‘It is OK,’ Gunnar replied. ‘I know you,krúttio mitt. I will save you the best seat.’
She smiled. ‘Actually it’s two seats.’
‘One for you and one for thehuldufólk?’
‘No, my friend has arrived from England.’ She gasped then. ‘Sorry, that’s OK, isn’t it? To have someone else staying in the apartment. I just assumed it would be OK. I should have asked. But, she’s, you know, trustworthy too.’
‘You worry too much. Relax now. You are about to travel for hours on a coach with little leg room.’
‘But heating, right? The website said the coaches have heating.’
‘Yes,’ Gunnar answered. ‘And bags for vomit. You know this.’
‘I was trying to forget.’
He laughed. That warm, bubbling, sexy sound… She cleared her throat. ‘So, I will see you soon. It leaves at 8a.m., right?’
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘And the door closes at seven fifty-nine.’
‘O-K.’
‘I am just joking,’ he said. ‘You have until eight-oh-one.’
She laughed. ‘Well, in that case, I had better finish packing my bag for the day.’
‘Bring snacks,’ Gunnar told her.
‘What kind?’
‘I hear the driver of the south coast tour likes liquorice.’
Chloe laughed again. ‘OK. Bye, Olga.’
‘Bless, krúttio mitt.’
21
GUNNAR’S HOME, THE OUTSKIRTS OF REYKJAVIK
‘You are smiling,’ Hildur remarked, spooning yoghurt into a bowl as she sat at the table, leg up on the chair opposite. ‘It was Chloe.’
‘No,’ Gunnar said, putting his phone back on charge.
‘Gunnar Eriksson. You said her name. I may sometimes be stupid, but I am not deaf.’ She grinned, digging the spoon into the yoghurt mound she had made.
‘It is nothing,’ he said. ‘She is coming on the tour today.’
‘Oooo,’ Hildur said, excitedly.
‘Hildur, stop that,’ Gunnar said as Magnús burst into the kitchen.
‘What is Hildur doing?’ Magnús asked, picking up toast from the table.
‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ Gunnar answered. ‘Do you want orange juice?’
He had decided he was going to keep things completely normal with Magnús this morning at home. Then, when they had dropped Hildur off at the community centre he was going to speak to the boy in the truck. The truck had always been a safe space for talking since the first time Magnús had opened up to him after he lost his parents.
‘No,’ Magnús declined. ‘I need to leave, or I will be late.’ The boy was already picking up his backpack and heading towards the front door.
