The Doll by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

Author:Yrsa Sigurdardottir [Sigurdardottir, Yrsa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

Friday

Freyja couldn’t ignore her aching calves any longer. She heaved a deep breath and focused grimly on her block of flats that was so near yet still so terribly far away. The sun was blazing down and she had a free hour before she had to collect Saga from nursery school. Without even thinking about it, she had pulled on her tracksuit and running shoes and headed out. This summer she had found it worked best to switch off her brain before going for a run or to the gym. If she paused to think, it wouldn’t happen. Even so, she had let things slide for the last three weeks and was paying for it now with her burning calves.

It wasn’t as though she’d broken any records for speed or distance either. She’d run round the Seltjarnarnes Peninsula, following the footpath along the northern shore, with a panoramic view of the mountains – Esja, Skardsheidi and Akrafjall – across the gleaming waters of Faxaflói Bay. Having reached the westernmost point, stopping just short of the lighthouse at Grótta, she had turned south and run to the golf course, before following the gravel bank of Bakkagrandi along to Sudurströnd, then home. She’d lost count of the birds she had seen watching her from the air, land and sea as she jogged past, all of them looking equally baffled by the vagaries of human behaviour. Molly, in contrast, gave every sign of being highly satisfied as she loped along at Freyja’s side without even panting. The dog could easily have done several more circuits of the peninsula, whereas it took every ounce of Freyja’s will-power not to give up and drop to a walk for the last hundred metres.

She felt better when she met two women walking along in their running gear, both scarlet in the face and gulping down water from their bottles, obviously shattered. It was good to know she wasn’t the only one. Everyone else she’d encountered had seemed so focused: cyclists acting as if they were taking part in the Tour de France; lean, fit runners pounding along, eyes fixed purposefully on the horizon.

With one last inhuman effort, Freyja made it to the car park in front of her building, before bending over with her hands on her knees, panting in great, tearing gasps. Molly watched in disgust and turned her head away when Freyja finally straightened up and limped the last few metres to the front door. Perhaps that was the advantage of having a snake as a pet: it only had the one expression and never judged you. Probably because it was too busy contemplating where best to bite you.

The hot shower performed its usual miracle and when Freyja stepped out, reinvigorated, the taste of iron, the burning lungs and sore calves were no more than a distant memory. By the time she’d dressed and had a coffee, the memory had disappeared. Instead, her head was buzzing with ideas about the case. She allowed her

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