‘This is Ireland, right?’
He turned his head to her deadpan response only to be faced with an expression that said he had fallen into her humour trap. He turned back. ‘I know of a place. When we get to the centre, before I start to pick up people to go back to the airport I will make a phone call.’
‘Really? Because looking at this screen while we are travelling is making me feel a bit sick.’
‘Then you should stop doing that.’ There was nothing he hated more than people throwing up on his bus. ‘I am sure my friend’s place will be available.’
‘How sure?’
‘Sure enough that you should stop looking at your computer and not be sick. Join the other travellers in gazing at the scenery.’
‘Half of them are asleep,’ she answered.
He heard the lid of her computer close and sensed her sit forward.
‘What’s your name?’ she asked.
‘Why?’
‘O-K. That’s a bit defensive for someone who claims he can help me find a place to stay.’
She was right. Why was he being like this? Because he had other things on his mind? He needed to try to temporarily forget about Hildur. She was being looked after, and he had secured an earlier finish.
‘I am Gunnar,’ he told her. ‘Gunnar Eriksson. But, if you are writing a lower than five stars review for my driving, my name is Olga Petersson.’
‘Gunnar Eriksson,’ she repeated.
He stole a glance at her. ‘Are you writing it down?’
‘For my review later.’
He smiled. ‘Shall I spell Olga for you?’
‘Not necessary.’
‘And you?’ he asked. ‘What is your name?’
‘Why?’
He smirked at this, but he was ready. ‘To put on the accident forms if my back starts to hurt and the company must make a claim.’
‘And now you will never know my name.’
He laughed loudly, so much so that a passenger gave a snort like they were waking up from hibernation. He never usually laughed on this airport run. ‘OK, then I will call youkrúttio.’
‘What does that mean? Is it an insult?’
‘Shh,krúttio mitt. It is not long now.’
7
REYKJAVIK
Chloe was standing in a car park, below the towering presence of a magnificent-looking church, its spire layering up towards the ice-blue sky. There were quite a number of people taking photos of the church and the statue of a man in front of it. Was this her first Icelandic attraction? Should it be put on an itinerary for the Sinclairz Chairs event? She shivered, debating getting her phone out to look on Google Maps for the name of this church. And where had Olga gone? Gunnar. He said his name was Gunnar.
She looked for him amid the crowd. He shouldn’t be hard to spot. Tall, late-twenties/early-thirties, navy-blue coat and matching beanie. Except… most people seemed to fit that category, as though how they were dressed was some kind of winter uniform.
‘Hello,krúttio mitt.’
