‘She seems nice,’ Magnús said, gravy falling from his overladen fork.
‘Does she?’ Hildur asked. ‘Tell me more of what she is like. Or maybe, after your “investigations” you can invite her for dinner. I can cook and?—’
‘No,’ Gunnar said firmly as he felt this conversation was getting out of his control. ‘No one is coming to dinner and you will not do any more of the cooking while your foot is still broken.’
He knew he shouldn’t have raised his voice and both Hildur and Magnús were looking at him like he was scolding them both. He hadn’t meant it to come across that way, but he also didn’t like the weight Hildur seemed to be putting on his getting to know Chloe.
‘My foot,’ Hildur said soberly, ‘is my foot and I have been taking care of that, and the rest of the things that belong to me, for many many years.’ She wriggled in her seat like she was about to get up.
‘Hildur, I am?—’
‘Hildur,’ Magnús interrupted. ‘Tonight would you like me to get the boxes of Christmas decorations for you to look through? We can decide what to get out for this year and which pieces can go on the tree when Gunnar gets it down.’
He had to marvel at how switched on Magnús was. If there was one thing guaranteed to get Hildur to forget about anything it was the thought of her fingers travelling through the decorations of yesteryear and telling them all the stories of when she was a child.
‘I think,’ Hildur began, sitting still, ‘that you are saying all this to make a distraction.’
OK. That had not worked.
‘But,’ Hildur continued. ‘I am happy to let the conversation change, for now, and indulge in reliving the stories of when I was a child and we made our own festive decorations from wood. If that is what you would both like.’
Gunnar and Magnús exchanged a glance between them. Camaraderie in this moment.
‘What I would like is for Brigitta Lundgren’s hair to fall out and her face to be covered in spots,’ Magnús admitted.
‘Magnús!’ Gunnar exclaimed.
Hildur paused before replying. ‘There is a spell I can teach you for that.’
‘Hildur!’ Gunnar admonished.
‘What? If you do not believe in the art of the mystical then it should not matter to you because you will not think that it can work.’ Hildur held a finger in the air. ‘Or perhaps I should see if there is a spell for romance?’
Gunnar stood then, pushing back his chair. ‘That will not be necessary.’ He picked up his bowl.
‘Ah! Such confidence! This is good,’ Hildur said with a smile and a wink at Magnús.
Gunnar took his bowl to the kitchen sink and looked through the window, out into the cold, dark night speckled with stars. When had his life started to feel chaotic? When had order and calm been replaced by feeling like he was plate-spinning 24/7?
‘You know,’ Magnús said, bringing his now empty bowl to the kitchen area. ‘You could ask Chloe if she wants to come to my Christmas show. I mean, I know I have not been at the last few rehearsals, but I have been working on my lines and my dancing and it is traditional, right? It might help with her work.’
Gunnar turned around and smiled at the boy. ‘I am sure Chloe would like that, Magnús but I do not know how long she stays in Iceland.’
‘Then ask,’ Magnús said, his eyes locking on Gunnar’s. ‘Like with my parents. Maybe you need to make your choice.’
Gunnar swallowed, the poignancy hitting him firmly in the chest.
He nodded. ‘OK, Magnús, I will ask.’
32
THE ICELAND PHALLOGICAL MUSEUM, REYKJAVIK
It was the next morning and Kat was laughing. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘This is one of the funniest places I’ve ever been.’
‘Yes,’ Chloe responded.
She still wasn’t sure why she had agreed to come to the world’s only penis museum, only that she had hoped Kat would be distracted and not ask questions as to why she was attempting to do a crash course in Icelandic on her phone.
