Page 15 of Meet Me Under the Northern Lights

GUNNAR’S TRUCK, OUTSKIRTS OF REYKJAVIK

‘Do you have your maths homework?’ Gunnar asked the next morning as he drove, rushing like he did every day.

‘Are you talking to me or to Magnús?’ Hildur piped up from the back.

‘Yes, Gunnar,’ Magnús replied, a piece of toast in his mouth.

‘Why are you driving so fast?’ Hildur asked.

‘Because we are late,’ he answered. ‘Or we will be late if I do not drive fast.’

‘Or we will not arrive at all if we skid on the ice and fall into the path of something bigger than us,’ Hildur stated.

‘Your leg is hurting from my driving speed?’ Gunnar asked her, looking at her in the rear-view mirror.

‘My leg is fine. I do not know why I have to go to the community centre today, I would be fine on my own at home.’

‘We discussed this, Hildur,’ he said, sighing. ‘It is only for a few days until you are more used to the boot.’

‘And in that few days my mind will be more damaged than my ankle through boredom of the talk of old people.’

‘I like the people at the community centre,’ Magnús piped up. ‘They give me sweets.’

‘Because the old people cannot eat the sweets, they stick to their fake teeth.’

Gunnar hadn’t slept very well. He didn’t know whether it was the airport runs or the extra work on the Northern Lights trip that night or what had happened with Chloe. He internally shook himself. What was he thinking? Nothing had happened. But, whatever nothing had happened it was weighing on him.

‘Magnús, you have dropped toast!’ Gunnar exclaimed.

Magnús shrugged.

‘Magnús! Pick it up! And you cannot leave your skates in the car all the time!’

‘Why are you shouting, Gunnar?’ Hildur asked.

‘I am not shouting. I do not like mess, you know this. And there is mess in this car, there is mess in the house, and no one else seems to care.’

Now he really had shouted and his passengers were as quiet as he had ever known them. He needed to lift his mood. He needed to stop wondering what might have happened if he had leaned a little towards Chloe before she left the truck last night…

‘I know what this is,’ Hildur announced as they drove up to some traffic lights. ‘This is how he always is when Christmas is arriving, Magnús,’ Hildur said.

‘You are right,’ Magnús agreed. ‘It is like he is afraid of Santa Claus.’

‘And all the reindeer,’ Hildur added with a throaty laugh.

‘And my school show,’ Magnús continued.

What? Had Hildur said anything to Magnús about that?

No, she wouldn’t have. Gunnar swallowed as the memories of his own school Christmas show and the night he lost his father came back to him.

What was supposed to be the happiest of ends to the year, excitement about Christmas coming for all the children, had been the beginning of his family’s demise…

‘I am not scared of the school show,’ Gunnar said as firmly as he could manage. ‘Or Santa Claus and the reindeer.’

‘Then why have you not bought a ticket?’ Magnús asked.

‘The tickets are on sale?’ he queried fast.

‘Gunnar,’ Hildur said. ‘I have told you this for the past two weeks. They also need volunteers to help finish making the sets and?—’

‘I will buy a ticket,’ Gunnar interrupted as the lights changed and he drove through them.

‘Really?’ Magnús exclaimed, definite surprise in his voice.

‘If you give the boy some króna he can buy the ticket today,’ Hildur stated.

‘You are not coming?’ Gunnar asked her.

‘I already have my ticket. But maybe you need a second one?’

He glanced into the rear-view mirror and caught the old woman’s eye. What was with that expression on her face?

Within a few minutes he was pulling up outside the school and Magnús was halfway out of the car door before he could stop him.

‘Magnús,’ Gunnar said. ‘Here, take the króna for the ticket for the Christmas show.’ He pulled a note from his wallet and passed it to the boy.

‘And I can put you down to help with painting the set?’ Magnús asked him, all wide light blue eyes not so dissimilar to his.

‘Magnús, I do not know if I can commit to doing that. Work is busy right now and?—’

His answer was the slamming of the truck door, anger and frustration rippling with the metalwork as it vibrated. Gunnar was already removing his seatbelt, ready to leap from the truck and tell the boy his behaviour was not acceptable until…

‘Leave him,’ Hildur ordered. ‘He will calm down. It is hard for him. All the other children having parents.’

‘That is not an excuse for life, Hildur. We all have to make the best out of our individual situations.’

‘Or bury them and pretend they have never happened? Would that be better?’

‘I did not say that,’ he answered. ‘But slamming doors does not solve things either.’

‘He is a young boy who lost everything. There are no rulebooks for that,’ Hildur reminded him.

Gunnar looked out of the window, watching Magnús striding towards the school building, backpack swinging from one arm, coat falling off his shoulder until it almost dragged on the ground.

It was true he had been through so much in his ten years.

It seemed almost impossible that it was three years ago that Gunnar had plucked him from the ferocious lava trail that had claimed the lives of his parents.

No one really knew exactly how it had happened.

Eruptions here occurred more often than ever, but they weren’t yet catastrophic, not claiming lives thanks to good management and warnings from the authorities.

Yet that was no comfort to a boy who had cried every night as he relived his parents falling into a bubbling fissure.

Gunnar pulled the car away from the kerb, refocussing on dropping off his next passenger.

‘So,’ Hildur began. ‘If it is not Santa Claus and the reindeer you are scared of, and you say it is not the Christmas show, then there is only one reason for your mood this morning.’

‘Only having time for one coffee?’ he asked.

‘This is how you were when you first met Kirstin.’

As if the universe was reacting to what Hildur had said, the car in front of them braked suddenly and Gunnar was left having to do exactly the same to avoid a collision.

Hildur gave a moan from the back seat.

‘Hildur, you are OK?’ he asked.

‘Yes, but I am not so certain about the tomatoes.’

‘I do not care about the tomatoes. I care that you have not injured your leg any more.’

‘And you are now using concern for me to brush away what I said about Kirstin.’

He put the truck into first gear and pulled away again.

Kirstin. The last woman he had dropped his guard for.

The woman who left the moment he told her he was a guardian to a small boy and lived with an octogenarian.

He didn’t know why he had foolishly thought Kirstin was different, would understand and accept.

Maybe because he thought she had genuinely cared for him like he had started to care for her.

In the end she had taken a different job, one that took her away from Iceland and quickly out of his life.

‘There is nothing to brush away,’ Gunnar said. ‘Kirstin lives in Denmark now.’ He could say her name. He could deal with reality and facts. No emotion necessary.

‘I know. I have Facebook.’

Gunnar knew Hildur had Facebook, as did he, but he didn’t know that she had kept in touch with what Kirstin was doing. He didn’t. They were no longer online friends either. What was the point of keeping any kind of connection? It had been over a year now.

‘So, there is no new Kirstin?’ Hildur asked like ‘Kirstin’ was an iPhone model.

‘No.’

‘No one?’

‘No,’ he repeated. ‘Except…’

‘Except?’

Why had he said ‘except’? There was nothing. Chloe was someone he had bumped into a few times, a customer he had helped, a tourist he had given information to, except… argh, damn that word!

‘It is none of my business, of course,’ Hildur said when he made no response. ‘But, as much as you do for that boy and for me, you have to make time for more than work for yourself, Gunnar.’

‘I think we have had this conversation before,’ Gunnar answered.

‘And we will continue to have this conversation until you believe,’ Hildur said.

‘Like with the huldufólk ?’

‘Ah! At last! You bring them up yourself so they are real to you now!’

Gunnar shook his head, taking a left turn towards the community centre. ‘Now, the minibus will pick you up at six and Magnús is going to his friend’s for dinner and I will pick him up when I have finished with the tour.’

‘Do you want me to make you something to eat?’ Hildur asked as he pulled to a stop.

‘No!’ Gunnar said immediately. ‘No, Hildur, you do nothing but rest your foot. I will take care of the food. OK?’

There was no response and he turned his head to look into the back seat of the car.

‘We have some tomatoes that are not squashed,’ Hildur announced, two large fruits in her hands.

‘I will help you get out of the car,’ he said, undoing his seatbelt, ready to get out.

‘You will not,’ Hildur said. ‘I have to learn.’ She opened the door. ‘And tonight, with dinner, you can tell me more about the “except”.’

He should have known that nothing would get past Hildur.