Page 3 of Meet Me Under the Northern Lights

GUNNAR’S HOME, THE OUTSKIRTS OF REYKJAVIK

‘Gunnar! There is time! Come out!’

A bang on the window with the end of an ice hockey stick made Gunnar Eriksson spill his carefully curated coffee into the small saucer.

Frustration bit and he raised his eyes to the kitchen window ready to admonish ten-year-old Magnús who was yelling at him from the front garden of their wooden home.

But there was that wide-mouthed grin, those large clear blue eyes so full of enthusiasm and vivre for life despite everything he had been through.

How could he be mad at someone who was looking like a poster child for idyllic Icelandic living?

‘Five minutes.’ Gunnar held his hand up to indicate the number.

‘You give in to that boy too much.’

Gunnar turned around and saw he had been joined by Hildur, the third person who lived here in their mismatch of ‘family’. She had paused by the table, as if knowing he would be studying her gait the moment she made a move.

‘You give in to him more,’ Gunnar answered, eyes still on Hildur. ‘You made kleinur again yesterday.’ He should know because he had eaten two pieces of the vanilla-flavoured fried dough himself.

‘I like making kleinur . It has nothing to do with Magnús.’

‘Would you like coffee?’ Gunnar asked her. ‘I have some right here.’

‘No,’ she answered, standing still. ‘I can make my own.’

‘O-K,’ Gunnar said, gaze unmoved.

‘Did you not say you were going to play hockey with Magnús?’

‘In five minutes.’

‘Then drink your coffee,’ Hildur told him.

‘Your hip is hurting.’

‘No.’

‘Then why are you not walking to the coffee machine?’

‘Because you are standing right there in my way.’

Gunnar side-stepped quickly, indicated the freed-up space.

She moved immediately, faster than she should, but it wasn’t fooling him. He could see she was in pain and that meant one thing was certain, she was not taking her medication again.

‘How many days?’ Gunnar asked without preamble.

‘Until Christmas? Gunnar, we have a calendar stuck to the refrigerator.’

‘You know what I am asking.’

She reached for the countertop with nimble fingers, the skin blanching as they took her weight. ‘When Magnús’s winter school show is?’

‘We can play guessing games if you like, Hildur, but it will change nothing.’

‘Then we are wasting time when I could be drinking coffee and you could be playing hockey with that boy who will perhaps break an arm unless you tell him to slow down.’

‘How long have you not been taking your medication? How long?—’

Hildur interrupted by pressing a button on the coffee machine, sparking it into noisy life, and turning to face him, triumph shining on her lined cheeks. By the time her drink was made and she raised the cup to her pursed lips, he knew that particular conversation was over for now.

‘It is going to get warmer from tomorrow,’ Hildur remarked. ‘An Icelandic heatwave in December.’

Gunnar laughed. ‘Are you crazy? The TV has told me the complete opposite this morning. Temperatures diving. Icy fog?—’

Hildur tutted. ‘You still believe more in a man stood in front of a map with raincloud shapes than you do in the huldufólk .’

The damn huldufólk . Hildur seemed to think Icelandic elves ruled the land more than the government. He might spend a certain portion of his working life embellishing folk stories of old for the tourists, but he didn’t believe a word of it.

‘I believe in the science of nature.’

‘And how many times have you seen the science of nature arrive when no one with all their complex computers and machines has predicted it?’

He couldn’t deny the force of the weather on this island, the extremes were unprecedented, but he also didn’t believe it had anything to do with elves.

Because the tragedies he had witnessed, the loss that Magnús had had to bear, could surely not be ordained by any kind of spirits or goblins.

They had to be down to terrible coincidence, accidents not directed by anything or anyone, except perhaps the anatomy of the Earth.

‘You will come to Magnús’s Christmas show this time?’ Hildur asked.

Gunnar looked at his watch. ‘Is that the time? I need to get to work.’

‘Gunnar!’ Hildur admonished as he went to the coat stand and began to put on his coat. Where were his hat and gloves?

‘You said yourself that I need to play quickly with Magnús before he damages himself and then I have to get to work.’ He saw his hat on the countertop. He moved to get it and that’s when Hildur took hold of his jacket with the force of a thousand elves…

‘You cannot let what happened to you as a boy starve you or Magnús from what happens in the future.’

Gunnar shook his head. ‘I do not know what you are talking about.’

‘You are trying to avoid the Christmas show like you have avoided the Christmas show every year since that night.’

Gunnar laughed. It was a terrible play act. ‘You think I am avoiding the Christmas show? Where children eat too much candy then perform songs tunelessly until some of them are sick? Why would I want to avoid that?’ He eyerolled. Pointlessly.

‘Therapy,’ Hildur whispered. ‘That is what the huldufólk tell me is needed.’

‘Perhaps the huldufólk could go to the show,’ Gunnar suggested. ‘Do you think there will be enough seats for all of them?’

Hildur let go of his coat and snarled. ‘You know better than to make fun of folklore, Gunnar Eriksson.’

‘The only thing I know right at this moment is I do not want Magnús breaking our windows with a puck or his stick if I do not join him.’

Hildur didn’t respond, turned her attention back to her coffee, her weight balanced more on her left hip than her right. She was a force of nature herself, but he knew she was getting older, vulnerability unavoidably evident and still there was that feeling he always got, not wanting to disappoint.

‘Shall I cook dinner tonight? Get some cod?’

‘Do not worry on my account. I might watch the television. Learn something from the people standing by the maps with their cloud drawings.’

Hildur was annoyed. She always got like this but, given the day, she would cool off, maybe. One thing was certain though, there was no point trying to continue the conversation. He put his hat on his head and strode towards the front door.

* * *

‘You have been longer than five minutes! I can count and you gave me a watch for my birthday, remember?’

Magnús skidded up to him on the frozen ground Gunnar had made into a makeshift hockey rink with two small nets, one at each end. You couldn’t wear skates but, when the tarmac was as icy as it was today, trainers slid almost as well. But it wasn’t the boy’s footwear Gunnar was looking at.

‘Magnús, your nose is bleeding! How did that happen?’

‘What?’

Straightaway the boy ran a sleeve across his face, streaking his sweater with red.

‘Magnús! Now you will have to change!’

Why had he said that? What did a sweatshirt matter when the boy’s nose was streaming blood now and his skin was suddenly getting pale.

‘It is… in my mouth,’ Magnús said.

‘It is OK. Come! We will go inside and we will fix it.’ He put an arm around the boy’s shoulders but before they could get back to the door a voice broke into the freezing air.

‘I have a towel! I see the blood!’

Gunnar looked up to see Hildur rushing from the house in her thin woollen dress, no coat, with slippers on her feet. What was she thinking?

‘Hildur! Do not come out here! The ice is?—’

His words were lost to the air as the old woman fell to the ground.