The Exception

by Christian Jungersen

  The doctor is bending over one of her hands. ‘Aha. Now, that would explain it!’

  ‘What explains what?’

  ‘Look, you didn’t take your tablets yesterday. Perhaps not the day before either.’

  ‘Of course I did.’

  He looks sceptical. ‘I’ve checked your notes. Last time you were here, about six weeks ago, Niels put you on methotrexate, once a week.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And, until the methotrexate started to work, you were to take cortisone daily.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘But as long as you’re taking these things, you shouldn’t be having any unprovoked attacks.’

  ‘But I have taken my medication.’

  ‘Then this shouldn’t have happened. Inflammation in every joint …’ Obviously the doctor does not believe her; he simply can’t be bothered arguing. He mutters something and starts writing up his notes.

  Then something occurs to him: ‘Your medication. Have you got it here?’

  Iben finds Malene’s medicines in her handbag. The tablets are kept in an art-nouveau silver cigarette case lined with velvet that Malene bought second-hand.

  The doctor leans across the table. He takes one of the tablets and holds it up. ‘There you are. This isn’t cortisone.’

  ‘But … I put them in there myself.’

  The doctor’s thick finger pushes the small white tablets around on the velvety surface. He leans back in his chair, completely sure of himself.

  When he speaks, his lips curl a little. ‘The proper pills are notched in a different way from these. But you must have been taking them until the day before yesterday, at least, or you would have had one of these attacks earlier.’

  ‘What are you saying? That yesterday someone exchanged my proper medication for …?’ Malene’s voice cracks.

  Iben makes a sudden noise, as if someone has hit her hard in the solar plexus.

  Suddenly they both know that someone has been tampering with Malene’s tablets.

  Malene keeps her medicine in her bag, which she always puts on the floor next to her desk. Yesterday, only a very few people would have had access to it.

  Malene throws her head back and screams. ‘How could she do this? She’s sick. Sick!’ Then she starts crying: ‘I can’t… Oh, I couldn’t …’

  Something flashes across Iben’s mind. Anne-Lise couldn’t be that evil! Could she?

  It must be someone else.

  But then her common sense tells her that her instinct must be wrong. Anne-Lise is capable of all kinds of things. And despite her outward calm, they know that, deep down, Anne-Lise is enraged.

  Anne-Lise

  24

  ‘It must be said that for a long time now we’ve had a sneaking suspicion that you might decide to leave us and go on to greater things. And of course we realised that you would prefer to work on something meaningful, somewhere that would offer you the opportunity to make the world a better place. This is precisely why we’re all sad that you’re leaving us, and so soon too.’

  Everyone on the staff of Lyngby Central Library had gathered for the farewell party on Anne-Lise’s last day. They stood about in the large lobby, holding their glasses of white wine and plates of canapés. The large windows offered panoramic views of Lake Mølle and its landscaped surroundings.

  The Head Librarian’s words seemed entirely genuine. ‘We will miss your warmth and your ability to share in our lives as if we were all your close friends. We will miss your sense of fun. Naturally, whoever succeeds you will find you a hard act to follow. I believe that there’s not one of us who, when faced with a troublesome database – indeed, any computer problem – has not instinctively thought of consulting you first. Of course it did occur to us, on occasion, that it wasn’t fair to rely on your good will all the time!’

  Anne-Lise’s colleagues beamed at this.

  ‘So then we’d try asking each other instead. But, sooner or later, we’d always end up coming back to you. And you’d have the answer, of course!’

  By now they were all laughing. Anne-Lise looked around the circle of faces. It had been a difficult decision to leave after all the years of working in this place. But she had taken a leap into the unknown and hoped that her new job at the Danish Centre for Genocide Information would bring new, interesting responsibilities and would also give her the opportunity to meet a whole range of fascinating people.

  She took the whole scene in: the lake’s oddly dark-green water glinting outside, the ducks swimming right beneath the library windows, her colleagues standing round chatting; and the hand-coloured engraving of old Lyngby, her farewell gift.

  The Head Librarian raised her glass and looked at Anne-Lise. ‘I believe – no, I know – that you will have a great time in your new job. But maybe you will, from time to time, think about us and remember us fondly? I’d like to believe that too. I feel we have created a special atmosphere here and we’ve shared many good years together. In any case, you can be certain that we will always think fondly of you.’

  On her first day at DCGI, Anne-Lise came in to work full of hope, but also a little apprehensive about not being able to meet the expectations of her three academically qualified new colleagues, who were younger than she was. Still, she had decided to change her job precisely because she wanted new challenges. She put on a new cashmere twinset, and she had asked her hairdresser to freshen up her hair colour.

  The first three days went well enough. Malene taught her the cataloguing system and set her up recording the new books and documents that had come in while the library was understaffed. The previous librarian had followed her husband to his new job in Finland about a month earlier.

  Cataloguing meant that Anne-Lise worked in the library on her own. It seemed such a dark place, as if the crowded shelves somehow absorbed all the light. It would be good to join the others some time soon, she thought. More lamps in the library would help in the meantime, but Anne-Lise realised that she should wait a while before asking for anything. Her priority at this point was to ensure that her relationship with her new colleagues got off to a good start.

  There was another problem, though. A door next to her desk led to a small room housing a copier and a printer. When it was left open, the fumes made it difficult to breathe. She kept closing the door, but the others left it open every time they used the machines. Anne-Lise resigned herself to this for the time being.

  Malene’s aunt had died a few days before Anne-Lise started work. It was heartening that they felt able to discuss family issues and it was, of course, perfectly understandable that some of the others’ conversations were conducted in whispers. As the days went by, however, Anne-Lise felt no less excluded. She sat alone in the library working on the catalogue from morning till night, except during breaks.

  Anne-Lise tried to tell them things about herself so that they might get to know her better. She wanted to show them that she could be fun, but somehow her jokes didn’t seem to go down well with them. They seemed to have their own brand of humour.

  After more than a week had passed Anne-Lise felt that she could finally raise the matter of the copier-room door. She was in the Winter Garden. Malene and Iben were sitting at their desks and were obviously keen to get back to work. She felt quite awkward, standing in the middle of the floor with nothing to do with her hands.

  Malene smiled at her and explained that they had always kept the door open because if they didn’t, the air in the copier room became unbearable.

  ‘I see, of course. But surely the best thing would be to leave the window open in there. Otherwise the awful smell permeates the library.’

  No one responded.

  Anne-Lise went on, ‘And of course the fumes spread to you as well.’

  ‘We’ve tried leaving the window open, but it gets too cold if you have a lot of copying to do. Your predecessor didn’t have any problem with it.’

  For a few days Anne-Lise agreed to what the others wanted and left the door
open. Only when the big copier had been running non-stop for over an hour and the chemical smell became so suffocating that she couldn’t breathe did she open the window. Although nothing was said, she noticed later that the window had been closed again.

  One day, Paul overheard them discussing the matter and suggested that they should alternate between keeping the window and the door open. The others apparently thought Anne-Lise had spoken about the problem within Paul’s earshot on purpose. For the rest of the afternoon the women fell silent every time she passed through, punishing her for the unpardonable sin of ‘grassing them up to the boss’.

  In bed with Henrik that evening, Anne-Lise wept for the first time, longing for her old job. It was hard for her to admit that she didn’t much care for Malene and Iben. They had a way of giggling together and talking about people she didn’t know that seemed to exclude everyone else. Camilla, on the other hand, seemed very nice. She was married and had children and was about the same age as she was. Maybe they would get on well once they got to know each other better.

  The next morning she pulled herself together. She had to believe that all this was just a minor setback. She put on more make-up than usual; then she wiped it off again just before leaving home.

  They still didn’t speak to her. While she ruminated how best to handle the situation, she tried not to feel scared. ‘It takes time to adjust to a new place of work. If I’m determined and stay calm, it will be all right in the end.’

  During the lunch break she again tried her best to pretend that everything was fine. She listened to Iben’s and Malene’s girlish anecdotes and watched Camilla to see when she should smile or laugh.

  A couple of days later Anne-Lise picked a time when Paul was away to ask the others right out if there was something she had done to annoy them. They said no, not at all, but Anne-Lise didn’t give up. She did everything she could to convince them that they must let her know. In the end, Iben admitted that they thought Anne-Lise had been rather inconsiderate about the copier-room window.

  This little exchange of views did some good. Despite Paul’s suggestion that the window stay open after every second use, Anne-Lise emphasised that as far as she was concerned, it was all right if they always shut it.

  They became nicer to her after that. For a while.

  But then Iben and Malene were sending faxes and there seemed to be a private joke going between them. On her first day, Anne-Lise had sent a fax to the chairman of the board by mistake. She hadn’t known that his number was on Speed Dial and the fax went off the second Anne-Lise keyed in the first digit. Now Iben’s and Malene’s voices were loud enough to ensure that Anne-Lise could hear them.

  ‘I mustn’t make a mistake when I send this fax!’

  Iben laughed. ‘Who is it for then?’

  ‘It’s for Ole.’

  ‘Oh, but it’s so-o easily done!’

  They didn’t say anything else, but the sneering tone of their voices made it clear that they were making fun of her.

  Camilla also made it clear that she wanted to keep her distance from Anne-Lise, even though they had had a few good conversations when the others were not around.

  Barely five months into her new job, Anne-Lise was so wound up that she cried almost every evening. She cried in the car on the way home. She cried in the kitchen when she cooked supper and the children watched television. Later on, in bed with Henrik, she sobbed in his arms. Less than half a year ago, she had been happy and her worst problem at work had been boredom.

  Henrik tried to comfort her by saying that she could easily get another job, but all that did was make Anne-Lise sob even harder.

  ‘But don’t you see? There are no other jobs. Everybody is cutting back. And if a place does have a vacancy, they’ll pick someone younger!’

  Anne-Lise clung to Henrik. She went over what she had done in the office and regretted everything. ‘If only I’d kept quiet about that window! If only I’d let it be!’

  Henrik held her close to calm her. ‘Come on, that’s neither here nor there. It’s such a little thing.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Such a stupid little thing! I couldn’t know, could I? How was I to know that just mentioning the smell was so frowned upon? The others get their way, always – with everything! And all I wanted was to close the stupid door!’

  The next morning Anne-Lise went to an Internet site where she could download a program that traced and recovered files that had been deleted from her hard disk. While the others assumed that she was silently at work, plugging away at her deadly dull cataloguing job, she ran the newly installed program. It turned out that quite a few fascinating things were hidden inside her computer.

  Anne-Lise’s predecessor might never have protested to her colleagues about her working conditions, but she certainly emailed both her husband and her friends to tell them how intensely she detested every hour she had to spend at the Centre. She had written to a friend to say what fantastic luck it was that her husband had got the Finnish job, because it was damn near impossible to find another job as a librarian in Denmark.

  Anne-Lise also found evidence of wide-ranging communications with the Centre’s users. Clearly, the previous librarian had escaped being corralled into only scanning files and updating the catalogue. Malene had taken over the entire external relations side of the librarian’s job during the three weeks before Anne-Lise’s appointment. Anne-Lise could not imagine what her situation would be like if she tried to reclaim the position. All hell would break loose.

  25

  Almost a year has passed since Anne-Lise started working at DCGI. It is late in the afternoon when she steps into the old lift to leave the office. Through the closed main door to the Centre she can still faintly hear Malene laughing. Then the sound of amusement fades as the lift’s whining seals her in.

  Soon she’ll be outside the building, the moment she has been looking forward to all day; she even fell asleep last night comforting herself with the thought of it, its never-ending cycle: a few pleasant hours with her family before the dread of the next day at work overwhelms her and then the consoling thought that that day, too, will eventually end.

  She breathes in deeply several times.

  Near the top edge of one of the lift’s wooden panels someone has scratched three filthy little drawings. Anne-Lise stares at the drawings as the trembling descent of the lift slowly transports her down and away from DCGI.

  Today Henrik is collecting the children. He will take them to football practice and dance class and wait for them, doing some of his paperwork in the car. This way Anne-Lise will have at least an hour and a half to herself before she has to prepare dinner. She decided a few days ago that it was about time she had her old friend Nicola over. They haven’t had a real opportunity to chat, just the two of them, in over a year.

  Anne-Lise stops to buy cakes for their afternoon tea and is on her way home when, suddenly, she finds herself east of Lyngby, driving on the northbound motorway towards Helsingør. How odd. She must have been in the wrong lane when the motorway divided. She finds a slip road and soon picks up the direction back to the Lyngby bypass.

  Anne-Lise and Henrik live in an old-style house with redlimed walls, near the nature reserve at Holte. It stands just a few rows away from the wildly expensive homes with views over Lake Fure and has a larger garden than most of the neighbouring houses. The area is the perfect place to raise children, which is the main reason Anne-Lise and Henrik chose it over the wealthier districts along the Øresund coast.

  When Anne-Lise eventually pulls up in front of her home, Nicola is waiting for her on the porch. She looks warm in her short, obviously expensive fur jacket, tight, dark-brown trousers and leather boots. Must be Prada boots, Anne-Lise thinks. Nicola loves Prada.

  Nicola is beaming with pleasure. She gives Anne-Lise a big hug, and their friendship immediately picks up where it left off a year ago.

  ‘I’ve told everybody that dinner will be late tonight, because I want a chance to see Henrik
and the kids as well. And I’m so looking forward to seeing what you two have done to the house since last time.’

  Over the years Anne-Lise and Henrik have made quite a few changes. They’ve had three walls taken down to enlarge some of the rooms. Together they built a stone table and a huge cupboard in the old scullery at the back of the house and they’ve decorated several rooms with stucco ornaments brought back from Italy. When they were more or less happy with the house, they’d started on the garden.

  Anne-Lise unlocks the front door and explains that they haven’t really done anything special since the last time.

  Nicola steps inside. ‘Oh, come on. I don’t believe it. I know you two. There’s no stopping you!’

  As she fills the electric kettle, Anne-Lise asks Nicola how her son is. Anne-Lise is very fond of Nicola; it’s strange that it’s taken her so long to invite her over.

  They met each other many years ago through Jutta, a mutual friend they rarely see now. Jutta’s boyfriend had studied Business Management and both Anne-Lise and Nicola met their husbands through him. Since then Nicola’s husband has become a managing director in Maersk Oil. Although living on one of the most elegant streets in Hellerup has changed Nicola to a certain degree, she has kept her nursing job and remains the kind of person whom Anne-Lise feels she can trust to say exactly what she thinks.

  They have their tea and cakes. Afterwards Nicola insists that they do a tour of the house. They end up in the garden, looking at the group of rhododendrons the previous owner planted at least forty years ago. The foliage on the lilac trees is turning an autumnal brown and the leaves from the dogwood bush near the apple tree lie scattered on the ground leaving its deep-red branches almost bare.

  Anne-Lise remembers how, just a few years ago, she and Henrik would get up early and spend their Saturdays and Sundays working on their home. At the end of each day, they would stand together and admire their achievements. But apathy has set in and now she’s finding it difficult to whip up enough interest to do anything at all.