Helle Helle - This Should Be Written in the Present Tense

‘Here,’ I said. Her face softened and her mouth widened slightly.

‘What are they for?’ she said.

‘I’ve got so many,’ I said.

My savings account was empty. To keep my spending down I’d started taking a packed lunch with me to Copenhagen. I ate on a bench on Axeltorv looking across at Scala. They’d put tables and chairs out now, when the weather was nice people sat with burgers and ice-cream sundaes. I saw nothing of Hase. I’d sent him a postcard from the Bicycle and Moped Museum thinking it was better than the last one, but he hadn’t replied. I had a sandwich or a pitta bread with me and some water in a bottle. After I’d eaten I sometimes went into Scala and bought a bag of pick ’n’ mix, the smallest I could get away with. I walked up and down the Strøget and went round the narrow streets behind Rådhuspladsen, then along Vesterbrogade with my canvas bag hanging down at my side. It went dark brown in the rain. They sold cheap ankle boots next to the Føtex supermarket. I found a pair in my size and wore them straight away, they put my old shoes in a bag for me. Vesterbrogade seemed endless. I bought a big chocolate-covered marzipan bar at an overpriced kiosk. There was a hint of warmth in the air, it swirled between the buildings and rose up off the pavement. A man cycled past with a lamp, a woman called after him. I dumped the bag with my old shoes in it in a bin where the street came to an end. Then I went back along the opposite pavement. I turned right down Enghavevej to the bicycle shop and went up to Hase’s. I rang his bell, but there was no answer. I pushed the marzipan bar through the letter box, it landed on something that sounded like a newspaper.

Back on Vesterbrogade I discovered I’d got a blister on my heel, but it was too far to the bin I’d dumped my shoes in. I might not have liked rummaging around for them anyway. I limped along bit by bit. At Central Station I went into the chemist’s for some plasters. There was a long queue and I missed the four o’clock. I waited for the next one by the stairs to the platform. I bought a hot dog and a small bar of nougat that I ate on the train. I sat falling asleep with my head against the window. The curtains always had the same smell, fuel of some kind, or tar.

The sun was low at the end of the road when I hobbled home from the station with an ankle boot in my hand. The postman had been, there were three letters. One from the bank telling me I was in the red. One from someone I didn’t know saying Dorte had gone into hospital with what you weren’t supposed to call a nervous breakdown any more. She was feeling a lot better now and I wasn’t to worry. I could go and see her, there was an address and a ward number, and two hundred kroner in a square of tinfoil. And then a postcard in a thick envelope from Hase, it was from Prague, he was there with an old friend. He was coming home on the Friday and wanted to take me round Søndermarken on the Saturday if I felt like it. That was tomorrow. I sat on the step and felt unstuck. The ankle boot was on the doormat, I still had the other one on. I sat like that for some time, trying to separate things. If I smoked I would have smoked. I did want to go to Søndermarken.

Dorte was sitting in her room on the ward in a woolly jumper and a pair of jeans, all the way there I’d been picturing her in a hospital gown. She sat at a little table with a mug and a cigarette, and looked up when she heard me come in.

‘Oh hello, love. How nice of you. Come and sit down.’

There was only the one chair in the room. She got halfway to her feet, but I shook my head.

‘No, don’t get up.’

‘Are you sure?’ she said. Her clothes hung miserably from her frame. She sat down again with her cigarette.

‘You sit on the bed, then,’ she said. ‘I hope you’ve not brought anything.’

‘I haven’t.’

‘That’s all right, then. There’s some peppermints in the drawer, do you want one?’

‘No, thanks.’

‘There’s chewing gum as well.’

‘No, thanks. How are you feeling?’

‘Oh, coming along, I think,’ she said.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Just coming along, that’s all.’

I looked out of the window. There was a big lawn and flowerbeds with blue perennials, and birch trees with still, bare branches. Beyond lay the fjord, white and calm as a millpond. The bus I’d taken had gone right along the edge, the only passengers had been me and two young girls. They kept sniggering about something one of them had in her bag.

‘Who sent me the letter?’ I said.

‘What letter? I don’t know about any letter,’ said Dorte.

‘There was two hundred kroner in it.’

‘That’d be Andy, then. He’s been such a help.’

‘Is he from England?’

‘No, he’s in the kitchen.’

‘Here, you mean?’

‘Yes, you can go and say hello.’

‘Okay.’

‘You should.’

‘I will, then.’

‘Yes, do. Look out for his cheekbones,’ she said.

He wasn’t in the kitchen, he was in the lounge wiping the windowsill with a cloth. He turned and smiled.

‘Hello, there,’ he said.

‘Hi. I’m here visiting Dorte. She’s my aunt,’ I said.

‘Oh, so you’re the one,’ he said, pulling off a rubber glove and extending his hand. ‘Nice of you to stop by.’

‘Thanks for sending that letter.’

‘Don’t mention it.’

‘How long’s she been here?’

‘Oh, ten or twelve days. She’s coming along fine now.’

‘She seems a bit confused to me.’

‘Do you think so? It might be the medication. She’s not off it yet.’

‘Why was she brought in?’

‘She was in a state. Not very well at all.’

‘Had something happened?’

‘No, nothing in particular, as far as I know. Sometimes it just happens, bang.’

‘How did she get here?’

‘As I understand it, your parents came with her. At least, I think it was them.’

‘I’m sure,’ I said.

‘Could that be right? I can ask to look in the record.’

‘No need,’ I said. ‘Thanks for helping her and everything.’

I went to the bathroom and drank some water. Everywhere was so clean and deserted. Dorte’s mug was empty when I went back to her room. I poured her some more coffee in the corridor and some for myself. There was some Battenberg on a plate and I took two pieces, one for Dorte and one for me. I got her to have a bite and talk about what happened.

‘I’d just made a tuna mousse, with gelatine. And then I dropped the whole lot.’

‘You poor thing.’

‘On the floor, you know. I didn’t know what to do.’

She shook her head.

‘I just stood there looking at it. Odd, don’t you think? I couldn’t move. There seemed to be tuna mousse everywhere. Then I felt so frightened.’

‘I understand.’

‘Do you? Anyway, the shop’s going to be so nice now, your dad’s going to paint it for me. It’ll brighten the place up no end. And your mum.’

Before I left we sat on the edge of the bed together. We looked out at the white fjord, she leaned her head against mine.

‘Are you getting on all right?’ she said.

‘Yes, I’m fine.’

We spoke very softly, we were sitting so close together.

‘Have you got exams?’ she said.

‘Now, you mean? No, not yet.’

‘That’s nice. You can take things easy, then.’

‘Yes, I suppose.’

She patted my thigh, then her own.

‘I’ve been meaning to give you these trousers. They’re no good on me any more.’

‘I think they’d be too small for me.’

‘Do you think so? We’ll have them let out, then.’