Fall Hard (12 page)

“And now I take care of you,” Viggo said, pushing himself up to look down at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling faintly.

“I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”

He laughed aloud at that. “Yes, big enough, I think. Should I go now?”

“No.” It was out before I’d had time to think, but I found I didn’t regret it. “Stay. Unless you have an early start tomorrow?”

He shook his head, then lay back down with his head on my chest. “No. No early starts for the tourists. I don’t work until ten o’clock.”

“Good,” I said, deciding I could be late in, for once.

Chapter Eleven

“Did you oversleep?” Mags asked brightly when she caught me at the coffee machine the next morning.

“Yes,” I fibbed, hoping my face wouldn’t give me away. I’d awoken at my usual time, in fact, having had no dreams I could recall. Viggo had still been snoring gently but had proved satisfyingly amenable to being woken for warm, sleepy sex. We’d shared a leisurely breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast, followed by a lingering kiss good-bye before getting into our separate cars and heading off to work.

“It looks like you benefited from it,” Mags said with a smile. “And you might as well make the most of the opportunity before the semester starts. Did you have a good time with Alex yesterday?”

God, that seemed like years ago now. “Er, yes. I suppose so.” Mags hadn’t been around when we’d returned the previous afternoon.

“I thought you would, if you only gave him a chance. He’s…so full of life. He’ll be good for you.”

Guilt punched me in the gut. I really ought to tell her about Viggo. She hadn’t asked about him again; presumably it hadn’t occurred to her I might have seen him again, not since my unfavourable report about the trip on the riverjet. “We’re not—Alex and I are just friends.” It sounded unconvincing to my own ears. Friends? I wasn’t sure I trusted him enough for that. Too late, I realised that to Mags, my uncertainty probably just confirmed her suspicions. “I wanted to ask you something,” I blurted out, uncomfortable. I pulled out my phone and showed her the picture I’d snapped of the unknown landscape the other evening. “Do you happen to know where this is? I found a framed photo of it in with my stuff.”

“Oh, yes. That’s Borgarnes. It’s about an hour’s drive north from here. Near Borg á Mýrum, of course. You went there with Sven a few times, if I remember rightly. Visiting Egil’s birthplace and the other saga locations, that sort of thing.”

Of course. Borg á Mýrum was the location of the farm where Egil Skallagrimsson spent his childhood. “I’m a bit surprised I didn’t recognise it, then,” I said, frowning. “But thanks for identifying it for me.”

“I know the place quite well too. It’s where there’s that statue of Egil that always makes me cry,” Mags said softly.

It was as if she’d pulled open the blackout curtains on that part of my mind. I could see it now: the modern sculpture in black rock called
Sonatorrek
, or
Lament for My Sons
. It’s named for the poem that saved Egil’s sanity and his life after the death of his beloved son Bodvar, a fine, handsome youth, according to the saga. Another son, Gunnar, had died of a fever not long previously, and at this double blow, Egil fell into a deep depression and refused to eat or drink.

The sculpture shows Egil being handed a harp by his daughter Thorgerdr, after she tricked and cajoled him into living long enough to compose the poem in his sons’ memory. Where Egil’s heart and stomach should be, there is only a gaping hole.

Bodvar, I remembered clearly, had been lost at sea. No wonder the sculpture made Mags cry.

“I’m sorry,” I said. It must have sounded oddly abrupt, as Mags looked up at me with a start. I took a deep breath. “Alex told me what happened to your family. I’m so sorry.”

“
The sea-goddess has ruffled me, stripped me bare of my loved ones
,” she quoted softly.

“
If by sword I might avenge that deed, the brewer of waves would meet his end
,” I replied, taking her hands in mine. I hoped she found comfort in the verse, as its composer had.

Mags gave my hands a squeeze, then freed herself from my grasp and blew her nose. “It was a long time ago now,” she said, her voice carefully controlled. “Back in England, near Land’s End. I always get sea-sick, you see, so I wasn’t with them.” She looked up at me, managed a wobbly smile. “You were nice about it the first time you found out, too. Funny, really… I always thought you were a bit like Thorgerdr.”

“You did?” I asked blankly.

“Mmm. You know. There was that time I was feeling low, because it was…a birthday, and you came up with that absolutely bizarre query you needed me to help answer, and I only realised later you’d done it just to distract me. You used to do it to Sven too.”

“I did?” Apparently my memory hadn’t been the only thing that had gone. I’d seemingly lost all power of coherent conversation as well.

“Oh yes. He could be like a dog with a bone, sometimes, but you always knew how to bring him back out of himself.” She reached forward to take my hand once more. “You’ll get it back. You just need to be patient.”

“The doctors told me there was no guarantee,” I said.

“Oh—no, I didn’t mean…” She squeezed my hand. “Your confidence. It’s only natural you feel a bit unsteady at the moment, but it’ll come back. I know it will.”

Hearing her say that made me feel less certain of myself than ever. “You think I’ve changed since the accident, then?”

Mags looked uncomfortable. “Not for the worse,” she assured me. “I mean, it’s a good change, really. You’re more open now.”

I was? What the hell had I been like before, then?

That evening, I rang Gretchen again. “Do you think I’ve changed since my accident?” I asked, before she’d even finished saying hello.

“Changed how?”

“It’s something Mags said. Dr. Kettle, you know, the woman I work with—”

“Yes, I know. I even met her. She’s nice. So what did she say?”

“She thinks I’m more open now.”

“More open how?”

“I don’t know. That’s all she said. Do you think she’s right?”

There was a long silence.

“Gretchen?”

“Well…maybe. A little bit. I don’t know. Maybe it was just that place getting to you before, and it hasn’t had a chance to do it again yet.”

“You think Iceland’s, what, a bad influence on me?” I was honestly baffled.

“Look, places can affect people, all right? And maybe I didn’t see much of Iceland when I came over after you got hurt, but what I did see was all bleak and grey and pretty horrible, really. Depressing. I don’t know why you even wanted to go there.”

“It’s not depressing! It’s beautiful here. Peaceful. I feel far more at home here than I did in London. Just because you like cities—and anyway, you can’t judge the place based on that one visit. Call me big-headed, but I like to think you had one or two things on your mind back then. It’s bound to make you see the place differently.” I took a breath. “You should come out here again. Come for a weekend. Or longer, if you want, but I’ll have to work during the week, of course.” I paused, uncertain, then said it anyway. “You could meet Viggo.”

“Viggo? Who’s Viggo? Don’t tell me you’ve met someone already.”

“He’s, um…” Could I really call him my boyfriend? “He’s a friend.”

“Right.” You could have cut the sarcasm with a knife.

“Okay, he’s a bit more than a friend. I knew him before, and we’ve got back in touch. He’s the only person who knew me back then who doesn’t seem to be obsessed with me getting my memory back.”

“Why?” she shot back. “Got something to hide, has he?”

Her tone was mild, even teasing, but it was like she’d stabbed me in the chest. I bit back my first, defensive reply. She didn’t mean anything by it. “If he had something to hide, he’d hardly have sought me out again, would he?” I sighed. “I like him, Scratch. I like him a lot. I think you’d like him too.”

“So who is he? Another saga fiend?”

I smiled, though she couldn’t see me. “No. Although he has read them. He drives the riverjet—a big, fast tourist boat. You’d love his dog. It’s an Icelandic sheepdog, you know the ones—thick red coat and a curled-up tail. Very friendly.” If that didn’t win her over, I didn’t know what would. “And he laughs a lot.”

“Good.” Gretchen’s voice was warmer now. “You need someone who brings you out of yourself. He’s Icelandic, then?”

“Yes, but his English is very good. Well, everyone’s is here.”

“You said that last time you were there. Um. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I paused. “Scratch? Did I, er, did I get you a birthday present last year?”

“Well, yeah. You got me a sweater. One of those big, thick woollen ones with the Fair Isle pattern round the neck. It’s really nice. Makes me look like Sarah Lund. Why?”

“I just…wondered. That’s all.”

“You didn’t forget me, if that’s what you were worried about. You still rang me and stuff. You just… I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now. How’s work, anyway? Have your students come back yet?”

“Work’s fine, and no, term doesn’t start for another week or so. Why doesn’t it matter?”

“What?” Gretchen sounded confused.

“What you said. About the way I was, before. You said it didn’t matter now.”

“Well, it doesn’t, does it? You’re fine now. You know what, maybe I will come and visit. What’s the food like? Is it all pickled fish and mutton? God, you haven’t eaten whale, have you?”

I laughed. “No. Nor fermented shark, nor puffin. The food’s just, well, normal. But good. I know a place that does a good vegetarian pizza. And you’d like skyr—that’s a sort of creamy Icelandic yogurt.”

We chatted awhile longer, about her work and mine. A name, Priti, kept cropping up, and I remembered what Alex and I had talked about. After the fourth time, I couldn’t ignore it any longer. “Is she, well, your girlfriend?”

“
What?
” Gretchen’s incredulous laughter came down the line so explosively it was almost painful. “You mean like, lesbian lover? Are you serious? Paul, you’re the queer one, not me. I can’t believe you said that. No, she’s not my girlfriend. Just a friend.” She was silent a moment. “Actually, I’m sort of going out with her brother. He’s a hospital doctor, really dedicated, which is a pain sometimes because I don’t get to see him all that much.”

“Um. Sorry. And congratulations?” I felt like an idiot.

“Bit early for that. We’ve only been out once. He’s nice, though.”

“He’d better be. Well, if he sticks around, bring him to Iceland with you when you come.”

“Maybe I will. If you’re sure you haven’t seen enough doctors in the last eight months. God, I still can’t believe you thought I’d suddenly turned into a lesbian. What brought that on?”

“Just something someone said. I’ll let you get on, anyway. Look after yourself.”

“You too. Seriously.”

I rang off feeling comforted but still a little uneasy.

I’d no sooner put the phone down before it rang, startling me. My heart gave another little leap when I saw who was calling. “Viggo.”

“Paul,” he countered, a smile in his voice. “You had a good day?”

Better, now.
“Not too bad. You?”

“Good. I thought maybe you’d like to come to my place tomorrow? And I’ll cook you something?”

“That’d be great. What time? And should I bring anything?”

“Come when you can. And no, you don’t need to bring anything. Just come.”

Chapter Twelve

I wasn’t sure whether to go straight to Viggo’s from work, but in the end I stopped off at my flat to have a shower first and change my shirt. I shaved too, remembering what he’d said about liking clean-shaven men. God, I was acting like a teenage girl getting ready for a first date with her high school crush. It was ridiculous, given we’d already slept together more than once. Then again, this was actually our first proper date.

At least I was getting better at facing myself in the mirror, though.

I stopped off on the way to Viggo’s at one of the government-run alcohol stores, and bought an expensive bottle of red wine. I didn’t even know if he liked wine, but it seemed to be the thing to do. The young man behind the counter wished me a pleasant evening with a knowing smile.

Viggo’s flat was on the other side of Reykjavik to mine, in a rather run-down residential area. The bell didn’t seem to work, but the main door swung open when I pushed it, so I walked into the communal hallway and knocked directly on Viggo’s door. I tried not to shuffle my feet as I waited for him to answer, which he did with a broad smile of welcome.

His blond hair was darker at the tips, still damp from the shower, and as he waved me inside, I caught a faint whiff of something fresh and citrusy. It warmed something inside me to know I hadn’t been the only one anxious to make a good impression.

Remembering the bottle of wine I held, I handed it to him. “I hope you like red.”

Viggo took the bottle with a smile. “Red is good. Thank you. But come in, sit down.”

Inside, the flat looked cheap and to be honest, a bit shabby. It was on the ground floor of a three-storey apartment block, and the windows were small, letting in only a greyish hint of daylight. The mud-coloured carpet did nothing to improve the situation. Still, I supposed what with working outdoors all day, maybe natural light at home wasn’t so important to him. An attempt had been made to brighten the sofa with an inexpensive orange throw, but it couldn’t quite hide just how worn and sagging it was underneath. It had a homey, lived-in feel to it, though, in part because there seemed to be a lack of storage space, so Viggo’s belongings were haphazardly piled everywhere. Books, DVDs and magazines mingled sociably.