The Island: A Thriller

Prologue

Kópavogur, 1988

The babysitter was late.

The couple hardly ever went out in the evening, so they had been careful to check she was free well in advance. She had babysat for them a few times before and lived in the next street, but apart from that they didn’t know much about her, or her family either, though they knew her mother to speak to when they ran into her in the neighbourhood. But their seven-year-old daughter looked up to the girl, who was twenty-one and seemed very grown-up and glamorous to her. She was always talking about how much fun they had together, what pretty clothes she wore and what exciting bedtime stories she told. Their daughter’s eagerness to have her round to babysit made the couple feel less guilty about accepting the invitation; they felt reassured that their little girl would not only be in good hands but would enjoy herself too. They had arranged for the girl to babysit from six until midnight, but it was already past six, getting on for half past, in fact, and the dinner was due to start at seven. The husband wanted to ring and ask what had happened to her, but his wife was reluctant to make a fuss: she’d turn up.

It was a Saturday evening in March and the atmosphere had been one of happy anticipation until the babysitter failed to turn up. The couple were looking forward to an entertaining evening with the wife’s colleagues from the ministry and their daughter was excited about spending the evening watching films with the babysitter. They didn’t own a VCR but, as it was a special occasion, father and daughter had gone down to the local video shop and rented a machine and three tapes, and the little girl had permission to stay up as late as she liked, until she ran out of steam.

It was just after half past six when the doorbell finally rang. The family lived on the second floor of a small block of flats in Kópavogur, the town immediately to the south of Reykjavík. It was a sleepy sort of place, stuck between Reykjavík and other towns in the metropolitan area, with most of its inhabitants commuting to work in the capital.

The mother picked up the entryphone. It was the babysitter at last. She appeared at their door a few moments later, soaked to the skin, and explained that she’d walked over. It was raining so hard it looked like she’d had a bucket of water emptied over her head. She apologized, embarrassed, for being so late.

The couple waved away her apologies, thanked her for standing in for them, reminded her of the main house rules and asked if she knew how to work a video recorder, at which point their daughter broke in to say she didn’t need any help. Clearly, she could hardly wait to bundle her parents out of the door so the video-fest could begin.

In spite of the taxi waiting outside, the mother couldn’t tear herself away. Although they went out from time to time, she wasn’t very used to leaving her daughter. ‘Don’t worry,’ the babysitter said at last. ‘I’ll take good care of her.’ She looked comfortingly reliable as she said this and she’d always done a good job of looking after their daughter in the past. So they finally headed out into the downpour towards the taxi.

As the evening wore on, the mother began to feel increasingly anxious about their daughter.

‘Don’t be silly,’ said her husband. ‘I bet she’s having a whale of a time.’ Glancing at his watch, he added: ‘She’ll be on her second or third film by now, and they’ll have polished off all the ice cream.’

‘Do you think they’d let me use the phone at the front desk?’ asked his wife.

‘It’s a bit late to ring them now, isn’t it? I expect they’re asleep in front of the TV.’

In the end, they set off home a little earlier than planned, just after eleven. The three-course dinner was over by then, and, to be honest, it had been a bit underwhelming. The main course, which was lamb, had been bland at best and, after dinner, people had piled on to the crowded dance floor. To begin with, the DJ had played popular oldies, but then he moved on to more recent chart hits, which weren’t really the couple’s sort of thing, although they still liked to think of themselves as young. After all, they weren’t middle-aged yet.

They rode home in silence, the rain streaming down the taxi’s windows. The truth was they weren’t really party people; they were too fond of their creature comforts at home, and the evening had tired them out, though they hadn’t drunk much, just a glass of red wine with dinner.

As they got out of the taxi, the wife remarked that she hoped their daughter was asleep so they could both crawl straight into bed.

They climbed the stairs without hurrying and opened the door instead of ringing the bell, for fear of disturbing their child.

But she wasn’t asleep, as it turned out. She came running to greet them, threw her arms around them and hugged them unusually tightly. To their surprise, she was wide awake.

‘You’re full of beans,’ said her father, smiling at her.

‘I’m so glad you’re home,’ said the little girl. There was an odd look in her eye: something was wrong.

The babysitter emerged from the sitting room and smiled sweetly at them.

‘How did it go?’ asked the mother.

‘Really well,’ the babysitter replied. ‘Your daughter is such a good girl. We watched two videos; a couple of comedies. She really enjoyed them. And she ate the meatballs you’d prepared – most of them – and a lot of popcorn too.’

‘Thanks so much for coming; I don’t know what we’d have done without you.’

The father took his wallet from his jacket, counted out some notes and handed them to her. ‘Is that right?’

She counted the money herself, then nodded. ‘Yes, perfect.’

After she’d left, the father turned to their daughter.

‘Aren’t you tired, sweetheart?’

‘Yes, maybe a little. But could we watch just a bit more?’

Her father shook his head, saying kindly: ‘Sorry, it’s awfully late.’

‘Oh, please. I don’t want to go to bed yet,’ said the little girl, sounding on the verge of tears.

‘OK, OK.’ He ushered her into the sitting room. The TV schedule was over for the evening but he turned on the video machine and inserted a new cassette.

Then he joined her on the sofa and they waited for the film to begin.

‘It was a nice evening, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes … yes, it was fine,’ she said, not very convincingly.

‘She was … kind to you, wasn’t she?’

‘Yes,’ answered the child. ‘Yes, they were both kind.’

Her father was puzzled. ‘What do you mean, both?’ he asked.

‘There were two of them.’

Turning round to look at her, he asked again, gently: ‘What do you mean by them?’

‘There were two of them.’

‘Did one of her friends come round?’

There was a brief pause before the girl answered. Seeing the fear in her eyes, he gave an involuntary shiver.

‘No. But it was kind of weird, Daddy…’

PART ONE

1987

I

The weekend break in the remote north-west had been a sudden whim, a way of defying the autumn darkness. Having flung their things into Benedikt’s old Toyota, they had set out from Reykjavík in a high pitch of excitement. But the long drive, often on rough gravel roads, had taken hours, and night was closing in by the time they reached the West Fjords peninsula. They were still some way from the remote valley that was their goal and Benedikt was growing increasingly anxious.

They had driven over high moors, the treeless landscape stretching out bleak and ominously empty in the gathering dusk, and descended to the coast in the innermost arm of the great fjord known as Ísafjardardjúp. Benedikt relaxed his grip on the wheel as the road hugged the low shoreline for a while before rising to climb over another pass. His knuckles whitened again as the road began to descend, winding its way in hairpin bends back down to the sea. The mountains loomed long and low on either side, dimly visible in the gloom. There wasn’t so much as a pinprick of light to be seen. The fjord was uninhabited, its farms long deserted, the population having fled the hard living on the land, some for the small town of Ísafjördur, 140 kilometres away up the fjord-indented coast, others for the bright lights of Reykjavík in the far south-west of the country.

‘Haven’t we left it too late?’ Benedikt asked. ‘We’ll never be able to find the hut now it’s dark, will we?’ He had insisted on driving, despite never having visited this part of the country before.

‘Relax,’ she said. ‘I know the way. I’ve been up here loads of times during the summer.’

‘During the summer, right,’ Benedikt replied, focusing grimly on following the thin ribbon of road through its unpredictable twists and turns.

‘Now, now,’ she said, her voice light, laughter rippling just below the surface.

He’d been waiting so long for this moment, admiring this slight, high-spirited girl from afar and sensing that maybe, just maybe, she felt the same. But neither of them had made a move until a couple of weeks ago when something had finally shifted in their relationship and the spark had ignited a blaze.

‘Not far now to the Heydalur turn-off,’ she said.

‘Did you ever live up here?’

‘Me? No. But Dad’s from the West Fjords. He grew up in Ísafjördur. The summer house belonged to his family. We always used to come up here in the holidays. It’s like a sort of paradise.’

‘I believe you, though I don’t suppose I’ll be able to see much tonight. I can’t wait to get out of the dark.’ He paused, then added, doubtfully: ‘It does have electricity, doesn’t it?’

‘Cold water and candlelight,’ she replied.

‘Seriously?’ Benedikt groaned.

‘No, I’m kidding. There’s hot water – plenty of hot water – and electricity too.’

‘Did you tell … er, did you tell your parents we were coming up here?’

‘No. It’s none of their business. Mum’s not home and, anyway, I do what I like. All I told Dad was that I wouldn’t be around this weekend. My brother’s away too, so he doesn’t know either.’

‘OK. All I meant was … it’s their summer house, isn’t it?’ What he’d really wanted to know was whether her parents were aware that they were going away together, since it would send a pretty clear signal that they were starting a relationship. Up to now the whole thing had been a secret.

‘Yes, of course. It’s Dad’s house, but I know he’s not planning to use it. And I’ve got a key. It’ll be great, Benni. Just imagine the stars tonight: the sky’s supposed to be almost perfectly clear.’

He nodded, but his doubts about the wisdom of the undertaking wouldn’t go away.

‘Here, turn here,’ she said abruptly. He slammed on the brakes, almost losing control of the car and only just managing to make the turn. Finding himself on an even narrower road, hardly more than a track, he slowed to a crawl.

‘You’ll have to go faster than that or we won’t be there till morning. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.’

‘It’s just that I can’t see anything. And I don’t want to write off the car.’

She laughed, that bewitching sound, and he felt better at once. It was her voice and the guileless quality of her laugh that had originally drawn him to her. And now, at last, all the obstacles had been cleared from their path. He had an overpowering sense that it was meant to be; that this was only the beginning, a taste of the future.

‘Didn’t you say something about a hot tub?’ he asked. ‘It would be great to have a soak after bumping over these roads all day. I swear every bone in my body’s aching.’

‘Er, yes, right,’ she said.

‘Right? What do you mean? Is there a hot tub or not?’

‘You’ll see…’ This tantalizing sense of uncertainty was never far away with her. It was part of her charm; she had a gift for making even the mundane seem mysterious.

‘Well, anyway, I can’t wait.’

At last they entered the valley where the summer house was supposed to be. Benedikt still couldn’t make out any buildings in the gloom but she told him to stop the car and they both got out into the cold, fresh air.

‘Follow me. You need to learn to be more trusting.’ Laughing, she took his hand, with a feather-light touch, and he followed. He felt as if he were taking part in some beautiful black-and-white dream.

She stopped without warning. ‘Can you hear the sea?’

He shook his head. ‘No.’

‘Shh. Wait. Keep still and don’t talk. Just listen.’

He concentrated on listening and then heard the faint sighing of the waves. The whole thing seemed unreal, magical.

‘The shore isn’t far away. We can walk down there tomorrow, if you like?’

‘Great, I’d love that.’

A little further on they got their first glimpse of the summer house. In spite of the darkness he could see that it wasn’t particularly large or modern. It looked like one of those seventies A-shaped huts with the roof sloping almost to the ground on either side and windows at the front and back. She found the keys after searching in the pockets of her padded jacket, opened the door and flicked on the light, instantly dispelling the gloom. They entered a cosy living area, full of old furniture that lent the place a rustic charm. Benedikt sensed at once that it had a good atmosphere.

He was going to enjoy their stay, this weekend adventure in the middle of nowhere. The sense of isolation was enhanced by the thought that nobody knew they were there; they had a whole valley to themselves. It really was like a dream.

Most of the hut was taken up with the living area, but there were also a small kitchen and bathroom opening off it, and a stair ladder at the back of the room.

‘What’s up there?’ he asked. ‘A sleeping loft?’

‘Yes. Come on, quick.’ She swung up the ladder in a few agile movements.

Benedikt climbed up after her. It was indeed a sleeping loft under a sloping ceiling, furnished with mattresses, duvets and pillows.

‘Come here,’ she said, lying down on one of the mattresses. ‘Come here.’ And when she smiled at him like that, he was powerless to resist.

II

Benedikt was standing outside under a star-studded sky, grilling hamburgers on an old coal barbecue in the chilly autumn breeze. The trip had got off to a good start and he was filled with optimism at the thought of what was to come. Although he was essentially a city boy and had always regarded the West Fjords as cold and inaccessible, he was surprised to find that he was enjoying himself. Of course, he couldn’t have wished for better company, but there was something about the place itself, the solitude. He filled his lungs with the cool, clean air and tried closing his eyes and listening out for the sea again. The scent of autumnal leaves mingled with the appetizing aroma rising from the barbecue. He opened his eyes. He was standing behind the hut, and only now did it occur to him that the hot tub was nowhere to be seen.

After they had finished their supper in the living room, he asked, ‘So where’s this hot tub you promised me? I’ve walked right round the hut several times and I can’t see any sign of it.’

She laughed mischievously. ‘That can’t have taken you long.’

‘You’re just trying to dodge the question.’

‘Not at all. Come with me.’

She was on her feet and out of the door before he knew what was happening. He hurried after her into the October night.

‘Are you going to conjure up a hot tub?’

‘Just come with me. Are you cold?’

He hesitated for a second, because he was rather chilly in his thin jumper, but he didn’t want to admit it. Reading his mind, she went back inside and emerged with a thick woollen lopapeysa. It was grey, with a traditional pattern in black and white. ‘Do you want to borrow this? It’s Dad’s. I pinched it to bring along. It’s far too big for me, but so warm.’

‘I’m not wearing your dad’s jumper. That would be weird.’

‘Up to you.’ She chucked the jumper back inside, where it landed on the living-room floor, and closed the door behind them.

‘It’s about a five-, ten-minute walk further up the valley,’ she said, pointing.

‘What is?’

‘The hot pool,’ she threw over her shoulder as she set off. ‘There’s a fantastic natural hot spring, perfect for two people.’

A full moon had risen while they were having supper, flooding the whole valley with its cold radiance. Benedikt thought privately that he wouldn’t want to walk that way on a dark night, since there were no other lights to be seen. No sign of human habitation apart from the summer house, now out of sight behind them. Still, it was an adventure, and he was so head over heels in love with this girl that he was determined to make the best of it.

But there was no hot pool anywhere near, as far as he could tell.

‘Is it much further?’ he asked uncertainly. ‘You’re not having me on, are you?’

She laughed. ‘No, of course not. Look.’ She pointed up the narrow valley and there, at the very roots of the mountain, he glimpsed a small building and next to it a wisp of steam rising white in the moonlight. ‘Yes, there. Can you see the shelter? It’s by the pool. It’s an old hut which people use as a changing room.’

They picked their way towards the pool but, as they drew closer, Benedikt realized that their way was blocked by a mountain torrent. He could see the moonlight glittering on the rush and swirl of the water.

‘Where’s the bridge?’ he asked, stopping short. ‘Or do we have to go round?’

‘Trust me. I know this place like the back of my hand.’

When they reached the riverbank, she said, ‘There is no bridge, but this is the best place to cross. Can you see the stones?’

Benedikt nodded. He could see some rocks poking up through the surface and he didn’t like the look of them one bit now he realized what they meant.

‘There’s nothing to it. Just one stone at a time, then you’re across.’ Taking off her shoes and socks, she picked her way over as if she’d been doing it all her life. As nimble as a cat, Benedikt thought.

Oh well, there was no getting out of it. He was too ashamed to let her see his apprehension, so, following her example, he removed his shoes, stuffed his socks into them and carried them in his hands. Bracing himself, he stepped into the water, only to flinch and retreat, swearing under his breath, when he discovered how bone-numbingly icy it