmosphere that had got her seriously alarmed, as he had no doubt intended.

‘And you’ve talked of ringing the police,’ Guffi persisted.

‘Why … why were you all holding a meeting this evening?’ Una asked, unable to suppress the tremor in her voice.

‘I’m the one asking the questions here!’ Guffi roared, and she flinched. ‘It’s none of your business why I choose to invite people to my house.’ After a brief pause to let his words sink in, he asked: ‘Why were you going to call the police?’

She wondered if she should tell him that she had already gone ahead and done so, but didn’t dare. ‘Because the police need to know,’ she said instead. ‘The man’s gone missing.’

‘People are always going missing,’ Guffi said scornfully. ‘It’s got nothing to do with us. We don’t need any outside interference here – either from you or from the police. Do you understand?