Free Snowblind by Ragnar Jónasson Page B

having moved on from it all. It may have been someone who hadn’t even known Árni and didn’t care what or whom that young man had left behind.
    Árni would undoubtedly have wanted his family to carry on, absolving the reckless driver of any responsibility. That’s just the way Árni was– an innocent teenager who had always been ready to forgive.
    Leifur didn’t forgive anything.

    Linda Christensen said she wasn’t feeling well and went home early.
    She was thankful that it had only snowed lightly the last few days. The cold was a burden, but the darkness was more difficult to cope with; she found it unnerving.
    ‘I’m off now,’ she called to the nurse in charge. Born in Iceland but having spent many years in Denmark, Linda spoke almost perfectIcelandic. The Danish accent had stayed with her for a year after moving back to Iceland, but now it had gone completely, although she still felt like an outsider – more Danish than Icelandic. Maybe that would change over time.
    She put on her coat and set off home.

    The weather was unusually clear as Leifur strolled home.
    It was bitterly cold but the walk was fairly short from the theatre to his home, passing a few colourful houses on the way. Some of them needed repair while others had been given a new lease of life by new owners. Leifur knew that to an extent some of the old houses in the centre of the town were being taken over by people from Reykjavík, who were using them as holiday homes. He wasn’t sure whether that was positive or not, but at least it brought some vitality to the town.
    As Leifur turned the corner into Thormódsgata, he saw his neighbour, Linda, outside the house. Her coat was clutched tightly around her and her face was pale, her eyes tired. She seemed surprised to see him.
    ‘Hello,’ she said and paused. ‘Are you bunking off early from the rehearsal?’
    The concern in her voice was clear, even though she did her best to hide it with a half-hearted smile.
    ‘No way, Úlfur would never allow that,’ Leifur answered, returning her smile. ‘We all finished a quarter of an hour ago.’
    He couldn’t help noticing the confusion, anger and disappointment that flitted across her features, before she carefully rearranged them. Nodding her head, she took out her key and made her way into her flat.

15

SIGLUFJÖRDUR. FRIDAY, 9TH JANUARY 2009
    Anna Einarsdóttir had missed the rehearsal the night before, as she did every Thursday, when she had an afternoon shift at the hospital. It didn’t matter much as her part, unfortunately, wasn’t a prominent one. It was convenient for the director to rehearse the scenes with Ugla and Karl on their own, every Thursday.
    On Friday, Anna was at the theatre on the dot of four, as soon as her shift at the Co-op was finished. It wasn’t far to go, just across the town square, and she had hurried through the rain. The weather had been clear and calm for most of the day, but not long before four it had begun to rain – hard.
    In the lobby she carefully wiped her shoes on the big mat by the door. In the sales booth Nína Arnardóttir sat with her knitting on her lap, looking up to greet Anna warmly.
    ‘Hi,’ Anna answered. ‘Have you been here long?’ She asked the question even though she knew the answer already; when the Dramatic Society had an opening night in preparation, this became Nína’s second home. She lived alone and seemed to relish the bustle and the tension, always the first to show up and the last to leave.
    ‘I’ve been here since lunchtime. Someone has to make sure it’s all ready for the stars when they make their entrance,’ Nína said with a smile.
    Looking around the lobby, with its old posters hanging on walls, some dating back to the war years, Anna felt transported to a long-gone era – a time she knew only from books and films. She was twenty-four, born and raised in Siglufjördur before moving south toReykjavík to go to college and then straight onto university. During