Reykjavik Nights

33

They had arranged to meet at Hressingarskálinn. She was already there, smiling at him, when he walked in the door. A fine drizzle was falling over the city. He shook the moisture from his coat, then went over and joined her. If she was expecting a kiss she was disappointed. He had never gone in for public displays of affection. She sometimes made him hold hands as they walked through town but he would find any excuse to let go, putting his hand in his pocket or running it over his hair. He seemed to have no need for physical contact.

‘Miserable weather,’ she said.

‘It’s supposed to clear up this evening. The forecast’s good for tomorrow.’

He glanced around. Hressingarskálinn — or Hressó as it was familiarly known — was one of the few cafes in the centre of town. It attracted a crowd of artists, actors, poets and journalists who chatted and gossiped, perused the papers, had opinions on everything and spared no one. The poet Steinn Steinarr, who in Erlendur’s opinion had no equal, used to hold court there. And he had spotted another luminary, Tómas Guðmundsson, in the midst of heated discussion once. Hressó did a decent lunch and Erlendur sometimes dropped in to eat, read the papers and watch the world go by.

‘Shall we have waffles?’ asked Halldóra. ‘And hot chocolate with cream?’

‘Yup, waffles and cream,’ said Erlendur. ‘That’ll hit the spot.’

‘Just the thing on a dreary day like this, isn’t it?’ She smiled.

‘Yes.’

Once they had ordered, Halldóra took out a packet of cigarettes and offered him one. They smoked in silence until she began to tell him about a re-released film she had seen with her girlfriends. She gave a rundown of the plot and the actors. He had heard of Shirley MacLaine but not of the film, Irma la Douce. He very seldom went to the cinema.

They tucked into the waffles and sipped their hot chocolate. The place was quiet; only a few tables were occupied and the customers spoke in murmurs. Halldóra told him she had got the job at the telephone company. She was looking forward to learning the ropes, booking and connecting international calls. Then she asked him what it was like on night duty. He sketched a few of the incidents they dealt with, shorn of any excitement or romance. Instead, he emphasised the depressing side: the burglaries, the drunk drivers and car crashes. He had not told her about Hannibal or his unofficial investigation. Sooner or later he would have to report his unnerving discoveries to CID.

‘Don’t you get tired of being on night duty all the time?’ she asked. ‘Doesn’t it mess up your body clock?’

‘No, I like it fine,’ he replied. ‘I work with a couple of good guys, so the shifts pass surprisingly quickly.’

It was not the first time she had asked. He knew she cared about his welfare, but mostly she was just grasping at conversational straws.

‘Gardar and Marteinn, you mean?’

‘Yes. They’re all right.’

‘You don’t have any of the new female officers on your shift?’

‘No.’ He smiled.

‘Is it really a job for women? What if some crazy person attacked them? Isn’t it too dangerous?’

‘Not really. At least, not in my opinion,’ said Erlendur. ‘Not everyone’s happy with women going out on the beat, but it was probably about time. There are plenty of situations where it’s actually better to have a female officer.’

‘Do you think I could be a cop?’

‘Definitely.’ Erlendur grinned.

She laughed and they sipped their hot chocolate again. He sensed that she was unsure of herself, as if she had something on her mind that she didn’t know how to put into words. Or was too shy to tell him.

‘I... I was wondering if...’

‘What?’

‘Oh, I... I wondered if you’d like to... if you wouldn’t mind... I don’t know... if I rented a place with you? If we moved in together? I just wanted to float the idea. It would save us having to pay for two places. And... well, it would save us a lot of money... so I was wondering if it might make sense, that’s all.’

Erlendur took a mouthful of waffle. He had been to the small flat she rented in Breidholt a few times. It was in the basement of a detached house and Halldóra was always complaining about how it was so cramped and how inconvenient the location was. He imagined it would be even more inconvenient for her new job at the phone company headquarters in the centre of town.

‘The thing is, they’ve given me my notice,’ Halldóra continued. ‘Their daughter’s coming home. She’s been studying abroad for two years but apparently doesn’t want to stay, so they told me I have to move out by the end of the summer.’

Erlendur did not say anything to this.

‘I just thought I’d run it by you,’ she said. ‘What do you think?’

‘I—’

‘We’ve known each other — been seeing each other or whatever you like to call it — for... I don’t know how long, so perhaps it’s time we did something about it. Took the next step. Made it serious. You know...’

He had given little thought to moving their relationship on to the next stage or even wondering where it was going. They met up fairly regularly, either at her flat or at his place in Hlídar, which was handier for a night out on the town. But they hadn’t discussed any future plans. Admittedly, he had once given in and agreed to meet her parents. But as far as he knew Halldóra had been happy with the arrangement. At least she had never pushed him for more. Until now.

She noticed his hesitation.

‘It was just an idea,’ she said, immediately backing down. ‘If you don’t want to, that’s fine. I can find myself a flat somewhere else. Of course it’s cheapest to live way out in Breidholt, but it’s quite a long journey to work. So... I need to weigh up the options.’

‘No, what you’re saying might make sense, I just need to think about it,’ said Erlendur. ‘I wasn’t expecting it. Sorry if... I just haven’t given it any thought. You’ve never brought this up before. We’ve never discussed it.’

‘No, fair enough.’

‘So... it’s a bit out of the blue.’

‘Yes, I know. It was just an idea,’ Halldóra repeated, cheering up a little. ‘Go away and think about it. It’s all right. It’s fine. You need time to mull it over. Of course. I should’ve warned you. Sorry to spring it on you like that.’

‘No need to be sorry, Halldóra.’

‘I could have handled it better.’

‘It’s fine.’

‘Actually, I’ve been kind of dreading seeing you today.’

‘Dreading? Because of that? Don’t worry.’

He reached out and laid a hand on hers for emphasis.

‘I just needed to know how you’d take it,’ she said. ‘It’s important to me — in the circumstances.’

‘Of course.’

‘There’s something else.’

Noticing that she still looked worried, Erlendur assumed he had failed to reassure her. The people at the neighbouring table stood up and went out into the drizzle. Their departure was accompanied by a cold gust of wind.

‘I had to get that off my chest first — about us,’ said Halldóra.

‘Well, now you have.’

‘Yes.’

‘What is it? What’s the other thing?’

‘I think I’m pregnant.’