Helle Helle - This Should Be Written in the Present Tense

‘I like your suit,’ I said.

‘Thanks.’

‘Have you been to work?’

‘No, I’ve been at a party. Not for very long, though, it was a rubbish party.’

We laughed. I sniffed. He finished his hot dog in a couple of mouthfuls and handed me the napkin.

‘Here,’ he said.

‘Thanks,’ I said. I blew my nose, then dabbed under my eyes.

‘No, it was a decent party, really,’ he said. ‘I was tired, that’s all, so I left. Now I’m off home to get some sleep.’

‘Do you live here in Haslev?’

‘Just outside. Do you?’

‘Yes. Well, no, I’m moving.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘I’ll probably try to find somewhere in Næstved.’

‘Næstved’s nice.’

‘It’s lively, anyway.’

‘It is. Do you fancy half a Cocio? I’ll go and get it,’ he said, and went back to the car. He came back with the bottle of chocolate milk and offered it to me, it hadn’t been touched. I took a swig.

‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘I’ve had a bit too much whisky.’

‘I know how you feel.’

‘Once I had too much apple schnapps,’ I said, and we laughed again, he was actually quite good-looking. The door of the bar opened. Loud music, then someone came out into the street and whistled, possibly at us. They disappeared round a corner and the door closed again.

‘It was kind of you to come and see if I was okay,’ I said.

‘Don’t mention it. I’d still like to drive you home.’

‘There’s no need. I only live around the corner.’

‘Maybe I could you walk you home, then?’

‘That’d be nice,’ I said, and got to my feet. My head started swimming. He got up as well and put his protective arm under mine. We walked over the cobbles, him with the Cocio and me with my clutch. A wobbling cyclist went past as we reached the lane. He took my hand and helped me down from the high kerb. We crossed the road, still holding on to each other.

‘Is it this way?’ he said, and I nodded.

‘You’re very nice.’

‘Thanks. What’s your name?’

‘Dorte.’

‘I’m Leon.’

‘Are you?’

‘Yes,’ he said, and then we’d reached the corner shop, there was a bundle of newspapers on the step. We stopped and looked at them, they were from the day before.

‘It’s an unusual name,’ I said.

‘I know, I don’t know any other Leons,’ he said, and then he smiled at me. We looked into each other’s eyes for a while.

‘Anyway, this is where I live,’ I said.

A narrow alley ran behind the shop. It didn’t look like somewhere anyone would live.

‘Down there?’

‘Yes. Thanks a lot for your help.’

‘Pleasure,’ he said. Then he stepped forward and kissed me on the cheek.

‘Look after yourself, now.’

He stood there as I walked off down the alley. The yard behind the shop was full of clutter, I hid in between two skips and waited. I was freezing in my yellow dress, a rustling sound kept coming from one of the skips. After a bit I went back and looked. He was gone. I crossed over the street and hurried home.

I lived in a bedsit in Haslev. I had a daybed with storage, and a corner unit and a desk with a pewter mug on it. In the mornings I went to the baker’s for a poppy-seed twist and a roll. I ate them at the desk and got crumbs everywhere. I brushed the crumbs into my hand and tossed them out of the balcony door. I didn’t do much cooking, I didn’t like being in the kitchen any more. The driving instructor had found himself a girlfriend, she was pretty and thin. She put her make-up on with the door open and was always packing stuff into sports bags. She kept her toiletries in the bathroom. She had a wheatgerm facial mask, I tried it out and put too much on. I lay on the daybed and read Amerika . I wrote a story about a woman who was dead, and took the bus to Stevns. I bought a packet of cigarettes and smoked them, I didn’t like the taste.

The guy from Egøje asked after Lars, he wanted to borrow his soldering iron. I told him Lars was on a cabin trip, but I would try to find the soldering iron for him. I found it in the storage room, only it was an immersion heater instead. He said it didn’t matter, he could make do with a lighter. He asked if I wanted a bag of muesli for nothing. He’d bought it himself, but there was too much bran in it, it was like having a mouthful of dust. He was wearing a blue vest and asked me in for a beer. We drank with our feet up on the coffee table. It was painted orange, he’d made it himself, a long time ago in woodwork. He had a hologram on the wall above the TV, he’d spent a whole month’s wages on it. It was a skull. We watched a detective drama, then got down on the carpet. He had a way of touching my stomach. It was all nice and relaxed. I watched TV with him in the evenings. After a few weeks he asked about Lars. I told him Lars was on that cabin trip. Long cabin trip, he said. His girlfriend was an au pair in Paris, he didn’t know quite what to make of it. He was thinking of going down there, he’d have to see. He cut his own fringe, it was nearly straight. When my birthday came round he gave me a bracelet. It was from a proper jeweller’s, it came in a box. I had to give it a few more weeks after that, and by then it was nearly his birthday, he made a point about birthdays. I gave him an anchor-link chain in sterling silver and we ate out at a restaurant. He had Wiener schnitzel, I had something in mushroom sauce. On the way home we had a beer in a bar and played a game of dice. No sound came out when he laughed. His cigarette smoke curled between his teeth.

At the end of the year I got a letter from Lars. He’d given up the lease on the room so I’d have to move out. He sounded like he wasn’t well. I need some peace and quiet, he wrote. His writing slanted heavily to the left, it didn’t normally, but he’d drawn his usual face beneath his name, even if it wasn’t smiling. Not long after, I saw him from the back seat of a bus striding briskly along a street holding hands with the brown-haired girl, they had a little white dog with them. I turned and looked back, the dog squatted under a street lamp. They tugged on its lead, they looked like they were happy. It was a diverted route, somewhere between Næstved and Ringsted, I’d moved in with Dorte again. I could hardly breathe the rest of the way. When eventually we got to Ringsted, I got off two stops early and ran all the way home. Dorte was in the front room watching TV. I went to the bathroom and cried for ages into a towel. After that I felt better. We lived quietly for about eight months. We baked cakes and played cards, and put highlights in each other’s hair with crochet hooks. I wrote words for party songs meant for no one and applied for my course. I was planning to get the train from Ringsted every day, but then Hardy came along and I moved out into the bungalow.

In February I ran into Hase at Scala. He was having egg and chips. I recognised him from the curve of his back, he reached out for the tomato sauce and gave it a good shake. I stood watching him. I was about to go on, but then he turned and saw me. He got up and we gave each other a little hug. I’d bought two hair slides, they were in a carrier bag that was far too big for them. He pointed at it.

‘Out shopping?’

‘Sort of.’

‘I’m just having some breakfast.’

‘It looks good.’

‘Do you want some? They do toasted sandwiches as well.’

‘No, thanks. I’ve just eaten.’

‘A coffee, then. They make a decent cup here. Have a seat,’ he said, and held his hand out towards the table. I put my bag on a chair and sat down.

‘What do you fancy? Cappuccino? Au lait?’