Page 6 of Meet Me Under the Northern Lights
BUS TO REYKJAVIK
Gunnar never let anyone sit on the seat nearest to his driving space apart from the tour guide.
If tourists sat there they wanted to chat, ask him about road signs, restaurant recommendations, attractions they should not miss.
They always seemed to forget that driving in Iceland was sometimes treacherous, even for those who were used to navigating it.
But this woman didn’t seem like a normal tourist. She was dressed like one: coat, hat over dark brown hair, too many clothes in too small a case but right now, instead of looking out of the window through the cold light drizzle, taking in the sights, she was typing furiously on a laptop.
He hoped she wasn’t making a complaint about him or leaving a one-star review on Tripadvisor. There was only one way to find out…
‘What do you do?’ Gunnar asked, concentration back on the road.
‘What?’
‘Your work on your computer.’
‘Oh, I’m not working right now. I’m trying to book somewhere to stay.’
‘What? You have come to Reykjavik in December with nowhere to stay?’
‘It wasn’t exactly my choice.’
‘What? Someone is forcing you to be here?’ He took a side glance at her, checking her expression.
She laughed. ‘Whoa, keep your eyes on the road. Nothing dramatic or dark romantasy. I would have been sure to whisper a safe word already.’
‘Well,’ Gunnar said. ‘You did ask me if I had wine very early in the morning.’
‘Yes, well, that is Duolingo’s fault. Or rather the lack of Duolingo.’ She let out an irritated sigh. ‘This apartment has gone! It was there and available last night.’
‘Many other people with last minute plans they have been forced into like you,’ he suggested, putting on the indicator and moving across a roundabout.
‘You’re quite judgemental, aren’t you?’ she said.
He didn’t need to see to know she was looking at him.
He could feel it. But her accusation wasn’t true.
He could feel the tension of the morning sitting on his shoulders still though.
Magnús’s nosebleed had been nothing compared to Hildur’s fall and the trip to the hospital.
And there was still no word about the X-ray…
‘I am sorry that you feel that way.’
She laughed. ‘Oh my God. You know those kinds of “apologies” aren’t really apologies at all. In fact, they undermine people’s feelings.’
And despite the noise of the coach’s engine, her voice was sailing free for any of the nearest travellers to hear.
‘You called me judgemental,’ he reminded.
‘OK, perhaps I should have said “critical” instead. My apologies.’ She groaned again.
‘What is wrong? Does it hurt to say sorry?’
‘No, another Airbnb place evaporating before my eyes because I’m wasting my time spatting with you.’ It sounded like she hit some keys on the laptop.
‘Apologies but not my fault.’ Silence prevailed and he glanced her way. ‘You would like some help to find a place?’
‘Do you know someone who would be helpful? Someone who wouldn’t knock into me like I’m a bowling pin and burst my suitcase too.’
He smiled. ‘I did repack your case.’
‘Badly.’
‘Well, if you find somewhere to stay you will be unpacking it again very soon.’
This was a different conversation to what he was used to should the bus be full and someone had to take this ‘jump’ seat. He couldn’t deny he was enjoying it.
‘So, do you?’ the woman asked.
‘Do I what?’
‘Know someone helpful that will know somewhere I can stay for a week or so.’
‘I can be helpful to you in that way,’ Gunnar answered. ‘What do you look for? One room to sleep?’
‘By myself, buddy.’
‘I meant, one room or an apartment?’
‘I’m… not sure.’
‘So much forward-planning has gone into your visit here. Are you even sure you are at the correct destination?’
‘This is Ireland, right?’
He turned his head to her deadpan response only to be faced with an expression that said he had fallen into her humour trap. He turned back. ‘I know of a place. When we get to the centre, before I start to pick up people to go back to the airport I will make a phone call.’
‘Really? Because looking at this screen while we are travelling is making me feel a bit sick.’
‘Then you should stop doing that.’ There was nothing he hated more than people throwing up on his bus. ‘I am sure my friend’s place will be available.’
‘How sure?’
‘Sure enough that you should stop looking at your computer and not be sick. Join the other travellers in gazing at the scenery.’
‘Half of them are asleep,’ she answered.
He heard the lid of her computer close and sensed her sit forward.
‘What’s your name?’ she asked.
‘Why?’
‘O-K. That’s a bit defensive for someone who claims he can help me find a place to stay.’
She was right. Why was he being like this? Because he had other things on his mind? He needed to try to temporarily forget about Hildur. She was being looked after, and he had secured an earlier finish.
‘I am Gunnar,’ he told her. ‘Gunnar Eriksson. But, if you are writing a lower than five stars review for my driving, my name is Olga Petersson.’
‘Gunnar Eriksson,’ she repeated.
He stole a glance at her. ‘Are you writing it down?’
‘For my review later.’
He smiled. ‘Shall I spell Olga for you?’
‘Not necessary.’
‘And you?’ he asked. ‘What is your name?’
‘Why?’
He smirked at this, but he was ready. ‘To put on the accident forms if my back starts to hurt and the company must make a claim.’
‘And now you will never know my name.’
He laughed loudly, so much so that a passenger gave a snort like they were waking up from hibernation. He never usually laughed on this airport run. ‘OK, then I will call you krúttio .’
‘What does that mean? Is it an insult?’
‘Shh, krúttio mitt . It is not long now.’