The Darkness Knows

27

Húgó dropped round that evening with the twins. Their mother was entertaining her women friends and Húgó had taken the twins to a burger joint before stopping off at their grandfather’s place on the way home. Konrád was delighted to see them, as always, and joked around with his grandsons before giving them some chocolate ice cream he had in the freezer.

‘How are you doing?’ his son asked. ‘Still obsessing over Sigurvin?’

‘No, not really. I’ve just been looking into a couple of things since he turned up,’ Konrád said, switching on the coffee machine. ‘I have to amuse myself somehow.’

‘You refuse to let it go, you mean,’ Húgó said. ‘You’re determined to find out who put him there.’

‘I try not to get bored, is all I meant.’

The boys had sat down in front of the TV with their ice cream and found a film to watch. Húgó left them to it. They could be boisterous at times, especially when visiting their grandfather, who had a habit of winding them up. Anything that calmed them down was a bonus.

‘Aren’t you just bored and missing work?’ Húgó asked.

‘No, I’m not.’

‘You did when you were sacked.’

‘I wasn’t sacked,’ Konrád protested. ‘I took a year out.’

‘You didn’t take a year out, you were sent on leave. You’re still in denial. It’s unbelievable.’

‘All right, I was sent on leave,’ Konrád said. ‘Why bring that up now? What’s it got to... How’s it relevant?’

Konrád fetched their coffee, a little taken aback at the turn the conversation had taken. He didn’t know why Húgó had brought it up. The fact was, he’d been sent on unpaid leave a month or two before Villi was killed in the hit-and-run. That was why he knew so little about the case. He’d blotted his copybook and for a while it had looked as if he wouldn’t be reinstated, but it had been sorted out in the end, thanks largely to Marta.

Konrád handed Húgó his coffee. In looks, Húgó took after his mother’s side of the family, which was lucky for him.

‘Of course it’s relevant,’ Húgó said. ‘You and Mum. The old Sigurvin case. You were a real mess at the time.’

‘It was a difficult case, Húgó. Honestly, I don’t know what good it does to rake it up.’

‘Then why not leave it alone? You’re not in the police any more. It’s none of your concern.’

‘I don’t know. It was a big part of my life. Cases like that, they stay with you. I can still make a contribution. Besides, Hjaltalín wouldn’t talk to anyone else. He was the one who dragged me back into it.’

‘In spite of everything?’

‘Yes, in spite of everything.’

‘I imagine Sigurvin’s body reappearing like that must have stirred up a lot of ghosts, a lot of uncomfortable stuff you’ve maybe tried to forget. Then all of a sudden it’s brought up to the surface and you have to start processing it all over again.’

‘I’ll survive. There’s no need to worry about me.’

Húgó picked up the wedding picture of his parents from a nearby table. It had been taken outside Háteigur Church immediately after the ceremony. Konrád was wearing a borrowed dinner jacket and Erna a beautiful bridal gown, and they were smiling into each other’s eyes.

‘It’s been nearly six years,’ Húgó remarked.

‘Yes. Six years.’

After Húgó had left with the boys, Konrád picked up the picture and contemplated it. He hardly recognised the young couple on the church steps. Hardly remembered those days. Him tall and lanky, with long hair. Her wearing her hair down, with a white ribbon round her head, and heavy make-up. He had been twenty-six; she’d been a year older. It had been a beautiful summer’s day, the last weekend in June, and their smiles conveyed the certainty that they would be together for the rest of their lives. The news at the time had revolved around fishing treaties and the hay harvest. In the outside world, the usual wars had been raging. They had already lived together for several years, as had been the fashion in those free and easy times, and on the morning of their wedding day he had watched her sleeping until he could no longer resist it and had woken her with a light kiss. Then they had lain in bed and laughed over all the fuss involved in preparing for the ceremony. In those days it hadn’t been the norm for young people to get married, let alone to have a church wedding, but they had decided to go for it, however bourgeois it seemed. He had actually gone down on one knee to propose. He had suggested they elope and find a country church where they could get hitched, just the two of them, but she had been afraid of disappointing her family.

‘Always thinking of others,’ he whispered to the picture.

He heaved a sigh and into his mind came a line from a popular song that he suddenly remembered had been played at their wedding reception; a poignant tune that reached him like a whisper from a long-ago summer’s evening:

the trial of many an aching night

is to suffer and endure...