by Helle Helle
‘She’s got a moped,’ I said.
‘I see,’ he said, and smiled.
‘It was nice to get out together. It didn’t hurt a bit,’ I said, and smiled back.
But that evening he lost his appetite. He picked at his potato salad, all he ate was half a sausage. He had a lot of reading to do for the following week, he’d hardly even started. He said he found it hard to concentrate in the bedsit when I was there with him. I could see that. I went and sat with my crossword at the wobbly table in the kitchen. The place smelled of something gone off, old meat or cold cuts, but I couldn’t get to the bottom of it. There was half a bag of flour with mites in it on a shelf, but that didn’t smell at all. I binned it and wiped the shelf. I opened the skylight and had a cup of coffee, then went back into the room, Lars was lying on the daybed with his eyes closed. I sat down. The duvet was warm. I began to touch him. At first he didn’t react, then he opened his eyes.
‘I can’t make you live like this,’ he said.
‘How do you mean?’ I said.
‘This. It’s no life. Stuck in here or the kitchen.’
‘I go into town. And we went for a walk today.’
‘I know, but still.’
‘I nearly got to Faxe the day before yesterday.’
‘Come off it.’
‘No, it’s true. Anyway, I decide for myself if I’ve got a life.’
‘But it’s my life too.’
‘Yes, but then it’s not a matter of whether you can make me live with it. Then it’s you. It’s you who doesn’t want it.’
‘It’s not exactly ideal, is it?’ he said, not wanting an answer. I turned away slightly and looked out at the night sky as if there was something important there.
‘Come here,’ he said, and pulled me down on top of him, he chafed the skin on my face with his stubble. I sucked his lower lip in and let go.
‘And then there’s the cabin trip next weekend, you’ll be all on your own,’ he said.
‘What trip’s that?’
‘To someone’s cabin. I don’t even know where it is.’
‘The whole class, you mean?’
‘That’s right.’
It was a strange week. The days ran together. I stood in the shower and thought about gains and losses. Someone kept using my shampoo all the time, the expensive one from the hairdresser’s, I had to start hiding it away at the back of the pinewood cupboard. I bought a new jacket for autumn, nylon with a padded lining. Lars said it looked good on me. I walked round the town in it. They’d started selling flapjacks at the petrol station for some reason. I bought one every day and had it for lunch. I went by the teacher training college. I didn’t go in, just stood at the end of the drive and stared. The lawns and benches were deserted. I tried to imagine what went on behind the thick, white walls. A caretaker stood painting a wooden board on two trestles over by an annexe, he waved to me with his brush.
They were going straight after college on the Friday. Lars took his sleeping bag with him that morning, he strapped it onto his pannier rack with an elastic cord. I stood in the kitchen with my head stuck out of the skylight and waved. In the afternoon I went for a walk. I went up to the college and saw him standing in a group in the car park. There weren’t that many of them. There was a girl with brown hair in an untucked blouse. She had something in her hand that she lifted up in the air, they all laughed and one of the others tried to snatch it. She jumped in the driver’s seat of a white car, so it might have been the car key. The engine started, and the others laughed. There was a chinking of bottles. Lars got in beside her. I turned and went along the edge of someone’s back garden onto a path that led away between two houses. A woman was out walking her dog. It stopped in front of me and I patted it.
When I came home I got my suitcase out of the storage room and packed my things together. I took a piece of paper from a folder but didn’t know what to write. I sat and looked around. I’d forgotten the pewter mug, it was on the table with some sprays in it. I took them out into the kitchen, threw them away and wiped the mug. Then I went back and put it in the suitcase, and began to cry. I cried for so long I was exhausted by the time I was finished. I lay down on the daybed and fell asleep. When I woke up it was evening. I went and splashed some cold water on my face, the guy from Egøje was playing Dire Straits. Not long after, I unpacked again and put everything back in its place. I cut two new sprays in the dim light of the yard.
A week later it was Lars’s turn to write. I found his letter in my crossword magazine when I came back from a tanning session late Friday afternoon. He said he was very sorry and that he’d moved back home to his parents’ until I found somewhere else. He wasn’t well, and now he had a doctor’s word for it. He didn’t know what more to say, he said to look after myself.
I opened the cupboard and sure enough most of his clothes were gone. It felt like a relief, only I didn’t know why. It hurt a lot too. I kept standing there staring at the half-empty shelves.
33.
I found some lemon juice in a bottle in the communal kitchen. I mixed it with sugar and Bacardi, it tasted all right. I made a list of all my options on the back of the letter from Lars with a thick black pen. The world opened up as I wrote. But then I started crying anyway, I let my whole face go and stuck my lower lip out like a child. I punched the daybed, but it didn’t help, it was a foam mattress. I put some music on and sang along, I sang louder and louder and started to dance about from the corner unit to the door and back. It was like the dancing made me drunk on its own. Then there was a knock on the door, it was the driving instructor, he wanted to know if there was anything the matter. I said we were going out on the town and we’d be quiet now. That was all right then, he said.
I did my make-up and put the yellow dress on, it was a bit too summery, so I put a cardigan on top, with black tights and the strappy high heels, a little beaded clutch bag and my nylon jacket. I felt daft standing in the bar with a whisky. Mostly because of the clutch, but I couldn’t stand whisky either. I drank it in one go and ordered another. A guy in a lumberjacket nodded appreciatively across the counter. I looked away. I tried to look like someone who had plans. Two guys beside me laughed, I asked what they were laughing at, they said I looked like a bumblebee. One of them asked for a dance, but I said I didn’t feel like it. After the fourth whisky I collected myself and went out into the street. I fell over a cobblestone and grazed my hand and knee. I got to my feet and walked on. A young man called out to me from a parked car, he got out and came over with half a hot dog in his hand. He was in a suit.
‘Did you hurt yourself?’
‘No, I’m all right.’
‘Is anything wrong?’
‘No,’ I said, and began to cry, then nodded and waved my hand dismissively at the same time.
‘It’s been a rubbish day, that’s all. I’m sorry. Thanks.’
‘Can I give you a lift somewhere?’
‘No, really, I’m fine.’
‘Maybe you should sit down for a minute. Over there,’ he said, and pointed to a bench under a street lamp. He put his free arm around my shoulder and helped me across. It felt very protective. The suit looked good on him, it made him look older than he probably was.
‘I like your suit,’ I said.
‘Thanks.’
‘Have you been to work?’
‘No, I’ve been at a party. Not for very long, though, it was a rubbish party.’
We laughed. I sniffed. He finished his hot dog in a couple of mouthfuls and handed me the napkin.
‘Here,’ he said.
‘Thanks,’ I said. I blew my nose, then dabbed under my eyes.
‘No, it was a decent party, really,’ he said. ‘I was tired, that’s all, so I left. Now I’m off home to get some sleep.’
‘Do you live here in Haslev?’
‘Just outside. Do you?’
‘Yes. Well, no, I’m moving.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘I’ll probably try to fi
nd somewhere in Næstved.’
‘Næstved’s nice.’
‘It’s lively, anyway.’
‘It is. Do you fancy half a Cocio? I’ll go and get it,’ he said, and went back to the car. He came back with the bottle of chocolate milk and offered it to me, it hadn’t been touched. I took a swig.
‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘I’ve had a bit too much whisky.’
‘I know how you feel.’
‘Once I had too much apple schnapps,’ I said, and we laughed again, he was actually quite good-looking. The door of the bar opened. Loud music, then someone came out into the street and whistled, possibly at us. They disappeared round a corner and the door closed again.
‘It was kind of you to come and see if I was okay,’ I said.
‘Don’t mention it. I’d still like to drive you home.’
‘There’s no need. I only live around the corner.’
‘Maybe I could you walk you home, then?’
‘That’d be nice,’ I said, and got to my feet. My head started swimming. He got up as well and put his protective arm under mine. We walked over the cobbles, him with the Cocio and me with my clutch. A wobbling cyclist went past as we reached the lane. He took my hand and helped me down from the high kerb. We crossed the road, still holding on to each other.
‘Is it this way?’ he said, and I nodded.
‘You’re very nice.’
‘Thanks. What’s your name?’
‘Dorte.’
‘I’m Leon.’
‘Are you?’
‘Yes,’ he said, and then we’d reached the corner shop, there was a bundle of newspapers on the step. We stopped and looked at them, they were from the day before.
‘It’s an unusual name,’ I said.
‘I know, I don’t know any other Leons,’ he said, and then he smiled at me. We looked into each other’s eyes for a while.
‘Anyway, this is where I live,’ I said.
A narrow alley ran behind the shop. It didn’t look like somewhere anyone would live.
‘Down there?’
‘Yes. Thanks a lot for your help.’
‘Pleasure,’ he said. Then he stepped forward and kissed me on the cheek.
‘Look after yourself, now.’
He stood there as I walked off down the alley. The yard behind the shop was full of clutter, I hid in between two skips and waited. I was freezing in my yellow dress, a rustling sound kept coming from one of the skips. After a bit I went back and looked. He was gone. I crossed over the street and hurried home.
34.
I lived in a bedsit in Haslev. I had a daybed with storage, and a corner unit and a desk with a pewter mug on it. In the mornings I went to the baker’s for a poppy-seed twist and a roll. I ate them at the desk and got crumbs everywhere. I brushed the crumbs into my hand and tossed them out of the balcony door. I didn’t do much cooking, I didn’t like being in the kitchen any more. The driving instructor had found himself a girlfriend, she was pretty and thin. She put her make-up on with the door open and was always packing stuff into sports bags. She kept her toiletries in the bathroom. She had a wheatgerm facial mask, I tried it out and put too much on. I lay on the daybed and read Amerika. I wrote a story about a woman who was dead, and took the bus to Stevns. I bought a packet of cigarettes and smoked them, I didn’t like the taste.
The guy from Egøje asked after Lars, he wanted to borrow his soldering iron. I told him Lars was on a cabin trip, but I would try to find the soldering iron for him. I found it in the storage room, only it was an immersion heater instead. He said it didn’t matter, he could make do with a lighter. He asked if I wanted a bag of muesli for nothing. He’d bought it himself, but there was too much bran in it, it was like having a mouthful of dust. He was wearing a blue vest and asked me in for a beer. We drank with our feet up on the coffee table. It was painted orange, he’d made it himself, a long time ago in woodwork. He had a hologram on the wall above the TV, he’d spent a whole month’s wages on it. It was a skull. We watched a detective drama, then got down on the carpet. He had a way of touching my stomach. It was all nice and relaxed. I watched TV with him in the evenings. After a few weeks he asked about Lars. I told him Lars was on that cabin trip. Long cabin trip, he said. His girlfriend was an au pair in Paris, he didn’t know quite what to make of it. He was thinking of going down there, he’d have to see. He cut his own fringe, it was nearly straight. When my birthday came round he gave me a bracelet. It was from a proper jeweller’s, it came in a box. I had to give it a few more weeks after that, and by then it was nearly his birthday, he made a point about birthdays. I gave him an anchor-link chain in sterling silver and we ate out at a restaurant. He had Wiener schnitzel, I had something in mushroom sauce. On the way home we had a beer in a bar and played a game of dice. No sound came out when he laughed. His cigarette smoke curled between his teeth.
At the end of the year I got a letter from Lars. He’d given up the lease on the room so I’d have to move out. He sounded like he wasn’t well. I need some peace and quiet, he wrote. His writing slanted heavily to the left, it didn’t normally, but he’d drawn his usual face beneath his name, even if it wasn’t smiling. Not long after, I saw him from the back seat of a bus striding briskly along a street holding hands with the brown-haired girl, they had a little white dog with them. I turned and looked back, the dog squatted under a street lamp. They tugged on its lead, they looked like they were happy. It was a diverted route, somewhere between Næstved and Ringsted, I’d moved in with Dorte again. I could hardly breathe the rest of the way. When eventually we got to Ringsted, I got off two stops early and ran all the way home. Dorte was in the front room watching TV. I went to the bathroom and cried for ages into a towel. After that I felt better. We lived quietly for about eight months. We baked cakes and played cards, and put highlights in each other’s hair with crochet hooks. I wrote words for party songs meant for no one and applied for my course. I was planning to get the train from Ringsted every day, but then Hardy came along and I moved out into the bungalow.
35.
In February I ran into Hase at Scala. He was having egg and chips. I recognised him from the curve of his back, he reached out for the tomato sauce and gave it a good shake. I stood watching him. I was about to go on, but then he turned and saw me. He got up and we gave each other a little hug. I’d bought two hair slides, they were in a carrier bag that was far too big for them. He pointed at it.
‘Out shopping?’
‘Sort of.’
‘I’m just having some breakfast.’
‘It looks good.’
‘Do you want some? They do toasted sandwiches as well.’
‘No, thanks. I’ve just eaten.’
‘A coffee, then. They make a decent cup here. Have a seat,’ he said, and held his hand out towards the table. I put my bag on a chair and sat down.
‘What do you fancy? Cappuccino? Au lait?’
‘Olé,’ I said, and he nodded a bit awkwardly.
‘I’ll go up and get you one.’
He still had food on his plate, now it was getting cold while he queued up at the counter. He was taller than I remembered him, but just as round-shouldered. It looked like there was something wrong with the coffee machine, the girl had to call for assistance, people stood shuffling in the queue. He was reading a paperback, Madame Bovary, it was on the table with the back cover facing up and a yellow bookmark sticking out. His coat hung from the back of his chair. He looked down from where he stood and sent me a smile. He’d grown his hair since the last time I’d seen him. After a while they got the coffee sorted and he came down with it on a little tray.
‘That’s really nice of you. Your breakfast’ll be cold now,’ I said.
‘Ah, it doesn’t matter. What have you been doing with yourself, anyway?’
‘Not a lot.’
‘Do you see much of the Oldies?’ he said, and we had a laugh. I took too big a sip of my coffee and gulped some air down with it, I choked and had to
swallow some more.
‘Not really. Do you?’ I said, and he shook his head.
‘No, I stopped, didn’t I?’
‘Did you?’
‘Did you stop as well, then?’
‘Yes, sort of. Or rather I never really started,’ I said, and we had a good laugh about that as well. He cut his fried egg and the yolk ran out. My throat felt funny after that mouthful of coffee that had gone the wrong way, I couldn’t control my voice properly.
‘It was a bit of a daft name for a reading group,’ I said.
‘I know, you’re not that old, are you?’
‘Twenty-one.’
‘I’m twenty-five, so it was all right for me. My birthday was yesterday, as a matter of fact.’
‘Was it? Happy birthday.’
‘That’s why I’m having breakfast now. Bit of a late night.’
‘Were you out on the town?’
‘No, just out for a meal with an old trumpeter friend and then a few drinks after that.’
‘Do you play the trumpet?’
‘You must be joking,’ he said, and we laughed again, he put his knife and fork down and pushed his plate away.
‘But you do sing in a choir,’ I said.
‘Not any more, not since I moved from Greve. I took on my brother’s cooperative flat on Enghavevej this autumn,’ he said, and I nodded. All I did was sit and nod.
‘Vesterbro,’ he said.
‘I know,’ I said.
He’d taken up smoking, it didn’t look right on him. He blew the smoke downwards diagonally, his exhalations were very efficient. He told me about the flat, it was above a bicycle shop, which was good because he always had a flat tyre. I couldn’t really see him on a bike. His share in the cooperative had cost eleven thousand, he’d had to think about it because he’d planned on going to Ecuador, he couldn’t afford to do both. I couldn’t see him in Ecuador either. He leaned across the table in his jumper and smiled at me.
‘Fancy a beer?’ he said.
‘Isn’t it a bit early?’
‘Who’s stopping us?’ he said, and went up to get two large ones. He took his dirty plate and cutlery back with him, it made him look like a regular. I wondered why I’d never come across him there before if he was. Perhaps he took his plate back wherever he went. The beers were huge, I didn’t know how I’d ever manage to get it all down, or what we’d have to talk about, but by the time I’d drunk half we were doing quite well. He told me about his brother and growing up in Karlslunde. He asked about where I’d gone to school. His father had been his class teacher, it had been awkward at times, but after year seven he changed schools. The headmaster’s name was Grauballe, they called him The Grauballe Man, after the bog body, even the teachers, as if it wasn’t obvious enough, but Hase didn’t cotton on until years later. How stupid could you get. His brother was a doctor now, he’d been a model student, he’d even done the flat up while he’d been taking his finals. He was the kind of person who sanded things down and used primer, it was sickening really. But now Hase was reaping the rewards.