But no cello. Magnus wondered what had happened to the cello.
‘Why don’t you show Magnús your room, Ási?’ said Ingileif.
Ási proudly complied. It was a small room. Almost all the wall space was covered with books.
‘Have you read all these?’ said Magnus. ‘It’s a lot of books for a seven-year-old.’
‘I like reading,’ he said.
‘What’s your favourite?’
‘I used to like Tintin and the Elstur books. But I’ve just started Harry Potter.’
‘That’ll keep you busy. And what are these?’ Magnus pointed to a group of gruesome half-painted toy figures on his desk.
‘Warhammer. My friend Binni plays with his brother. It’s fun.’
‘I can see that eating up his pocket money for the next few years,’ said Ingileif.
The living room was a wide space — walls had been knocked down — and Ingileif and Magnus went to the kitchen area while Ási played some computer game on the sofa. It seemed to be something related to Warhammer.
‘I said coffee, but I’m having a glass of wine,’ said Ingileif. ‘Would you like one?’
‘I’m interviewing someone later,’ said Magnus.
‘OK,’ said Ingileif.
‘Well, maybe just one.’
Ingileif poured two glasses and they sat at the table. Magnus hadn’t seen her for three years, and she looked older, but yet she looked exactly the same. He caught her eye. She was looking at him and thinking the same thing. He could tell.
‘Thanks for letting me see him. It’s been great.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Ingileif. ‘I should have done this sooner. It’s just Hannes didn’t want me to, and, well, I caved.’
‘That seems unlike you,’ said Magnus.
‘I know.’
‘When’s he coming home? Hannes. Will I meet him?’
‘No, you won’t meet him,’ said Ingileif. She lowered her eyes to her glass. ‘He walked out three months ago.’
‘Oh.’ Magnus hesitated. ‘I’m sorry.’
Ingileif shrugged and then looked straight at Magnus. ‘I’m just not very good at staying with men. Am I?’
Magnus held her gaze and grinned. ‘No.’
Ingileif laughed. ‘You know I’m forty now?’
‘I didn’t. But I could have worked it out.’
‘And I’ve got a string of bad relationships behind me. You would have thought I would have learned by now.’
‘Ours wasn’t a bad relationship.’
‘I left you. Twice!’
‘I know. But I’m glad it happened,’ said Magnus. He realized it was something he had wanted to tell Ingileif for a long time. ‘I’m glad we were together.’
‘So am I,’ said Ingileif.
They held each other’s eyes. Something was going on in Magnus’s mind, in his chest. His heart was pumping faster.
He was falling. Where, he didn’t know.
She broke away from his glance and swilled the wine in her glass. She seemed to be thinking.
‘What is it?’ said Magnus.
Ingileif didn’t answer; she seemed absorbed in her wine. Then she looked up.
‘Can I show you something?’
‘What?’
‘Come,’ she said. She led him along a hallway and opened a door. Magnus followed her into the room. Her bedroom.
She reached behind him and locked the door. Then she kissed him.
Magnus put his arms around her and held her. His senses exploded, her tongue playing with his, her smell, the feel of her wonderful arse beneath his hands, her chest against his. So familiar. So exciting. So right.
He was falling.
But then he clung to a branch on the cliff edge.
He pushed himself away from her.
‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Ingileif. No.’
‘Come on, Magnús,’ said Ingileif with a smile. ‘You want to.’
‘I don’t know whether I want to or not. But I know I can’t. I’m with Eygló.’
‘Do you want to be with her?’ Ingileif gazed at him with hope; hope tinged with doubt.
‘I don’t know. But I am with her. So I can’t do this.’
Ingileif’s confidence crumbled before his eyes. ‘What am I doing?’ she said. ‘I told myself not to do this. To leave you alone. To let you get to know Ási again. But just now in the kitchen... I thought... I thought...’
‘I didn’t mean to lead you on,’ said Magnus.
‘I know you didn’t. And you didn’t. It was me. Screwing up again. I know you. I know you wouldn’t do anything with Eygló around. I knew that. And yet I jump on you. I’m so stupid.’
‘You’re not stupid,’ said Magnus.
Tears appeared in Ingileif’s eyes. She wiped them and looked away, biting her lip. Magnus wanted to grab her, hold her, comfort her.
She turned back to him and sniffed. ‘I think you’d better say goodbye to Ási and go.’
‘Can I see him again?’
‘Yes.’ Ingileif nodded her head. ‘Send me a text in a couple of weeks. No, a month. Leave it a month, please. But we’ll fix something up. Now go!’
Twenty-Seven
Dísa drove straight from the summer house to Jói’s apartment in Gardabaer to pick up her stuff. That was why she had borrowed Kata’s car, although she had asked her friend if she could drive out to the summer house first, without explaining to Kata exactly why. She would pay her for the petrol.
She was desperate to log into her father’s bitcoin wallet to see how much he had. Although she could have tried to do it on her phone, she thought it was safer to wait until she had some privacy with her laptop. It might be fiddly.
It didn’t take Dísa long to pack up — she didn’t have many things. When she had finished, Jói suggested a cup of coffee before she left. Petra was working in her coffee shop, so it was just the two of them.
‘Thank you so much, Jói,’ said Dísa. ‘It’s been great staying here.’
‘It’s been nice having you around. How are you doing now?’
‘About Mum?’
Jói nodded.
‘I was kind of looking forward to the funeral; I thought it would be an important step. And it was good to see all those people there, how they all liked and respected her despite the Thomocoin. But it doesn’t really make much difference. I still miss her every second of the day.’
‘Of course you do,’ said Jói.
‘Yeah.’ Dísa sipped her coffee. ‘They talk about the stages of grief, don’t they? I’m not sure what they are or what order they come in. I think denial is one of them. But I’m in the anger phase.’
‘With Gunni?’
‘Yes, with Gunni. But more with Thomocoin and the people behind it. Dad. Sharp. Mum even. It’s stupid, but I’m angry with Mum. I’m angry with myself for telling her about it.’
‘Don’t get worked up about that, Dísa. It’ll just make things worse.’
‘Maybe. Did you buy any?’
‘Dad tried to get me to, but that stuff isn’t my thing. You can make money, but you can lose it too.’
Dísa was tempted to tell Jói about her trip to the summer house — he knew it as well as she did — and about the private key she had copied down, but she held back. Although Jói had slotted into her family well — Mum had made sure of that — Dísa always got the impression that his loyalty was with his father. Which was fair enough. And with his own mother, Dad’s first wife, a teacher in Breidholt whom Dísa had never met, which was even fairer.