Only One Life

by Sara Blaedel

  “No one will bother reading that to try to understand,” Samra’s mother said, suddenly sounding tired.

  Camilla smiled at her.

  “You leave that to me. I’ll just throw something together.” Before they stood up, Camilla pulled out her card with the paper’s number and her own cell phone number on it. “Call me. Also if you just want to talk,” Camilla said. “I’ll be back in Holbæk again next week.”

  Sada nodded and took the card.

  “Take care of yourself,” Camilla said as they parted. “And thank you for coming.”

  She stood there outside the hotel watching Sada walk across Banegård Square to catch a bus she could take home.

  17

  LOUISE QUIETLY COASTED DOWN THE STREET AND PARKED NEXT TO a red wooden building with a big sign that said Hamam. She sat looking at it for a bit, wondering, until it suddenly dawned on her that she had once read an article about a Turkish bath opening in Holbæk. She and Camilla had even toyed with trying it out. So this is where it is, she thought, getting out of the car. The Rowing Club was on her right, and a little ways out in the water, along a pier, were the Oceanside Baths—a small redwood building with a number of small, attractive cabins all painted white.

  She wondered for a second if she shouldn’t head back up the road and try going in through the clubhouse to find Mik, or if she should go down to the water and see if she could get through that way.

  “Hi!”

  He had spotted her before she saw him. He was standing along the shore in a wet suit and a life jacket, which wasn’t buckled shut yet, but what she noticed first were his bright-yellow plastic clogs. Attractive they were not and yet they were all the rage, but they were one of the last things she would have expected to see her not-all-that-hip partner wearing. He was standing with a bunch of men and women in wet suits and fluorescent yellow-and-orange life jackets. There was a line of sea kayaks, ready to put into the water, and she realized she had interrupted the class, which was already under way. A little embarrassed, she walked over and greeted the others.

  “I got one out for you,” Mik said, pointing to the red Daggerbrand kayak, which was the one farthest away.

  She walked over and stood next to it and listened along as he explained that the sea kayak had two sealed compartments, which meant it couldn’t sink, and they also served as storage space if you were going on a trip.

  He held something up that looked pretty much like a skirt and explained that it was a spray skirt, which you attached around your waist before you climbed into the kayak and then pulled taut and secured over the opening.

  “Start from the back,” he said, demonstrating how to secure it. “That way you won’t get water in your kayak. It will come off easily if you capsize in the water, so don’t be afraid of getting stuck if that happens.”

  Louise looked around at the other students, listening attentively to his explanation. Personally, she didn’t have the slightest desire to capsize, whether she had one of these skirts on or not. She was having a hard time paying attention. It was totally discombobulating to see Mik Rasmussen in the role of kayaking instructor.

  He showed them how far to pull their kayaks out into the water before climbing into them, and then he came over to Louise and said that he’d laid out all her equipment for her up in the dressing room.

  “But you didn’t even know I was going to come,” she protested, as they walked back up to the clubhouse.

  “Of course you were going to come. No one ever turns down a free kayaking lesson,” he said, holding the door open for her.

  She refrained from commenting that that had more to do with the fact that she didn’t have anything else to do today and that kayaking had just been an alternative to an afternoon at the movies.

  “Did you bring your swimsuit?” he asked. She shook her head.

  “Then you’ll have to make do with underwear under your wet suit, but I hope you brought an extra set, otherwise you’ll be uncomfortable once you’ve been in the water.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not going in the water,” she protested.

  “Well, we’ll see.” He found her a life jacket and asked if she wanted to wear a parka underneath. “I don’t think it’s cold enough for you to need that,” he added helpfully.

  Louise just nodded, hoping he wasn’t expecting her to start pulling on the wet suit while he stood there watching.

  “Come down when you’re ready,” he said, turning his back to her.

  The suit was still a little wet, and she was already having regrets as she felt the clammy neoprene against her skin. She kept her sneakers on, feeling annoyed that she hadn’t given any thought to what she ought to bring, but she hadn’t really been planning on coming. She didn’t even have a towel, which was really dumb, she realized.

  The others were already sitting out on the water when Louise reached the shore. Mik was standing there waiting for her as he yelled his instructions to the class. He helped her with the kayak and held it while she climbed in. He carefully pushed her the last little bit out into the water.

  “Find the balance point,” he said and she took the paddle he passed her.

  “The curved side should go down next to the water,” he reminded her.

  She turned to give him an irritated look, but noticed how the kayak started tipping when she turned around. She quickly straightened back up and took a first cautious stroke in the water. She let the paddle rotate in the palm of her hand and switched to the other side. Then she started moving forward, stroke by stroke. It surprised her that she didn’t feel more unsure of herself, so close to the surface of the water, but it felt nice. She gradually, gently reached the other students, who already seemed to have enough control over their paddles and kayaks that they could maneuver around without bumping into each other.

  Mik had hopped into his own kayak and was already on his way out. “We’re going to paddle down to the other side of Strandparken,” he yelled. “And when we return, I’ll show you how to get back up again if you land in the water.”

  In the beginning her arms hurt, especially the left, but then she straightened her back and stretched it out at a right angle and could feel that things were going better. Once they’d rounded the hotel and were on their way back, she realized she was actually enjoying this. She had never pegged herself as a water-sports enthusiast, but this was great. The autumn sun was shining low in the sky, and she was gliding through the water very peacefully. She’d quickly figured out how to control the way you turned by back-paddling so the motion of the water acted as a brake, and the boat would slow down and start to change directions.

  “If you fall in the water, you’ll need to do an assisted recovery,” Mik explained as the kayaks bobbed in a group in the water in front of the Rowing Club. He had everyone’s attention.

  “First you empty the water out of the kayak. Let’s just try. Hop in,” he said, and for a second Louise thought he was talking to her. She held her breath until she realized he was talking to a guy with long hair behind her. The man was down in the water quickly and Mik paddled over to him and positioned himself alongside.

  “Start by flipping the kayak over and emptying out the water,” he instructed, and, along with the long-haired man, he pulled the kayak up over his own so the front part was resting on his.

  “The water empties out like this,” he explained as he demonstrated. “Then you have to get back in.” He turned the kayak over again and pushed it into the water so it was parallel to his. “You support it while your buddy climbs in.”

  Louise was glad it wasn’t her. It didn’t look easy. Although on the other hand, I probably ought to learn what to do in this situation, she thought. Just then, she felt a sharp jerk on her own kayak and before she had a chance to react, she was halfway over and just barely had time to wonder if her spray skirt would come loose so she wouldn’t be trapped under the water. But it had already come free and she was out by the time her kayak was floating bottom up beside her.


  “Sorry!” exclaimed one of the older men, who had accidentally bumped into her.

  “Well, I suppose you two might as well do the next assisted recovery,” Mik said.

  Louise got the kayak flipped over and drained the water out of it. She quite easily crawled up so she was lying on her stomach and her legs half down into the hole. With her kayak being held good and steady, she slowly turned around so she was lying with her head over the back end, and cautiously slid down into the kayak. She felt victorious having succeeded on her first try.

  “Bravo!” Mik yelled, paddling over and giving her a high five.

  There was a good feeling in her body when the class ended shortly after that and they helped carry the kayaks back to where they were stored. She accepted the offer Mik made to let her borrow one of his extra towels and headed inside to get dressed. She wrung out her undergarments and although she wasn’t crazy about wearing her jeans and T-shirt with nothing underneath, she decided there was really no way around it.

  “That went extremely well,” her partner complimented her as they walked out of the clubhouse together.

  She smiled and thanked him for having enticed her to try it.

  “It was a lot more fun than I thought it would be,” she admitted before climbing into the car to drive by her hotel room and put on some dry underwear. Just after she’d arrived in Holbæk, her mother had invited her to come over for dinner since she was so close, and tonight was the night. Her brother, Mike, and his wife, Stine, would be there too, along with their two little terrorists, and as she drove back to the hotel she realized she was actually looking forward to spending a nice evening with her family.

  18

  IT WAS ALMOST ELEVEN WHEN LOUISE, FULL AND IN A GOOD MOOD, pulled into the parking lot by the hotel. In the car on the way home from her parents’ house, she had decided she would go for a run the next morning before work. She walked over to the train station on the other side of the street to look at the big map of Holbæk and the surrounding area that was posted by the entrance. She was trying to decide whether to drive out a ways and go for a run in the woods or make do with a run along the shore, following the sound out of town.

  She was preoccupied with planning her route when, with disgust, she registered the sound of someone vomiting behind her and turned around. At first she didn’t recognize the person, doubled over with one arm on the railing around the train station’s bike racks, supporting herself as the vomit poured out of her in waves. Then she realized who it was and hurried over in concern.

  “Dicta! What’s going on?”

  It took a moment before the girl shakily stood up. She guessed that the starting point for Dicta’s current appearance had been heavy makeup, which was now everywhere other than where it was supposed to be.

  Louise walked over and put her arm around Dicta. She found a pack of Kleenexes in her pocket and took one out, which she used to dab the remaining vomit away from the girl’s mouth and chin.

  Even from a distance, she’d sensed that Dicta was pretty drunk, and they wobbled as Louise started walking toward the hotel with her. She got her seated in the restaurant, which had been empty of guests for a while. Then Louise made herself at home and went into the kitchen for a glass of water and found a bag the girl could throw up into if necessary. She set the glass down in front of Dicta and took a seat next to her.

  “What did you do?” Louise asked.

  Dicta didn’t respond, didn’t even look at Louise. She seemed to be falling asleep. Louise took a firm hold of her shoulder and shook her. “Where have you been? Hello!”

  The girl shook her head a little and tried to focus her swimming eyes on Louise’s face. A spasm overtook her and Louise only just barely managed to get the bag in place before a new wave of vomit erupted from her mouth.

  Goddamn it, she thought as some of it hit her hand. She went back to the kitchen and washed her hands, found a new bag, and went back in to ask the question again.

  “In Copenhagen,” Dicta finally answered. “All day,” she said, looking up at Louise.

  “And what were you doing in Copenhagen besides drinking yourself into a stupor?” Louise asked, trying not to sound like a mother.

  For a second it looked like Dicta was going to throw up again, but it was just a tremor that ran through her body. She rubbed her face and looked at her hands in astonishment at the colors from her makeup that had rubbed off.

  “I was working,” she said in a weak voice. She looked like she felt wretched, and Louise felt bad for her. She was guessing it was the first time Dicta had gotten really drunk.

  “A photography job?” she asked.

  Dicta nodded, and now such obvious tremors ran through her body that Louise was beginning to fear that it wasn’t just alcohol she’d consumed.

  “Did you take drugs? Pills? Or smoke something?”

  Dicta vehemently shook her head.

  “I just drank champagne.”

  Louise forced her to drink some more water and relaxed a little to hear it had just been champagne. Although that could be bad enough when you were fifteen and almost certainly hadn’t had it before. It struck Louise that she probably ought to call the girl’s parents instead of sitting here herself with the sad dregs of their daughter.

  “What about your parents?” she asked. “I have to call them.”

  Dicta shook her head again.

  “Were you with your photographer?” Louise asked, already prepared for the scolding the Venstrebladet photographer could look forward to after dropping his young model off outside the train station in this condition.

  Dicta suddenly looked childishly proud in the midst of all her misery as she told Louise that she’d been photographed by one of the big-name photographers.

  “He photographed Lykke May too,” she said, clearly assuming that Louise would be familiar with the name of one of Denmark’s most successful models.

  “Can you give me a few more details? I’m not quite following. How did you end up with him?”

  Dicta had perked up a bit.

  “I’d seen his name in a few magazines, and then yesterday I called him and he invited me in for a photo session.”

  There were a few too many Ss in “session,” and she struggled to get control of her pronunciation as she continued.

  “I took the train in this morning and we met at Café Ketchup and had brunch. His studio is right next door.”

  Louise was a little surprised at how uncomplicated and familiar she made it all sound.

  “Do you usually go to Copenhagen like that?” she asked. “It sounds like you’re familiar with the cafés.”

  Dicta shook her head and said that she’d never been there before—she’d just read about it. She and Liv had been to Copenhagen over summer vacation, but otherwise she usually went there with her parents.

  That reminded Louise that she had to contact them. “Do your parents know that you’re back?”

  “They think I’m at Liv’s house,” Dicta said, brushing aside Louise’s objections.

  “But they know you went to Copenhagen?”

  This was starting to sound like an interrogation and Louise noticed Dicta receding into her own world again, so Louise restrained herself and let the girl go on with her story.

  “His studio was really impressive compared to the one Michael has here at home,” Dicta said, describing the walls with the different photographic backdrops and a bunch of lights and filters to tone down the light.

  “What does Michael Mogensen have to say about your finding yourself another photographer?”

  “He doesn’t know I went there. Michael’s totally not in the same league. Tue says that too,” she said, explaining that the Copenhagen photographer’s name was Tue Sunds and that he had already explained to her over the phone that if she was really dreaming about making it big on an international level, she was going to have to stop wasting her time in a Podunk town like Holbæk.

  “Michael is really just small potatoes, a pro
vincial photographer,” Dicta said with a level of disdain that was the result of her visit to the big city.

  “Why did Tue Sunds want to meet you on a Saturday?” Louise interrupted when the question occurred to her. “I hope you didn’t take your clothes off for him.”

  Dicta turned to face her angrily, and there was something comical about the gesture because she still hadn’t regained full control over her speech or coordination. She flung out her hands, whacking the back of one of them against the edge of the table.

  “Are you crazy? I wouldn’t do that!”

  “Did you two go anywhere else?” Louise asked.

  The girl sat for a bit before responding that they’d only been to the café and then he took a couple of pictures of her.

  “Just a couple?”

  That didn’t seem like very many considering the man had spent his Saturday on this. In that case, it was probably a desire to maximize his income, Louise supposed.

  “I mean, he is a professional,” Dicta retorted quickly. “He’s totally not like Michael, who spends several hours on a single pose. Tue works for the big magazines.”

  “But you didn’t get home until now? Or had you already been back in Holbæk for a while when I met you?”

  Dicta obviously had to think about that one for a minute. Maybe she just couldn’t remember how or when she’d come back.

  “I took the train home and had just gotten back. And then standing there outside the station I suddenly had to throw up.”

  Louise shook her head at the girl.

  “What did you guys do for the rest of the day?”

  “We went out and drank champagne to celebrate our new collaboration.” Dicta sounded proud. “He said one of the heads of the big modeling agencies often came to the same place and that he would introduce us.”

  Louise sat there with her arms crossed.

  “Did you go back to his place after that?” she asked, and Dicta nodded so that her long, blonde hair fell down over her face in wisps.

  “We drank more wine and ate the sushi and caviar he ordered before I had to go home.”