‘Come in. The doorbell’s broken. I was afraid of missing you so I was keeping an eye out.’ The woman was young, probably early thirties, perhaps slightly younger. Her straight, blonde shoulder-length hair looked dirty, and it fell across her face. Her worn jeans were obviously supposed to be skinny-fit, but they were baggy on her and her fleece hung loosely on her thin frame. Her eyes were large and expressive, and would have been beautiful but for the dull rings underneath. All of this fitted with Thóra’s mental image of a woman who was being haunted.
‘Hi, I’m Thóra and this is Matthew, who I mentioned earlier.’ The woman’s grip was slack and her palm cold and clammy. ‘Thank you very much for agreeing to meet with us; we won’t bother you for long. I realize it’s getting late and tomorrow’s a work day.’
‘I’m on sick leave, so I don’t have to get up. My husband is still at work; they’re doing an inventory and he’ll be there well into the night, so you aren’t disturbing us.’ She seemed to feel the need to go into this in detail, as if to excuse her husband’s heavy workload in the midst of the recession: ‘The company just changed owners, which means lots of changes and extra work – which is unpaid, but he’s been promised additional leave in return.’ Berglind showed them into the house. The hall was very tidy but devoid of all luxury. It could have done with a coat cupboard, but instead there was a coat rack on wheels. Shoes were arranged neatly against the wall in order of size, except for some fiery red boots in the middle that were decorated like mini fire engines. Thóra could see that Matthew was having trouble deciding where he should put his shoes; by the front door, in their correct place among the household’s own pairs? Berglind also appeared to notice and announced, ‘Don’t worry about your shoes; there’s not much to do here during the day so I try to keep the house ship-shape. There are only three of us so I’ve had to come up with various things to help fill the day.’ She looked at the shoes, side by side as if in a shop. ‘It’s ridiculous, I know, but I hardly ever leave the house, so there’s nothing to do but occupy myself somehow – no matter how strange it might seem.’
Thóra smiled. ‘Well, I have to say I envy you your tidy hallway; you should see mine.’ The hall in her house was always filled with shoes, left there by Sóley, Gylfi, Sigga, and now Orri as well, generally in a pile in the middle of the floor. Thóra was sure that they must fling them off on their way in, but without breaking their stride: they loosened the laces as they approached the door and then stepped out of them on the way in. The little space that was left on the floor was then heaped with the kids’ coats; for some reason they never hung them on the hooks. When she and Matthew emerged from the hallway it always felt as if they’d just hopped from stone to stone over a river.
Berglind didn’t smile back. ‘Have a seat in the living room. I’m just going to check on Pési.’ She pointed up at the Artex ceiling. ‘He’s upstairs watching a film. He doesn’t have to get up tomorrow morning either because he’s on a break from preschool. Actually a kind of mini-version of my circumstances.’ The rings under her eyes seemed to darken and spread, probably because they’d left the brightly lit hall.
Matthew and Thóra sat down on a brown sectional sofa of the kind that had taken over the furniture market a few years earlier. It was as if the sofa wanted to show solidarity with the house and had decided to show signs of wear; the attached chaise longue had sunk in the middle and its colour had faded, making it look as though it belonged to an entirely different set. Like the hallway, the living room was excessively tidy, and Thóra thought she caught a whiff of cleaning fluid. She desperately wanted to stand up and have a look at the framed photographs on the wall to her right, but she was uncomfortable with the idea that Berglind might find her doing it. So she sat completely still and tried to examine them from a distance.
‘Sorry – I had to find him some paper and crayons; he didn’t want to stop watching the film.’ Berglind sat down opposite Thóra. She smiled at them awkwardly and seemed to hope that they would do all the talking. ‘Would you like some coffee or something?’
Thóra and Matthew both politely declined. ‘We absolutely don’t want to trouble you. You’ve got enough on your plate.’ Thóra looked towards the stairs leading to the upper floor. ‘Has your son been aware of this… spirit at all?’ She didn’t know how much she could trust the blogger’s story; she would rather get her answers straight from the woman.
‘Yes, very aware. He and I seem to be the most sensitive to it; my husband finds it easy to shut it out and act as though nothing’s wrong.’ She frowned. ‘I can see that you don’t believe a word of it. I’ve become an expert at recognizing that expression.’
Embarrassed, Thóra tried to hide her doubts. ‘I certainly didn’t intend to suggest that. I know less than nothing about ghosts and I don’t really have an opinion on them either way. We’re here for an entirely different reason, as I mentioned – a case that’s connected to the accident here on Vesturlandsvegur Road somehow. I was hoping that the connection could be explained by speaking to you.’
At that the woman relaxed slightly. ‘I understand. I’ve just become so sensitive about the subject; everyone around me has grown tired of it and their sympathy has worn a little thin.’ She sat up straight. ‘But that’s life, I guess. Although one or two people have actually been extremely understanding; the couple next door have been very kind to us, as well as my boss at work. Other people just don’t want to talk about it.’
‘May I ask how the haunting manifests itself?’ Matthew was clearly extremely curious. ‘I’ve never met anyone who’s been in this kind of situation.’
‘Sure.’ Berglind smiled unexpectedly, but then her face darkened as she began telling them the entire story. As the story went on, Thóra was glad that the curtains were all drawn – there was no denying it was powerful stuff.
When Berglind appeared to have reached the end of her account, Thóra was no closer to knowing how these events were related to the fire, and although every other message from Jósteinn had turned out to contain important information, it was conceivable that this time he had missed the mark. Thóra had the feeling that Berglind was telling the truth, and telling the story exactly as she saw it, but that didn’t mean all her explanations reflected reality. ‘Well now…’ Thóra’s throat was dry and she coughed gently. ‘It all sounds rather frightening, but unfortunately I can’t see how it has any connection to the case I’m working on. None of the names match; the dates don’t ring any bells. The accident occurred almost a year before the fire. You don’t remember anything special that happened here on 11 October 2008?’
‘No, although it was actually around that time that the haunting grew significantly worse.’ Berglind thought for a moment in silence and her expression turned to one of bewilderment. ‘Did you say a fire? That occurred in October of that year?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you referring to the fire at the community residence?’ asked Berglind, sounding surprised. Light footsteps from upstairs indicated that Berglind’s son was moving around and she started and looked up at the ceiling. She seemed to realize that her reaction might have appeared unnatural to her visitors and immediately turned her attention back to them.