‘Nothing, she shot up in my car.’
Monica grunted and looked at Marie then back at me. ‘And why is that my problem?’
I tried to smile. ‘Because you’re a good person and I’ll give you five hundred kroner.’
‘You bet I’m a good person,’ she replied and held out her hand.
I gave her the money and Monica pulled Marie to standing as if it was a daily occurrence. As soon as they were out of the car, I shut the door and drove off. In my rear-view mirror, I could see the two girls clinging to each other as they staggered down the pavement.
It was almost half past three in the morning when I parked the car in front of the hotel. No one noticed me. The hotel was deserted and quiet. Exhausted, I walked through the lobby and straight to the lift. It started moving and I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was red and shiny with sweat running from my forehead. My eyes were bloodshot. It was a pathetic sight of a pathetic man. I had just helped a girl take heroin and then abandoned her to a life more horrifying than anything in my books. The ping of the bell snapped me out of my trance and I stumbled out on my floor.
Back in my room I drank tap water until I couldn’t swallow any more. Then I dumped my clothes in a heap and collapsed on the bed. I realized how tired I was, but in a sudden flash of panic I got up and went over to the coffee table. There I found a pen and wrote ‘Marie – 87’ on a scrap of paper. I stared at it for a long time before going back to my bed and burrowing under the duvets with the note in my hand.
How old was she? Twenty? Eighteen? Younger? When had it started? When she was Ironika’s age?
24
THE DAYS AFTER Line had left me were terrible. As I couldn’t get to talk to her by telephone or by turning up at her father’s house, I wrote to her instead. I was taken back to my school days when we’d conquered girls’ hearts with our poetry, and though I never spoke to her directly, I sensed my letters had some effect. I had never written anything so straight from the heart; never before had I bared my soul the way I did in the missives I sent to her every day.
I told her how much I missed my little family, why I had said the things I had, and what was going on in my mind and in my now very empty life.
At the same time I worked on getting my apology through via Bjarne and Anne. They spoke to Line several times and I pleaded with them to pass on my feelings to her. Even though they too thought I had messed up, they soon started feeling sorry for me. I think they made it their mission to reunite us.
My life was still turned upside down because of the book. There were interviews and events I had to attend, but I hardly touched alcohol or drugs in that period, and I made sure I was at home as much as possible in case Line called. I passed the time doing all the little jobs I had put off in the last couple of years. DIY jobs around the flat, clearing out the basement lock-up, sorting out paperwork.
The breakthrough came after ten days of silence from Line. I was invited to dinner at Bjarne and Anne’s and Line would be there too. ‘We’ll be able to enjoy the girls’ cooking, just like the old days,’ Bjarne declared. I was overcome by enormous relief, which was almost instantly replaced by anxiety. How would I make her take me back? I had been thrown a lifeline and if I didn’t make the most of it, I would never forgive myself.
In the two days before the dinner, everything revolved around preparing for seeing Line. I had my hair cut, I bought new clothes, a blazer and a blinding white shirt, and I memorized questions to ask her, neutral questions that weren’t about me, my books or what had happened, but questions about her and Ironika. I even took up running, which was rather silly as I only managed one run and nearly injured myself in the process. But it felt good. My aching body after my first run in seven years was proof of my commitment to this enterprise.
On the day itself all I did was get ready. I ironed my shirt, styled my hair and doused my body with scent. I left home in plenty of time, bought flowers on the way and tried to cycle at a sedate pace to avoid sweating. But it wasn’t the bike ride that made me sweat, it was my nerves. I took off my jacket and stood outside the stairwell for a couple of minutes to cool down.
‘Someone’s had a makeover,’ Bjarne exclaimed, grinning. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, his usual uniform, and I suddenly felt like an idiot. In my shirt and blazer I looked like a cake decoration. I quickly took off my jacket and rolled up the shirtsleeves, while Bjarne enthused about tonight’s menu.
‘The girls are in the kitchen,’ he said eventually, glancing at my bouquet.
I thanked him and walked through the living room and out into the kitchen with a dry sensation in my throat. I was met by loud laughter, and the sight of Line made me stop in the doorway. She was standing sideways, leaning against the kitchen table with a glass of wine in one hand. Her teeth showed as she laughed heartily and a small tear trickled from the corner of her eye and down her cheek. The girls carried on laughing until Anne noticed me.
‘Hallo, Frank,’ she exclaimed and raised her glass to me.
Line turned to face me. She seemed to be studying my shirt briefly, but then she smiled.
‘Oh, are they for me?’ Anne asked, reaching for the flowers.
I cleared my throat. ‘Actually, they’re for my wife,’ I stammered.
‘Really,’ Anne huffed, pretending to be offended.
Line set down her glass and came over to me. She looked at the flowers and then me.
Hallo, Frank,’ she greeted me quietly, snuggled up to me and hugged me. I held her tight and felt my eyes well up.
Anne coughed and reluctantly we let go of each other.
‘These are for you,’ I said, offering the flowers to Line. She smiled and held them while Anne found a vase. An awkward silence descended on the kitchen.
‘It’s a little hot in here, isn’t it?’ I said and we all laughed.
‘I think what you need is a glass of cold white wine,’ Bjarne said and poured me a glass that disappeared far too quickly.
The dinner was almost like old times, we told stories and silly jokes. Bjarne and I baited each other and the girls teased Bjarne. I spoke less than usual, but I could barely take my eyes off Line. She seemed even more beautiful than I remembered her only twelve days ago and my infatuated glances were reciprocated when she didn’t look away, blushing.
‘It’ll be fine,’ Bjarne said when we sat in the armchairs, each with a whisky while the girls washed up.
‘I don’t remember ever feeling so nervous,’ I confessed, glancing in the direction of the kitchen.
‘Don’t worry, the two of you will work it out, I just know it.’ Bjarne stuck out his big paw of a hand and patted me on the shoulder. ‘You two are made for each other.’
‘I nearly ruined everything.’
Bjarne shook his head. ‘Rubbish, what the two of you have can’t be wrecked just by an interview.’
I hadn’t told anyone about my one-night stand with Linda Hvilbjerg. As far as everyone else was concerned, the interview had been the tipping point, while I kept factoring in the episode with Linda in the lavatory. That was what I truly repented and Bjarne’s words failed to assuage my guilt.
‘I knew it right from the start,’ Bjarne continued. ‘The perfect couple.’
He had had a lot to drink, more than we normally did at this stage, and it showed.
‘The successful author.’ He pointed to me with his whisky glass, swirling the liquid around and nearly spilling it. ‘And the world’s loveliest dancer.’ He raised his glass in a toast and we drank. ‘Who have the most beautiful daughter in the universe.’
‘May we live happily ever after,’ I added and took another sip.