‘Magnús! Pick it up! And you cannot leave your skates in the car all the time!’
‘Why are you shouting, Gunnar?’ Hildur asked.
‘I am not shouting. I do not like mess, you know this. And there is mess in this car, there is mess in the house, and no one else seems to care.’
Now he really had shouted and his passengers were as quiet as he had ever known them. He needed to lift his mood. He needed to stop wondering what might have happened if he had leaned a little towards Chloe before she left the truck last night…
‘I know what this is,’ Hildur announced as they drove up to some traffic lights. ‘This is how he always is when Christmas is arriving, Magnús,’ Hildur said.
‘You are right,’ Magnús agreed. ‘It is like he is afraid of Santa Claus.’
‘And all the reindeer,’ Hildur added with a throaty laugh.
‘And my school show,’ Magnús continued.
What? Had Hildur said anything to Magnús about that? No, she wouldn’t have. Gunnar swallowed as the memories of his own school Christmas show and the night he lost his father came back to him. What was supposed to be the happiest of ends to the year, excitement about Christmas coming for all the children, had been the beginning of his family’s demise…
‘I am not scared of the school show,’ Gunnar said as firmly as he could manage. ‘Or Santa Claus and the reindeer.’
‘Then why have you not bought a ticket?’ Magnús asked.
‘The tickets are on sale?’ he queried fast.
‘Gunnar,’ Hildur said. ‘I have told you this for the past two weeks. They also need volunteers to help finish making the sets and?—’
‘I will buy a ticket,’ Gunnar interrupted as the lights changed and he drove through them.
‘Really?’ Magnús exclaimed, definite surprise in his voice.
‘If you give the boy somekrónahe can buy the ticket today,’ Hildur stated.
‘You are not coming?’ Gunnar asked her.
‘I already have my ticket. But maybe you need a second one?’
He glanced into the rear-view mirror and caught the old woman’s eye. What was with that expression on her face?
Within a few minutes he was pulling up outside the school and Magnús was halfway out of the car door before he could stop him.
‘Magnús,’ Gunnar said. ‘Here, take thekrónafor the ticket for the Christmas show.’ He pulled a note from his wallet and passed it to the boy.
‘And I can put you down to help with painting the set?’ Magnús asked him, all wide light blue eyes not so dissimilar to his.
‘Magnús, I do not know if I can commit to doing that. Work is busy right now and?—’
His answer was the slamming of the truck door, anger and frustration rippling with the metalwork as it vibrated. Gunnar was already removing his seatbelt, ready to leap from the truck and tell the boy his behaviour was not acceptable until…
‘Leave him,’ Hildur ordered. ‘He will calm down. It is hard for him. All the other children having parents.’
‘That is not an excuse for life, Hildur. We all have to make the best out of our individual situations.’
‘Or bury them and pretend they have never happened? Would that be better?’
‘I did not say that,’ he answered. ‘But slamming doors does not solve things either.’
‘He is a young boy who lost everything. There are no rulebooks for that,’ Hildur reminded him.
Gunnar looked out of the window, watching Magnús striding towards the school building, backpack swinging from one arm, coat falling off his shoulder until it almost dragged on the ground. It was true he had been through so much in his ten years. It seemed almost impossible that it was three years ago that Gunnar had plucked him from the ferocious lava trail that had claimed the lives of his parents. No one really knew exactly how it had happened. Eruptions here occurred more often than ever, but they weren’t yet catastrophic, not claiming lives thanks to good management and warnings from the authorities. Yet that was no comfort to a boy who had cried every night as he relived his parents falling into a bubbling fissure.
