Christian Jungersen - The Exception

After school, she used to help out in the shop. She was embarrassed that their items were more expensive and worse quality than those in the supermarkets. The customers were mostly old folk or neighbours picking up a last-minute ingredient just before supper, or her schoolmates wanting cigarettes and sweets.

Many of her school friends came from well-to-do homes and most of them went on to study law, economics or business studies, in line with the family ambitions. Anne-Lise didn’t want to decide her future that way.

Not until Henrik’s banking career took off had she experienced wealth. Now old friends would make remarks like: ‘It must be such fun to have a lot of money.’ And it was fun; but Henrik’s success also led to rows, especially because Anne-Lise never cared for the lifestyle that many of Henrik’s colleagues considered appropriate for the wives.

The soup has turned out well. It’s just the right consistency, thanks to her last-minute addition of Jerusalem artichokes. The venison steaks are perhaps a little too well done, but they still taste good with the mushroom casserole. And Henrik’s special selection of red wine suits the main course to perfection. The children have wolfed down fish cakes and chips at a separate table and are already off to play. Anne-Lise’s mother leaves the table to find out what they are up to. The adults propose toasts, drink, talk and laugh.

Anne-Lise goes to the bathroom. She takes three cotton-wool pads from a clear plastic bag hanging on the side of the cupboard, pulls the pads apart and rolls the woolly fluff into small, hard balls.

The dessert is a Spanish-style custard layered on top of forest berries.

Mette, who is married to Henrik’s brother, leans forward to speak to Anne-Lise across the corner of the table. ‘How’s work?’

‘Fine. I’m busy, but it’s good to know that what you do matters. This week alone we’ve had requests from Buenos Aires and Rome, as well as from New York and Brussels, though that’s not unusual. Lots of other enquiries too. And the project leader who takes most of the calls was away lecturing on a couple of occasions and so I was the one who …’

‘Henrik said the other women don’t always … you know, treat you right.’

‘He said what?’

‘Well, that it could be hard going at times.’

‘What exactly did he say?’

‘Please … nothing special. Just that sometimes you were fed up when things didn’t go well.’

‘I see. And was that all?’

Mette glances apologetically at Henrik, who’s looking alarmed.

‘It was like this,’ she says, speaking more rapidly than before. ‘I was telling Henrik about one of my superiors who is being difficult. He’s out to get me, you know. And Henrik said that it’s normal to have problems with people at work. At some point when we were talking about how common it is, he said that, to him, your colleagues seem extremely unpleasant. He also said that you’re very, very good at your work and have always treated them as pleasantly as you can, but they don’t talk to you.’

‘It isn’t that bad, you know.’

Anne-Lise looks at Mette, and then at Henrik. She’s unable to organise her thoughts enough to let her sister-in-law know that she hasn’t said anything wrong. Instead she stays very quiet. She smiles at Mette but can feel the corners of her mouth start to stiffen into a grimace.

She knows what has happened. It is the office atmosphere — its sheer nastiness; she has dragged it home and is inflicting it on these innocent people.

She has to get away.

Henrik hurries after her and catches up with her at the top of the stairs. She pulls him into the bedroom and slams the door.

‘Everyone judges each other by how well they do in their jobs. And they believe it’s your own fault if you’re doing badly. I don’t need my friends to think that I can’t get on with my colleagues.’

‘Of course they don’t think that.’

‘No? I’ll tell you, they do! Right now some of them are wondering if it isn’t Anne-Lise who is being difficult, Anne-Lise who is trouble. She’s an oddball.’

‘I’m sure you’re wrong.’

‘And I’m sure I’m right. I trusted you and confided in you and now you’ve betrayed that trust. Why don’t you tell everyone your own secrets instead?’

‘Anne-Lise …’

She throws herself on the bed and buries her head in her pillow, though no tears come. ‘All I want is just one place where I’m free to be myself — where I’m not marked down as a lousy, boring librarian.’

‘Nobody ever called you anything of the sort.’

‘If people don’t respect you they start treating you like dirt.’

She feels Henrik stroking the back of her head and neck.

‘Darling, calm down. Please forgive me for mentioning it. I’ll never ever look down on you. Neither will our children, nor our friends. That just won’t ever happen.’

‘If I lose you, if I lose what we have together, there’s nothing left for me. Nothing.’

Two policemen stop Anne-Lise when she steps into the lobby of the DCGI building the following morning.

‘Where are you headed, madam?’

The policemen seem so serious she thinks someone in the building has died. Their manner affects her.

‘I work in the Danish Centre for Genocide Information.’

‘Do you have any identification?’

‘Of course. But could you tell me what this is about?’

The men speak without emotion: there have been threats against the employees of the Centre.

‘Is anybody hurt?’

‘Nothing like that. But you’d better speak to our colleagues. They are in your office right now.’

They let Anne-Lise pass. She hurries along to the lift and phones Henrik on the way up, but he’s not in his office.

No policemen on the landing. No guard at the door to the Centre. Anne-Lise steps into the Winter Garden. Camilla is just coming out of Paul’s office and when she sees Anne-Lise her face lights up as if she were about to hug her colleague out of sheer relief.

‘Oh, Anne-Lise! There you are! We had no idea where you were.’

‘I only …’

‘Come in here! We’re all in Paul’s room.’

The others are seated around Paul’s conference table. Two police officers are at the head. One of them has a sensitive face that reminds her of a teacher in Clara’s nursery school, the other one looks older and is presumably more senior. Iben makes room for Anne-Lise by shifting a pile of folders with data on East Timor.

‘We tried to get in touch with you last night. We phoned several times, but you weren’t in and you hadn’t turned your answering machine on. And then when you didn’t turn up at your usual time …’

‘I was just a little delayed. I’m so sorry, I had no idea.’

Now Paul takes the lead. ‘You see, we were quite worried about you, afraid that something might have happened. Listen, did you get one of the emails?’

Anne-Lise’s colleagues are all staring at her with interest. That’s new.

‘Emails? No. What do you mean? Anyway, I was at home last night.’

‘You were?’

‘Yes. It was Henrik’s birthday.’

Anne-Lise sits down. Iben looks in her address book and realises that she has the wrong number for Anne-Lise.

Iben turns to the policemen. ‘Well, so far, it looks like only Malene and I have received these messages.’

Anne-Lise pours herself a cup of coffee while Paul explains what happened and Iben elaborates.

‘It was only when we found out that the emails had probably been sent by Mirko Zigic that the police—’

The older of the two officers interrupts. ‘Interpol is looking for Zigic. We hope there might a chance of picking him up here in Denmark.’