Ane Riel - Resin

But then again, no one else had seen Jens Horder looking as he had looked down by the barrier. That was a man with something to hide. Otherwise, why the threatening behaviour?

What ultimately frustrated the postman more than anything, though, was that he didn’t have any news to share with the others down at the pub, as he had hoped for. Although he had a snippet.

M – Inventions for Life.

But it was probably not enough for him to be taken seriously. Or even get anyone to listen. The others would invariably mutter that he should leave Horder alone to his grief. And that people were allowed to be a little eccentric.

Jens Horder waited until the post van was out of sight. Then he turned his attention to the letter and the big parcel, which was balancing on the tree stump.

He started with the letter. It was in a padded buff-coloured envelope. As always, it contained an ordinary white envelope with cash inside. He looked at the white envelope, pulled it out and opened it. Business as usual, except this time the letter had been sent by registered post.

And this time a folded piece of paper had been slipped in alongside the white envelope.

He slowly pulled it out and felt immediately that it was thick with very fine grooves. When it reached the sunlight, it became ivory-coloured, and when he opened it he saw the watermark.

It was a commercial letterhead. And it wasn’t just one sheet of paper, but two stapled together.

It was in his brother’s handwriting.

Dear Jens

There’s no denying it has been a long time, and that’s entirely my fault. For that reason, writing this letter isn’t easy, but I hope that you will read it with an open mind.

I also hope that you can accept that I send you money every month. I send cash, as I assumed that was what you would prefer, and it’s also more discreet. I would so hate to cause problems – even more than I imagine I caused back when I ran away from it all. I don’t know if you can ever forgive me, but I hope so.

I’m sure you’re doing well with the business, and you and the family have never needed my contributions, but I thought that it was the least I could do, given that I shirked my responsibility. I admit frankly that I also do it for my own sake. Yes, it’s an attempt to make amends and ease my conscience. The latter hasn’t been entirely successful.

I’ve never forgiven myself for leaving you in the lurch, but I just had to get out. As you probably sensed back then, I couldn’t settle on the Head at all. I had terrible wanderlust and felt suffocated by the never-ending workload and the responsibility and, not least, Mum’s expectations. Something about it all made me claustrophobic. We were so isolated, and there were so many other things that I wanted to do instead. I wanted to see the city, I wanted to invent. You wanted the trees.

You had also grown so quiet, Jens. I can’t reproach you for that – I would never reproach you – because I knew that Dad’s death hit you hard. But even so, I was secretly angry with you because I needed to talk to you. I missed you, even though we were together all the time. I couldn’t bear it.

What happened was that one day I got talking to a holiday resident. He was an engineer from the mainland and very interested in my ideas. He was the one I spent time with when I was gone for hours. He offered me a job with his company, but I said no initially, because I didn’t think that I could leave you. And yet one day, I did just that. I had his business card in my pocket, but I didn’t dare show it to you.

It was a really good job and the pay was great right from the start. At some point I set up my own business. We made lots of things in metal and steel, mostly filing systems, and so on. But my biggest success – brace yourself – were mechanical Christmas-tree stands. I made so much money that I travelled to Austria and set up a subsidiary down there.

During all that time I got a trusted employee back home to send money to the Head every month. She has done so faithfully, as far as I can gather. Now I’m back and engaged to that same trusted employee. We live in a wonderful apartment in town, but even so, we talk about moving. And starting a family. Fortunately, my fiancée is a little younger than me.

I must confess that I’ve started really missing my own family, you and Mum. I think about you often. It has just been so bloody difficult to contact you.

Once, I plucked up the courage and called the pub in Korsted. I think I spoke to the new owner – I’m guessing Oluf isn’t there any more – or possibly a guest. Whoever he was, they were halfway through the New Year’s Day lunch. I didn’t tell him my name, I just asked general questions. I know how people like to talk and, as I said at the beginning, I didn’t want to cause trouble for you. I learned that Else no longer lived on the Head but that she had visited you around Christmas and had apparently left again.

Sometime later I was at a dinner and happened to sit next to a lady who asked me about my surname. She told me that she knew an Else Horder. It turned out that Mum had been staying with a friend of hers for a long time; she believed that they were cousins. Unfortunately, her friend had suffered terrible brain damage following a traffic accident, so the lady couldn’t tell me where Mum was now, only that she definitely didn’t live with her cousin any more.

But I’m guessing that you already know that, and that you also know where Mum lives today. Or is she back with you? You’ve always been good at handling Mum and her desire to control. I admire you for that.

Anyway, the best bit about my calling the pub was learning that you still lived on the Head – with your wife and your daughter. I’m absolutely delighted to learn that you are married and have a child, Jens. I do so hope that you’re happy.

I would love to be a father myself. I started thinking about having a family much too late, I was far too busy inventing clever devices and manufacturing them. In one way, I wish I shared the love of nature which you and Dad had. There is something healthy about it, about you. Something real. Today, I miss working with wood, the fresh scent of the forest, and the sea, especially. In fact, I miss it so much that we’re toying with the idea of moving to the island; if not the Head, then the main island. What would you say to that?

Initially, I would like to visit you and your family. Rekindle our relationship – that is, if you want to. Please would you write to me? Or call me, if that’s an option. I’ve listed my home address and my phone number below.

PS I’m sure that you grow the country’s finest Christmas trees. And although you obviously prefer wood to metal and plastic, I wanted you to have one of the Christmas-tree stands my business manufactures. I’m taking the liberty of sending you a Christmas-tree stand as well as this letter.

Jens Horder folded the letter once, then he folded it again before stuffing it into his inside pocket. He placed the envelope with the money in the front pocket of his coat. He briefly looked at the cumbersome parcel on the tree stump. Then he picked up the plastic bags and took a left around the barrier.

Still staying in the forest, I tailed the man as he walked away from the dog. At one point he almost spotted me. He certainly looked in my direction for a long time. But I stood stock-still – I can do that – and in the end he moved on. He walked around the end of the building with the white room. It was strange to see someone walk that way rather than up the gravel road, and I wondered if he knew about the traps, but he couldn’t possibly have done.