The Exception

by Christian Jungersen

  ‘Rasmus has left!’ Malene is screaming.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Moved out! He’s moved out!’

  ‘Oh no … but where to? Why …?’

  Somehow Iben had known. It all fits too well. Of all evenings, it had to be this one.

  Without thinking Iben hurls her bowl of ice cream at the nearest bookshelf. Fragments of the bowl have shattered across the floor and some of the ice cream has splashed onto the screen of the television.

  Malene is talking. She says that Rasmus told her earlier this evening that for the last six weeks he has been having an affair. Someone who works as a bartender in Bopa.

  ‘So I threw him out!’

  ‘You threw him out?’

  ‘I didn’t want him in my flat for a second longer!’

  Iben knows she has to support her friend, reassure her that she has done the right thing, comfort her by telling her how good it is to have the self-assurance to act on your feelings. But somehow she can’t make herself begin.

  ‘And you weren’t in, Iben.’

  ‘No …’

  Iben doesn’t explain. She holds the receiver to her ear and, with the telephone cord trailing like the lead of a tethered animal, edges over to the bookshelf where some marshmallows lie among the melting remains of the ice cream. She puts one in her mouth. Then she grabs two more and puts them in her mouth as well.

  Malene keeps talking. ‘So I got rid of him. But I don’t want to be here – I can’t bear even to look at the flat.’ There is a short pause. ‘Iben, can I stay with you?’

  ‘Malene, why don’t you come here?’ Iben asks, as if she hadn’t heard Malene’s question.

  When the call is finished, Iben goes to the kitchen, puts the kettle on and finds Malene’s favourite tea. She takes some cleaning fluid out of the cupboard so she can wipe the ice cream off her books and sweep up the bits of broken bowl. And she’d better change back into her work clothes as well.

  But she doesn’t. On the way back to the bedroom, she collapses on the sofa and weeps, the side of her face pressed against the unyielding arm.

  The intercom buzzes. Iben jumps up and runs to release the downstairs lock.

  Next she must change her clothes and wipe off her smeared make-up. She runs into the bedroom and pulls her blouse off. No time to change her trousers. The bathroom next. She puts cleansing cream on her face.

  When Malene comes in, Iben’s face is still covered with cream. ‘Malene! I’m in here!’

  Malene joins her in the bathroom. She seems emotionally drained, but gives Iben a hug. ‘Iben, I’m so glad to see you … you’re a true friend.’

  By the time they sit together on the sofa with their tea, Iben has pulled herself together. She has reminded herself that she isn’t the one who has just lost the man she has loved for the last three years. She needs to be there for Malene.

  She remembers her one and only experience of breaking up after a long affair. The man was one of her literature teachers at university and almost eleven years older. They spent amazing amounts of time together, especially considering that he was not only regarded as a hardworking academic, but also had a live-in partner.

  He told Iben practically from the start that he wanted to get out of his relationship, but then the day came when he told her that his partner was pregnant. He didn’t seem to feel that this needed to affect what he and Iben had together, but she had put an end to it there and then. It took her more than a year to get over it.

  Malene doesn’t touch her tea, but talks on in a loud, trembling voice. ‘And I said to him it was pointless. Shit, she’s only twenty-one. What good is that for him? Hanging out with a twenty-one-year-old barmaid. But he said they get along so well.’ She stares up at the ceiling, tears streaming across her temples. ‘So well – because she has done film studies for six months. Oh yes. They can discuss movies. Fucking movies! Must be great to have something to talk about after screwing.’

  ‘Oh, Malene!’

  ‘And I asked him if she was healthy. He wouldn’t say and insisted, but insisted, that health had nothing to do with anything. Then I said, “But you can’t know for sure, can you? There might be something wrong with her. Like, maybe she’s got AIDS. Or MS. Or the Big C. Anything. You can’t be sure. You didn’t recognise that I was ill, not when you met me. Not when you first said you loved me.”’

  Malene leans against Iben, who holds her close and tries to say all the right things even though she knows it won’t make a difference. Malene’s mascara has run and some of it has rubbed off on her white blouse. She blows her nose now and then, but has given up drying her tears. Her voice has become hoarse and she keeps repeating herself.

  ‘We were having such a good evening too. We ate, he seemed happy, and we were relaxing together. And then he just suddenly came out with it. There was something “he had to tell me, it was only right”. And then it all snowballed from there. What did he imagine? I mean, what did he think would happen when he told me something like that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Did he think that I’d listen to his story and that would be that? Did he think we would just continue as before?’

  Iben thinks back to the moment when she turned to her teacher and told him it was all over between them. They were sitting on a stony beach at the far end of Amager Island. The beach was one of their special places, somewhere no one they knew would ever come. He protested, but it was as if a repair man had told him to buy a new fridge. ‘Iben, are you sure? There’s nothing I can say to change your mind? Well, OK. I guess that’s it.’ He had listened to Iben, agreed, and then gone home.

  Iben stopped going to his classes. It was tricky to find enough courses to fill the days when he was not in the department. He never contacted her again, but she couldn’t avoid hearing on the student grapevine that he had married and had a little boy.

  Iben looks around. Her sitting room strikes her again as ugly, almost repulsive. She hates her old furniture and unframed posters. Hates the cold overhead light.

  Later, when Malene is crying a little less, Iben gets up and goes to the kitchen. She makes a fresh pot of tea and puts four frozen rolls into the microwave. While they thaw, she slices cheese for the two of them.

  From now on Iben will look after Malene when she has her arthritis attacks. There is no one else, unless a smart, new admirer carries Malene off. And if the illness worsens and the admirers vanish, Iben will be on duty for a long time ahead.

  Still fragile, Malene has kicked off her shoes and put her stockinged feet up, warming her toes under Iben’s thigh. She can’t stop tormenting herself.

  ‘I wonder what he’s doing now? They must be so pleased. I bet they’ve been fucking ever since he turned up at her door.’

  ‘Malene, don’t you think—’

  ‘I bet he’s in her arms now. They’re naked. And I bet she’s happy too because he’s taken the plunge.’

  Very late that night, Iben finally brings a cloth, a bucket of water and a roll of paper towels to the bookshelf. She starts cleaning up the ice cream.

  Malene sits up. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Something made me fling my ice cream at the bookcase when you phoned this evening.’

  They exchange faint, miserable smiles.

  ‘Iben! That’s not like you at all.’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘That’s really sweet of you. And to let me come here, just like that …’

  ‘Don’t think about it.’

  ‘And you don’t mind if I sleep here?’

  ‘No problem. This will be a tough night for you. I’m glad I am here for you.’

  ‘I’m glad too. Where were you earlier?’

  ‘Never mind. It doesn’t matter now.’

  36

  Iben is on her way upstairs to Malene’s flat. It is in an old building with stained-glass windows on each landing that run from floor to ceiling. With time, some of the panes have fallen out of their lead calms and the property manage
r has replaced them with cheap, plain glass. Iben has always thought the stairway rather beautiful, even though the blank fields of glass break up the images.

  It is late on Saturday morning. Rasmus has said he will come to collect his belongings from the flat but Malene doesn’t want to be there. She is holed up in Iben’s flat, so Iben has promised to go and keep an eye on him instead. Rasmus mustn’t be allowed to carry off the wrong things or take more than he’s entitled to. Iben has a pretty good idea of what belongs to whom, and besides, she can always phone Malene if in doubt.

  It will be strange to meet Rasmus now that their relationship has changed. Iben knows that she should be angry with him, but she can’t force herself.

  Only four days have passed since Malene thought Rasmus loved her. Malene has since tried to persuade him that it’s all been a mistake, but now he’s certain that it’s ‘the right thing’ to stay with his new girlfriend.

  Malene speaks about the way he shut her out completely. It was done in a day. He decided to be cold towards her and, straight away, he was. Rasmus’s behaviour towards Malene has made Iben question whether men’s feelings are as strong as women’s. There’s no way of telling. But there is one major difference: men seem to be able to postpone their emotional reactions until it suits them. Even men you think you know well can turn their backs on you in an instant, acting more distant than you ever thought possible.

  The flat is on the fifth floor and when Iben finally reaches the landing she can hear Rasmus rummaging around inside. She is just about to press the doorbell when she realises that Rasmus doesn’t live here any more. This is Malene’s place and by now Iben, the owner’s best friend, has more right to be here than he has. She’s certain that Malene would prefer her to make a point of this and considers using her key, but then she decides against it and presses the doorbell.

  Rasmus lets her in. His hair is all over the place. He must have run his fingers through it several times.

  She has never heard him speak in such a serious tone. ‘Iben! We have to talk. Come inside and have a seat. There, on the sofa.’

  She follows him into the sitting room. Many items are already in boxes: a few small pictures, some books and CDs. The music centre and the loudspeakers are dismantled and about to be packed, together with the large TV and the folding dining-table chairs.

  ‘Would you like coffee? Or something?’

  ‘Rasmus, I’m not sure … Maybe we shouldn’t … I think Malene …’

  She settles down all the same. She has no idea what he wants to tell her.

  Characteristically, he begins to talk about a computer program he’s written. Apparently he’s devised a long and complex piece of spyware, which he had intended to use in order to trace the sender of the emails.

  What is he really saying? Is this technical stuff meant to prove how much Malene meant to him, even though he’s been unfaithful to her? Whatever the message, he spends such a long time on the details of the programming that her mind begins to wander.

  Later on she helps him take his things down to the white van he has borrowed. She does several rounds with bags of clothes, CDs and boxes full of bits and pieces. She has always liked Rasmus. He’s a nice guy; simply not the right one for Malene. His parents, who live in Svendborg, are schoolteachers with a shared enthusiasm for sailing. The pair seem to confirm the argument that people with a background in education are best equipped to bring up happy, stable children.

  Malene and Rasmus have given a few parties that their parents have attended, and Iben has never met anyone who didn’t immediately warm to Rasmus’s mum and dad. Malene used to look forward to the summer holidays in Svendborg, unlike the few days she would spend with her own family.

  While Iben helps Rasmus, she tries to think of something pleasant to say to him now that they aren’t likely to meet again. She would like to say that she’s pleased to have got to know him and that he was very good for Malene … for a time. Maybe she ought to say that she wishes him well, but that somehow seems disloyal. On her way back upstairs, Iben decides to keep the good wishes until Rasmus is all packed and ready to drive off.

  She clutches an armful of posters and calls back to him from the landing: ‘I’m taking these down now!’

  ‘Iben, wait! Just a moment!’

  She goes back in.

  ‘The heavy things should go in first. I’ll start with the table.’

  ‘Let me help.’

  ‘Don’t worry. It’s actually easier to do it by myself.’ He walks out, rather unsteadily, carrying the large birch-wood table.

  Iben looks around to see if there’s anything useful for her to do. She goes to put away some of Malene’s glasses that are on the drying rack. While she’s at it, she decides to wash up some of the dishes that are still on the kitchen table.

  Is that Rasmus’s voice she hears from the stairs? Who’s he talking to? Isn’t that a woman’s voice? She turns the water off before the basin has filled.

  Is it Malene? For a second, Iben felt sure she heard Malene’s voice. What’s going on? What does Malene want?

  No more voices. She must have been mistaken. Maybe it wasn’t Malene. And it’s unlikely to have been Rasmus’s new girlfriend. Maybe just a neighbour?

  Iben stops and listens. Everything is quiet now. She walks into the short corridor outside the kitchen. In the silence of the stairway she hears Rasmus move with heavy steps. Then, suddenly, there is an echoing crash and a scream.

  She runs along the hallway and out onto the empty landing.

  ‘Rasmus? … Malene? Rasmus?’

  Nothing.

  The next landing. Nothing.

  Another empty flight of stairs and then she sees it.

  A large hole has opened up in the wall. At first she can’t make herself go any closer. She stands a few steps above the landing, staring at the emptiness that is as tall as a man. It used to be a mosaic of stained glass.

  She inches closer. She can see people moving around in the courtyard below and talking in frightened voices. Somebody screams. Iben doesn’t have the courage to look at what might be down there. Instead she takes another couple of quick steps forwards and discovers at the last moment that the step in front of the broken window is wet. She grabs the handrail with both hands. Her body slips sideways and lands heavily. Trying to get up she puts one hand down on the step, only to find that her palm slides on the slippery surface. She sniffs at her sticky hand. Someone has poured oil on the floor.

  Iben manages to get up and manoeuvre around the fluid. She runs down into the street and looks around. Rasmus isn’t there. And Malene isn’t there either.

  The door to the courtyard behind the building is locked. Iben fumbles in her pocket to find the keys. It takes so long. At last she gets the door open. She runs through the dark passage.

  The yard is divided down the middle by a wire fence and Rasmus is hanging across it, his body bent double. Iben had no idea a human body could break in the middle like that. One of the vertical steel fencing posts protrudes through his back.

  Despite all the blood, Iben can see that Rasmus’s face has slammed into the profiled steel. It is crushed. The impact of his body has made the wire fence sag, but its sharp edge has sliced open his abdomen.

  Iben backs away, knocking into something on the pavement, and sits back without wanting to. She looks at what she’s sitting on. It’s a piece of Rasmus and Malene’s dining table. It is quite clean and unused, as if the last few days haven’t happened, as if Rasmus and Malene and Iben might still gather around it, in this small yard.

  Over by the wall a man is speaking on his mobile. The police will arrive soon. A woman is pushing against a door to the kitchen stairs. She must be trying to keep children away from the yard.

  Iben stares at the table fragment. Not long ago it was cluttered with plates, bottles of wine, flowers. She hears the voices round the table. ‘Pass me the rice, would you? Rasmus, I met Ole from Film Studies in the bus. You won’t believe what happened in
the Centre today …’

  A dark knot in the light wood stares back at her, like an eye.

  She tries to get up.

  37

  ‘I was standing on the staircase and called out to Rasmus that I was on my way down with the posters. It was sheer chance that Rasmus asked me to wait until later. He wanted to take large things like the table down first.’

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘If someone had been waiting in the stairway to pour oil on the steps, that person would probably have assumed that I would be the first one to come down.’

  ‘I see. What happened instead?’

  Iben breathes in quickly. ‘Look, where did the rail go? There’s usually a handrail across the window. A long strip of brown railing. When was it taken away? It can’t be a coincidence – there’s been several strange things happening over the last few months … anyway, it can’t have been an accident. Someone is after me. Or after Malene. It’s her flat. Someone might have thought she was the one on her way down.’

  Iben and a woman police officer are sitting together in one of three police cars lined up in front of the door to Malene’s building. Detectives are cordoning off the stairs and the courtyard and interviewing the neighbours to find out if they saw anything.

  ‘Very well, Iben. Now, I’d like you to take me through what happened again, step by step.’

  Iben describes how she offered to help Rasmus with the table and how, when he said he’d manage on his own, she went to the kitchen to clear away some dirty dishes. Then the next thing she heard was a crash and a scream. She ran downstairs at once, slipped and almost shot out through the broken window herself.

  Iben also tells the officer about Anne-Lise and her suspicions that she might have some kind of personality disorder. She mentions Anne-Lise’s trick of hiding blood in her own office and pouring it all over herself, and about her swapping Malene’s medication. She knows that Anne-Lise is capable of doing all sorts of things. She might very well have removed the railing and poured oil on the steps.