Thóra sat up and stretched. Perhaps there were jobs for lawyers on the oil rig.
Chapter 17
A twitching tail was the only sign of life from the cat on the windowsill. She glared out into the garden where the gale was flattening everything in its path. Storms and rain were beneath her dignity; she might have been lashing her tail to show her disgust at the elements for daring to behave in this way.
‘Cats are rubbish.’ Sóley watched the animal, bored. Mother and daughter were lying on the sofa together, Sóley with a library book open on her stomach. ‘They never do anything.’
‘They do lots of things.’ Thóra felt compelled to stand up for their pet. ‘But only what they want to do, not what you want.’ She gave Sóley a gentle kick. ‘Don’t be mean to the poor kitty. It’s not her fault the weather’s like this.’ Sóley was supposed to be playing in a football match later that day against a team from Egilsstadir, in the east of Iceland, but their flight had been cancelled. She and her friends had been convinced they were going to thrash the other team, so they were crushed by disappointment. ‘In fact, I’m sure she’s as disappointed as you. She wanted to go exploring but I was afraid she’d be blown out to sea.’
‘I can’t stand the wind either. Why does wind have to exist?’ Sóley seemed to be burdened by all the world’s injustices today.
‘Perhaps it was invented to drive sailing ships in the old days – or windmills,’ Thóra suggested. Sóley rolled her eyes to indicate that these were nothing compared to a match in the junior girls’ fourth division. Thóra sat up and hugged her daughter. ‘Well, it’s lovely to have you here even though you’re in a grump.’ She disengaged and stood up. ‘And don’t you dare dream of applying for a summer job in Norway.’
‘Talking about me?’ Gylfi came in yawning. Sigga had taken Orri to a birthday party at a relative’s house but the youthful father had announced that he had a cold and didn’t want to infect the horde of children. Thóra had bitten back a comment, recalling how Matthew had been driven to distraction by the children’s parties they had held for Orri. She didn’t know which annoyed him most, the noise of the kids or the chattering of the mothers. So she could well understand Gylfi. More to the point, she had recently taken the decision not to interfere in his relationship with Sigga. Although they all lived under the same roof, the young couple had to learn to sort out their own affairs without her constantly acting as referee.
‘No, we weren’t.’ Thóra smiled at him. ‘Norway can come up in conversation without its having anything to do with you.’ She studied him, aware that he was transforming with terrifying speed from the child she had brought into the world. There were still glimpses of the old Gylfi in the young man before her, but the next stage in his development to adulthood would doubtless be even more dramatic, and Thóra realised that if he did go abroad for a year, he’d probably be unrecognisable when he returned. Perhaps that was why she was digging her heels in. She wanted him to grow up, to live his life, take risks. But she didn’t want to miss it, any more than she would want to watch him walk the tightrope without a safety net.
‘You do know how close Norway is, don’t you, Mum?’ Gylfi had obviously read her mind.
‘No.’ She would just have to face facts. The little family would move abroad and learn to stand on their own two feet and she would have to resign herself to going through airport security every time she wanted to visit her firstborn and her grandchild. ‘How close is it?’
Gylfi looked evasive. ‘I’m not absolutely sure. But it’s not far. And you can visit Duty Free.’
So if they did go, at least she’d have the compensation of cheap alcohol and chocolate. ‘Great. I hadn’t thought of that.’ Gylfi’s relieved smile indicated that he had failed to detect the sarcasm. ‘When are you expecting to hear?’ They might turn him down and then all her worrying would have been for nothing. She had heard that people spent most of their time getting anxious about things that would never happen, but then again the statistic probably applied to people like her mother who were forever lying awake at night, fretting over the silliest things. Whatever was reported on the news immediately constituted a major risk to her mother’s loved ones. In her mind, a national campaign against speeding meant that her family were all more or less doomed, either because they might suddenly take to driving recklessly themselves or because they would fall victim to some crazed road hog. When the president of the Ukraine was poisoned with dioxin, her mother was convinced that Thóra would accidentally buy a canned drink destined for a foreign dignitary and suffer the same fate, and so on. No wonder Thóra had kept her parents in ignorance of Gylfi’s plans; she had enough trouble coping with her own anxieties without having to put up with her mother’s as well.
‘I’m not sure. If I don’t hear by the beginning of next week, Dad’s going to call them for me. He’s got the flat all ready for us, apparently, so we could go over as soon as school finishes. It won’t take us long to pack.’
Thóra closed her eyes and counted up to ten. Her son had never packed so much as a pair of socks himself; she had always done it for him. But it was not this that caused the anger to flare up inside her, since she had only herself to blame. No, her main gripe was with her ex-husband. Why did he have to stick his oar in? If he had kept out of it, no one would ever have dreamt of such an idea; Gylfi would now be applying to university and Sigga would be enjoying the fact she was a year younger and still in the sixth form. But in fairness Thóra knew her ex meant well; doubtless he was lonely in Norway and wanted the company of his only son. It couldn’t be easy to spend every other month alone in a foreign country. ‘You can’t plan a long stay abroad at such short notice. Don’t forget that although you two may be able to rough it, the same isn’t true of Orri.’ She made an effort to compose her features. Lecturing the boy and laying down the law for him was exactly what she had promised Matthew not to do. Gylfi was responsible for his own life and the sooner she accepted the fact, the better. Perhaps she should be directing her anger at herself, not his father. She had often wished her son would take more risks, live life to the full. ‘Anyway, we’ll see. There’s no need to make a fuss about it now.’
‘There’s no need to make a fuss about it at all,’ muttered Gylfi, flopping down on the sofa where Thóra had been lying. Sóley didn’t react, as if it was nothing to her that her brother and nephew were leaving the country.
The cat turned her head in a leisurely manner and yawned at the brother and sister, utterly indifferent to any undercurrents.
A metallic female voice announced a storm warning for the south-east Iceland shipping area. Thóra had lost count of the number of times she had heard these words but only now that she had become interested in boats did the full implications sink in: she thought about those out on the ocean, pictured waves breaking over bows, vessels plunging in the heaving waters. One thing was certain; she had no inner sailor struggling to escape. ‘Turn here.’ She directed Matthew down to the harbour side. ‘He’s going to meet us by the yacht.’ She glanced at the clock on the dashboard and saw that they were early. ‘Let’s park and wait. He’s bound to need help getting up the gangplank so it would be better to go together.’