But he was still Dad.
‘Hi,’ said Dísa, returning his grin despite her nervousness. She was always pleased to see him.
He had picked a nice restaurant — more expensive than the cheap cafés they occasionally met in — but they both ordered burgers. She and Dad always ordered burgers. And she got a milkshake.
He asked her about school, and her plans for the high school in Ólafsfjördur, the next fishing village down the fjord, that she would be attending the following academic year.
‘You know they call the kids from Dalvík “potatoes”?’
He chuckled. ‘That’s not very nice. What do you call them?’
Dísa blushed. ‘Something much ruder, I’m afraid. But it will be good to get to know a whole new set of people.’
She had made the local volleyball team, and he promised he would come and watch her next time he was in the north. Dad was good at asking questions. His interest in her and her life was always genuine.
But Dísa interrupted him, her curiosity demanding satisfaction. ‘So what do you want, Dad?’
Dad took a deep breath, and smiled. It wasn’t bad news, at least as far as he was concerned. A girlfriend, then. Or a wedding.
‘Have you heard of bitcoin?’
That took her by surprise. ‘Bitcoin? No.’
‘It’s a new kind of currency. A digital currency.’
‘OK. Whose digital currency?’
‘Nobody’s. Or rather everybody’s.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s not like the króna or the dollar, which is issued by central banks, and controlled by central banks. If the government runs out of dollars, they can just print more of them. Or they can make them worthless.’
‘The American government would never do that,’ Dísa said.
‘Not now,’ said Dad. ‘But have you ever seen a Confederate dollar? Or those old marks they had in Germany before the war, when people were wheeling bundles of cash around in wheelbarrows? Just last year the Indian government scrapped all their large-denomination banknotes overnight. And our own króna only just survived the kreppa.’
‘All right,’ said Dísa, intrigued by the idea. ‘But money must be backed by somebody, surely? Some government promise, or a vault full of gold, or something.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Dad, grinning. ‘Bitcoin doesn’t have any government or big corporation backing it.’
‘Then how come it’s worth anything?’
‘It’s worth something because of that. No government can mess with it. If you own a bitcoin, it’s yours to keep. No one can change it. No one can take it away from you.’
‘But what exactly is it?’
‘It’s an entry in a database called a blockchain, which cannot be manipulated by anybody. New bitcoins are produced every year, but the amount is strictly limited by the original code. So no one is going to create loads more.’ Dad took a bite of his burger. ‘It was invented by a guy called Satoshi Nakamoto in 2008. No one knows who he is, or even if that’s his real name. But we do know he’s a genius.’
‘And can you buy anything with these bitcoin?’
‘Not much yet,’ said Dad. ‘But that’s going to change very soon. In a digital world, bitcoin is better than cash. You know how in Iceland no one really uses banknotes any more? We use these.’ He pulled out his wallet and held up a debit card. ‘Or nowadays even a phone. We’re way ahead of most other countries, but they will catch up. But even with these digital payments, the big banks take a cut on every transaction. With bitcoin, there will be no banks.’
‘So where is your money if it’s not in a bank?’
‘It’s in the blockchain. You have a wallet address that’s linked to your bitcoin in the blockchain database. To access your wallet, all you need is a private key.’
‘A key?’
‘Not like a metal key. It’s a string of characters like a really long password that gives you access to your blockchain. Mine’s on this.’ He fished what looked like a stubby USB stick out of his trouser pocket. ‘It’s called a “cold wallet”. With this I can access all my bitcoin.’
Dísa took a bite of her burger. ‘So you have some of these bitcoin?’
‘I do,’ said Dad, his eyes twinkling. ‘Rather a lot of bitcoin.’ He gave her a long slow wink, just like he used to do when she was a little girl.
‘How did you manage that?’ Dísa said.
Dad was clearly pleased with her interest. ‘Sharp gave me some a couple of years ago. Technically you are not allowed to buy bitcoin in this country, and you’ve heard of the exchange controls which mean Icelanders can’t own assets overseas.’
‘Sharp is your banking friend, isn’t he? The one who didn’t go to jail?’
‘That’s right. He lives in London. So he has set up a bitcoin wallet for me from over there.’
A suspicion occurred to Dísa. ‘Why did Sharp give you the bitcoin? A birthday present?’
‘Not exactly.’ Dad put on his shifty face.
‘He owed you something? For something you did for him?’
More shifty face. ‘Maybe.’
‘To keep him out of jail?’
Dad cleared his throat. ‘Sharp is a good friend of mine and very smart. He helped me out. And since he gave me the bitcoin, the price has doubled. And I think it’s going to double again. Suddenly the world is going to realize that bitcoin is the currency of the future, and everyone is going to want some.’
Dísa nodded. She still wasn’t sure why he was telling her all this. Maybe he wanted recognition that he wasn’t as useless as his wife was always saying. There was no way Mum would ever admit to that. But his daughter might.
Fair enough. ‘Well done, Dad,’ Dísa said. ‘That was smart.’
Dad popped a chip in his mouth, sat back in his seat and grinned at his daughter. She was right; he was pleased with her compliment.
‘The thing is, Dísa...’ He leaned forward.
‘Yes?’
‘I’d like to give you some.’
‘Some bitcoin?’
‘Yes. Five bitcoin.’
‘Well, thanks, Dad.’ Five bitcoin didn’t sound like much, and they seemed to be very fiddly to look after, but Dísa did appreciate the thought.
‘The price is about one thousand dollars each today.’
‘Oh.’ Then Dísa did the sums. ‘Oh! But that’s five thousand dollars, Dad?’
Dad smiled. ‘I know.’
‘What do you expect me to do with it?’
‘Nothing. Just sit on it. Invest it. Watch it turn into ten thousand.’
‘Wow.’ Dísa swallowed. ‘Thanks, Dad, thanks a lot!’ Then she frowned. ‘What about Anna Rós? Are you going to give her any?’
‘She’s too young. She wouldn’t understand. But I knew you would. You’re good with numbers, and you get money, don’t you?’
‘I suppose I do,’ said Dísa. She had had a semi-serious reputation within the family since the age of seven when she had earnestly announced that she was going to save 10 per cent of her pocket money, and had actually done so.
‘And Jói?’ Jói was Dísa’s half-brother, Dad’s son from a previous brief marriage. He was seven years older than her. He used to stay with them at weekends when they lived in Reykjavík, and he had always been a loyal older brother to her, even after the divorce.
‘Jói doesn’t need the money,’ Dad said. ‘He’s getting a good salary now with that games developer.’
Dad could see her doubts. ‘Please take it, Dísa,’ he said. ‘You know how badly I feel, how badly I will always feel, about letting down you and Anna Rós and, yes, Helga. Mum. This is a small way, a tiny way, I can do something for you. It’s really important to me. If this works as well as I think it will, if bitcoin doubles this year and maybe doubles again next year, then you’ll have enough money for a start in life.’ Dad sighed. ‘And at least I will have given you that.’