After Tryggvi’s death, Lena hadn’t expected significant changes, and she’d been proved right. Her mother, of course, no longer played the role of the steadfast and dedicated parent who gave her all for her disabled son; now she smiled bravely through her tears, unable to come to terms with her loss. Both roles were characterized by how her mother said one thing but implied the opposite. Once it had been: Isn’t this terribly difficult for you, my poor Fanndís? No, no. You’ve just got to tough it out, even when everything seems hopeless. Now it was: But what do I really have to complain about? In the Third World there are people who have lost their children and can’t even feed the ones who are still alive.
Lena was suddenly overwhelmed by irritation. As if her mother had some sort of exclusive right to feel bad about Tryggvi. When all was said and done, Lena and her father had loved him just as much, even if they weren’t constantly seeking attention after his death. Lena had never discussed the subject with her friends; her grief, like all the other feelings churning inside her, was private. Other people couldn’t possibly understand. She doubted her father did, even though he’d had a very difficult time with it all too and hadn’t been able to hide it either from her or from others who knew him well. It was as if he’d shut off part of himself; he was never properly happy, even though he tried to pretend to be for his wife and daughter’s sake. Although it had often been difficult at home, Lena couldn’t remember having seen him as miserable as he was now. If she were forced to choose which of the three of them had been most affected by Tryggvi’s death, she would pick him.
‘Oh, thank you, my dear. I’m thinking of you too.’ Her mother hung up. She stared for a moment out of the living room window before turning to Lena on the sofa. ‘Don’t you have any classes today?’
‘It’s Sunday.’ Lena looked at her mother, having long since become accustomed to this kind of thing.
‘What’s wrong with me? Of course!’ Her mother was embarrassed. ‘Where did your father go?’
Lena shrugged. ‘He went out somewhere. He didn’t say where.’
‘Oh?’ Her mother seemed almost insulted. ‘Not to work, surely?’
‘He didn’t want to interrupt you while you were on the phone; he can’t have gone far. Maybe he’s just washing the car, now that the weather’s good enough.’ If she had to name one hobby of her father’s, it would be washing the car. He would probably be happier if he’d gone to work at a carwash instead of going into law and taking a job at the ministry. ‘Have you heard anything more from the lawyers who came to see you? About that Jakob, and the fire?’
A flash of anger crossed her mother’s face but she managed to suppress it and return to her usual persona: the noble, elegant woman enduring great hardship. ‘No. Nor do I expect to. It’s utter nonsense and I don’t understand why they’re opening old wounds for all the victims’ relatives.’
Lena just restrained herself from shrieking at her mother. ‘It’s hardly fair to let the wrong man rot in prison just to protect a few people’s feelings, is it?’ How could her mother, who pretended to be so good, not let such a thing bother her? Lena felt bad enough herself.
‘Oh, darling, come on – that’s enough.’ Her mother walked to the window and pushed the net curtain aside. ‘He’s not in the driveway. But the car’s there, so he hasn’t gone far.’
‘Maybe he went out for a run, Mum. Jesus. If you’re so worried about him, spend more time with him and less on the phone.’
‘You’re one to talk.’ Her mother’s mask had slipped now and she made no attempt to hide her anger. ‘Where did you go last night?’
‘Out with my friends.’ Lena looked at her curiously. ‘You already knew that.’
Her mother grabbed her earlobe and rubbed it energetically. ‘Yes, that’s right.’ She plonked herself into a chair opposite Lena. ‘I’m really not myself. Your father’s acting a bit oddly these days and I don’t know whether it’s because of work or the reopening of the case.’ She feigned interest in the book between them. ‘He went to work last night after you left. He hasn’t worked in the evening in years, let alone at the weekend.’
‘He’s super-busy right now. You know that.’
‘Yes, yes. But I’m still concerned. He’s reached the age when his heart could give out and he should think about slowing down, even if things are frantic.’
‘If he had a study here at home he wouldn’t need to go to work at the weekend or in the evenings.’ Lena spoke carefully, knowing this was a sensitive issue. Although the house was large, there was only one spare room – Tryggvi’s old room. Everything in it had been left undisturbed, as if they were still expecting him to come home on weekends, as had been the idea when he moved to the unit. After he died, the door to his room had been shut and Lena never went inside; nor did her dad. She didn’t know how many times her mother had looked in there but twice she’d found the door open and seen her mother crying on the bed. Both times Lena had crept away unseen. She knew very well her mother’s tendency to dramatize every little thing and had quickly suggested to her dad that they clean out Tryggvi’s room and turn it into the study her father had long dreamed of. She didn’t attempt to gloss over the reason for her suggestion, and together they’d been trying slowly but surely to make it happen, while her mother always deftly avoided taking the final decision.
‘Yes, we need to think about that.’ In other words, discuss it endlessly.
‘Why can’t we just do it now? Nothing’s going to change in the near future. I know it’d make Dad very happy.’
‘Yes, I’ll speak to him about it tonight.’ Another delaying tactic.
Lena sat up. ‘How about we just take a look at the room now? Go over what you want to do with his things? I’m not saying we have to start boxing them up tonight.’
Her mother opened her mouth and closed it again. Her slender fingers stopped rubbing her ear. ‘Well, I’m not feeling well enough to do it now, Lena. You have to understand that I simply haven’t recovered yet.’
‘Maybe because you still have to work through it properly. I think sorting out Tryggvi’s room would actually do you good. There are so many people having a difficult time at the moment, who could make good use of a lot of what’s in there.’ Lena prepared to stand up. ‘Come on – Dad will be so pleased, and if you really are worried about him having a heart attack or whatever then surely you can see that this will help.’ She wriggled to her feet. ‘Come on, it’ll take fifteen minutes, max.’
‘We’re not going to start packing anything? Just have a look?’ Lena nodded and her mother sighed deeply. ‘I really can’t be doing this. I still need to do the shopping, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg.’ It would be difficult to squeeze as much as a child-sized carton of chocolate milk into the jam-packed fridge, but Lena let it go; it was a major victory to get her mother to consider this at all.