The Silence of the Sea (7 page)

The en-suite bathroom was in chaos, with cosmetics, towels, bathrobes and bars of soap scattered all over the place, presumably as a result of the collision. She made do with peering inside but saw no point in picking her way through the mess just to admire the bathroom suite and mixer taps. The cabin told her nothing except that the couple had been comfortably accommodated on board, at least for most of the time. Personally, however, she wouldn’t have chosen to sleep in the bedroom of a woman she knew, if only by repute. It felt uncomfortable, especially when the closets were still full of her clothes and there was a box on the pretty dressing table that could only have belonged to her. Ordinary people like Ægir and Lára did not carry heavy, elegant jewellery cases with them on holiday. But when Thóra took a quick look inside, it turned out that Karítas had filled it with photos, postcards and other mementos of her life and travels rather than valuables. Thóra closed the case again. The former owner’s young wife could hardly be implicated in the mystery, and while she may have been a favourite of the tabloids, Thóra did not have the stomach to snoop around in her private affairs. Even so, on her way out of the bedroom she couldn’t help staring at the giant mirror that covered most of the wall and picturing Karítas admiring herself in it. This was unfair, given that Thóra had no idea what she was really like, and she resolved to make an effort to be more impartial next time the young woman entered her thoughts.

The two girls had slept in the smallest of the guest cabins, next to their parents. The instant Fannar opened the door they were struck by a pungent smell of strawberries, so sickly sweet that Thóra had to turn away. ‘A shampoo bottle burst in here,’ he explained. ‘I can’t imagine why anyone would want their hair to smell like that but maybe it’s not as overpowering once it’s been rinsed out.’

The girls had shared a double bed. Two cuddly toy rabbits lay abandoned amidst the tangle of bedclothes. Thóra was overwhelmed with sadness at the sight. To enhance the poignancy still further, it appeared that the twins had stuck a photo of their little sister on the headboard; a child who would one day grow up to thank her lucky stars that she hadn’t been old enough to accompany them on the voyage. Lifting the corner of the picture, Thóra saw that it had been fixed up with blu-tack, which suggested her guess was right. Karítas did not seem the blu-tack type. She picked up a pink Hello Kitty sock and put it on the bed. ‘God, this is harrowing.’

‘I know.’ Fannar sounded sincere. ‘It would be best if they were found alive. Adrift at sea. Or maybe they’ve done a bunk to another country.’

‘Done a bunk?’ The possibility hadn’t even occurred to Thóra. ‘Has anyone seriously suggested that?’

Fannar turned pink, obviously regretting having blurted it out. ‘No, not really. I’ve heard whispering at the office but it’s nothing. Someone was talking crap about Ægir, saying maybe he’d been embezzling funds from the committee and had done a runner. That he’d faked his own death and was living it up abroad.’

‘Is that likely? I’d have thought you kept strict tabs on the assets the committee repossesses or has at its disposal.’

‘Of course we do. It’s just gossip. Ægir didn’t embezzle any money, that’s for sure. The management will have carried out a thorough check, and if any misconduct had come to light it would have been all over the office. It would be impossible to hush it up – it would have leaked out somehow.’

Thóra looked back at the photo of the little girl on the headboard. ‘Irrespective of the money, I would stake my life on the fact that they didn’t deliberately disappear. People don’t leave a child behind – they either take all or none of them. And what about the crew? Is he supposed to have dragged three men into exile with them?’

‘It was just a stupid theory, as I said. Firstly, Ægir didn’t steal anything and secondly, as you say, it doesn’t make sense.’

Thóra peered under the bed and, spotting the other sock, felt an impulse to pair them. As she bent down, she took the opportunity to change the subject. She didn’t want to discuss the family’s tragic fate with a big-mouth like Fannar. ‘What’s the committee going to do with the yacht? Won’t the repairs cost a fortune?’ The sock was just out of reach, so she had to contort herself still further.

‘Yes.’ From where she was kneeling, Thóra saw Fannar come two steps closer. ‘The way things have turned out, it would have been better to leave her berthed in Portugal. They’d get a better price for her on the other side of the Atlantic these days, but even so the amount wouldn’t be enough to cover the repairs.’

‘Why do you think you’d get more for her in America than Europe?’ Thóra glanced round in search of a pen or some other implement.

‘There’s a chance her reputation won’t follow her over there. Most European brokers know her history and that affects the price. In their eyes what’s wrong with her can’t be mended. Whereas in the US and Central or South America, she’d have a clean slate.’

‘I don’t suppose this latest incident has helped at all.’ Having failed to find anything with which to hook the sock, Thóra almost wrenched her arm out of its socket stretching under the bed. She brushed the sock with two fingers. Now all she needed was to reach a tiny bit further and pinch it between them.

‘No, that’s clear enough. And now that Ægir’s not here, the problem’s landed on my desk. I should be grateful really, as it represents something of a promotion for me.’

Thóra stretched her fingers out in vain. ‘Did you take over from him, then?’ She was now so obsessed by the idea of retrieving the sock that she couldn’t give a damn what Fannar thought of her crawling around on the floor. She had to pair those socks and wouldn’t leave until she’d succeeded.

‘Yes. I’d just finished a sale, so it was perfect timing. At least it’ll be interesting. The curse may sound ridiculous to us but sailors are notoriously superstitious and if her reputation carries across the Atlantic, I’m in deep trouble.’

At last Thóra got hold of the sock. The muscles in her armpit were burning but she didn’t want to lose it again, so she looked under the bed to make sure of her grip.

What she saw caused her to start back so violently that she bashed her head. The pain was excruciating but her attention was distracted by the pounding of her heart, which felt as if it would burst its ventricles. ‘Christ.’ She rubbed the sore spot.

‘Did you bang your head?’ Fannar sounded concerned. ‘Can I see? Are you bleeding?’

Thóra showed him the back of her head and felt him parting her hair in search of a wound. ‘What happened?’

‘I misjudged the space.’ She wasn’t going to tell him what she thought she’d seen. Especially not now that Bella had appeared in the doorway. No doubt the hallucination was the result of all Fannar and Bella’s talk about a curse. That was all. There was no denying that the atmosphere on board was a little creepy, but that was only natural given recent events. Unsolved mysteries were grist to the imagination’s mill, she knew that. It had been nothing but her mind playing tricks on her. What else could explain the little feet she thought she’d seen on the other side of the bed, in Hello Kitty socks?

‘I want to stick the picture of Sigga Dögg here. Then we’ll see her every time we go to bed and can kiss her good night.’ Arna held the photo of their sister up to the headboard. ‘Is that in the middle?’

Lára came over to the foot of the bed. ‘Yes, that’s perfect.’ She sat down beside her daughters. ‘Lift it off so I can fix it.’ She stuck small greyish lumps of blu-tack under the corners and pressed them firmly down. ‘There.’ She put the packet of blu-tack back in Bylgja’s school bag and closed it. ‘You must do some homework tomorrow. I promised your teacher you’d keep up while you were on holiday, and this extra cruise is no exception.’ She leant back a little to see how the photo looked. Her two-year-old daughter beamed back at them, happy and carefree, sitting on the swing Ægir had installed in the back garden. Gazing as if hypnotised by her little daughter’s round face, Lára felt suddenly sad. It was probably the after-effects of the unsatisfactory phone call to her in-laws, who were looking after the child. She had rung them from on deck just after the yacht left port so they could all say goodbye to Sigga Dögg before they lost reception. But, as was only to be expected, the little girl hadn’t grasped what was happening. Now Lára wished she had said more and made a greater effort to help the child understand. She should have told her how much they all loved her and that she should be a good girl. A good person.

Lára shook herself. She was being melodramatic, and besides it was too late to start having regrets now as, according to the captain, they wouldn’t have reception again until they were within a few nautical miles of the Icelandic coast. And since Ægir hadn’t managed to organise a satellite phone connection on board, there would be no more conversations with Sigga Dögg on this trip.

‘Mummy, I’ve got a tummy ache.’ Bylgja was lying beside her sister, her glasses perched crookedly on her small nose, looking even paler than usual. Lára only had to compare her with her sister to realise that this was not down to the mood lighting in the cabin.

‘You’re seasick.’ Arna gave her sister a disgusted look. ‘You’re going to puke your guts up.’

Lára laid her hand on Bylgja’s forehead: it was damp. She had no idea if there was a cure for seasickness. They should have read up on it before setting off, but the voyage had been sprung on them with so little notice. Doubtless this would not be the only such problem to arise but it couldn’t be helped. Surely the captain must know how to deal with all kinds of contingencies, including nausea? ‘Just because you feel queasy it doesn’t mean you’re going to throw up, darling.’ Bylgja looked relieved at this piece of spurious wisdom. ‘Now, wait here and I’ll bring a wet flannel to put on your forehead. Maybe you should drink a little Coke too. It can help when you’re feeling sick.’

‘No, thanks.’ Bylgja grimaced; she didn’t like the idea of swallowing anything. ‘My tummy feels strange.’ She met her mother’s eyes imploringly. ‘I don’t want to puke my guts up.’

‘No one likes being sick, darling. If you stay lying down, I’m sure it won’t happen.’ She fetched a flannel from the bathroom, grabbing the small bin just in case. She wasn’t feeling too well herself; the drone of the engine and the rolling of the ship caused a sensation not unlike breathing in cigarette smoke when one had a hangover.

‘Bylgja thinks we’re going to sink.’ Arna’s voice held the aggrieved note that both resorted to when complaining about each other to their parents, though, to be fair, Arna did this rarely and Bylgja almost never.

Lára was aware that her smile failed to reach her eyes. She too had been assailed by a vague sense of unease. It was only natural, given that this was her first time at sea apart from a few ferry trips to the Westman Islands. Their surroundings were unfamiliar; she had swapped the security of dry land for life on shipboard. There would be no going to hospital if anyone fell ill out here. No dentist if they developed toothache. And no shop to run out to if they realised they’d forgotten something. But that wasn’t the worst; the worst was the seemingly infinite vastness of the Atlantic. Lára had often seen maps of the world that showed the size of the oceans relative to the landmass, but representations like that simply could not do justice to the huge flat expanse that now confronted them on all sides. Sea, sea, endless sea. They had better notice if someone fell overboard, or that person wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of being rescued. ‘Of course we’re not going to sink. Nothing can happen to a boat like this.’ Seeing that the girls were unconvinced, she added: ‘I asked Captain Thráinn and he said this boat is unsinkable. So you needn’t worry – about anything.’ That seemed to work. She wished she believed her own words.

Bylgja closed her eyes behind her wonky glasses and lay back on the pillow. Arna darted her a rather resentful look, fiddling with the Snakes and Ladders game she had been hoping to play before lights out. ‘Read your book, darling. Bylgja needs to rest now but she’ll be fine in the morning.’ Lára lifted the glasses gently from Bylgja’s face and placed them on the bedside table.

‘What about you? Won’t you play?’ Arna already knew the answer: Lára had many excellent qualities as a parent but playing games with her daughters was not one of them.

‘No, darling. I’m going to see Daddy for a while, but we’ll come down and check on you before you go to sleep.’ She kissed them both on the cheek, adding to Arna in an undertone: ‘Come and find us at once if Bylgja starts throwing up. We’ll be on deck.’ From the doorway, she blew them each a kiss, then added a third, directed at the picture of Sigga Dögg. The toddler stared back at her from the glossy paper with lifeless eyes, her fat fingers clasped firmly around the ropes of the swing.

‘Do you know anything about seasickness?’ Lára flopped down beside Ægir on the padded bench on the foredeck. He had opened a bottle of red wine and rustled up two glasses. ‘I think Bylgja’s suffering. Or heading that way.’ She ran her hands through her hair and sighed. ‘You can pour me a little wine – or a lot, actually. I’m feeling a bit woozy myself but it can’t hurt.’

Ægir half-filled their glasses, as they had learnt on the wine course Lára had given him as a birthday present. ‘All I know is that there’s no cure, except to get some fresh air, I think, and stay on deck.’ He couldn’t remember where he had learnt this, as there had been no mention of seasickness on his sailing course. He sipped his wine. ‘God, that’s good. We chose well there.’ He looked forward to being able to allow himself such luxuries more often; most of their money worries were now over and the prospect of a comfortable future lay ahead. Growing older wasn’t as bad as people said.

Lára followed his example, but took a much larger gulp. ‘Should we fetch her? She could lie here beside us. She was asleep, though, or just dropping off, so maybe it’s not such a good idea.’ She replaced her glass on the table. It had a wide bowl and an unusually long stem; presumably not cheap – probably ludicrously expensive. ‘Maybe I should ask Thráinn’s advice?’