The Mist

promised to buy a new bulb but, clearly, he hadn’t got round to it yet. They were half in the countryside out here by the sea on the Álftanes peninsula, away from the bright lights of the city. She had always thought of it as a good place to live, yet a sense of gloom had been hanging over the family for the last few months, as if their skies were overcast.
Hulda found her keys at last. She hadn’t wanted to ring the bell in case Jón and Dimma were asleep. She had been expecting to get home even later since she was supposed to be on night shift, but for once things had been quiet, so Snorri had let her go early. He was quite perceptive, she’d give him that, and could probably sense that all was not well at home. She and her husband, Jón, both worked too hard, and their hours were far from conventional. Jón was a self-employed investor and wholesaler, and although that should theoretically have given him considerable control over his time, in practice he spent long hours closeted in his study at home or at meetings in town. Whenever there was a lot on, Hulda was expected to do overtime, and she had to do evenings and nights when required, as well as still working the odd holiday. This year, for example, she was down to be on duty on Christmas Day. With any luck, there would be nothing to do, though, and she’d be home at a reasonable hour.
All was quiet in the house. The lights were off in the sitting room and the kitchen, and Hulda immediately noticed that there was no lingering smell of food. It seemed that yet again Jón hadn’t bothered to cook dinner for himself and their daughter. He was supposed to make sure Dimma was fed; she couldn’t live on Cheerios alone for breakfast and supper. It wouldn’t help her mood if she never got a square meal, and she had been difficult enough recently as it was. She was thirteen, and her teens hadn’t got off to a good start. She had been neglecting her school-friends and spending her evenings alone at home, shut away in her room. Hulda had always assumed that Álftanes would be a wonderful place to bring up a child, a good mix of city and countryside, reasonably close to Reykjavík but with the great outdoors on their doorstep, and plenty of clean, healthy sea air. Now, though, she had to admit that the decision to live here might have been a mistake: perhaps they should have moved closer to the centre of town, to give their daughter more of a social life.
Hulda was standing in the hall when Dimma’s door unexpectedly opened and Jón came out.
‘Back already?’ he asked, meeting her gaze with a smile. ‘So early? I thought I’d have to stay up late to have a chance of seeing you.’
‘What were you doing in Dimma’s room? Is she asleep?’
‘Yes, sound asleep. I was just checking on her. She seemed so under the weather this evening. I just wanted to make sure she was OK.’
‘Oh? Has she got a temperature?’
‘No, nothing like that. Her forehead feels quite cool. I think it’s best to let her sleep. She seems so down in the dumps at the moment.’
Jón came over, put his arm round Hulda and more or less walked her into the sitting room. ‘Why don’t we have a glass of wine, love? I went to the Ríki today and bought two bottles of red.’
Hulda hesitated, still worried about Dimma. Something didn’t feel quite right, but she pushed the thought away. The fact was, she needed to unwind after a tiring day at work; her job took it out of her enough as it was, without her having to be on edge at home as well. Perhaps Jón was right, perhaps she just needed a drink to help her relax before bed.
She took off her coat, laid it over the back of the sofa and sat down. Jón went into the kitchen and returned with a bottle and two antique glasses that had belonged to her grandparents. He pulled out the cork with an effort and filled them. This was an unusual luxury. Not only was the tax on alcohol prohibitive, but it was hard for either of them to make it to the Ríki, as the state-owned off-licence was known, during its restricted opening hours.
‘Red wine! We’re very extravagant all of a sudden. What are we celebrating?’
‘The fact I’ve had a good day,’ he said. ‘I think I’ve finally managed to sell that building on Hverfisgata that I’ve been struggling to shift. The bank’s been on my back, threatening to repossess it. Bunch of bloody bean counters, the lot of them – they have no idea how business works. Anyhow, cheers!’
‘Cheers.’
‘There are times when I really wish we lived abroad, somewhere with proper banks. It’s so frustrating trying to work in an environment where everything comes down to politics, and the banks are all run by former politicians too. It’s crazy. I’m in the wrong party and I’m being made to suffer for the fact.’ He gave an aggrieved sigh.
Hulda only listened with half an ear. She hadn’t the patience to keep up with all the ins and outs of Jón’s endless financial entanglements. She had enough problems of her own at work but made it a strict policy not to bring them home, as he was inclined to do. She had every confidence in his skill at wheeling and dealing; he seemed to know all the tricks. One minute he was buying a prime piece of property, next thing she knew he’d sold it for a hefty profit, and the rest of the time he was busy building up his wholesale business. She had to hand it to him, he had certainly secured them a comfortable income over the years. They owned this attractive detached house, two cars