‘Have you got a minute?’
‘Yes,’ I say once I am able to form words again. ‘Would you like to sit down?’
‘That might be better.’
Laura sits at the other side of the table. I find myself hoping she will start the conversation – and, I assume, so does she – because I don’t know what to say, let alone how to say it. Because what I see in the figure in front of me is once again the moment when she said that whatever had happened between us was now over. And the memory of that moment is physical, paralysing, as if something were being ripped from me, a part of me that controls my actions, my emotions. It feels as though I am wading through cold concrete, both internally and externally.
‘I want to thank you,’ she says eventually, and pauses for a moment, perhaps waiting for me to show that I am still involved in this conversation. But I can’t bring myself to say anything. ‘Without you, these murals would never have come to life. You let me use the walls, you encouraged me in such a … unique way. I just wanted to … thank you.’
‘By all means,’ I hear myself saying.
Then Laura clearly hesitates. She looks me right in the eyes, as she has done many times before, but this time she opens her mouth only to close it again. She makes a second attempt, and this time she manages to speak.
‘I’ve been offered a job,’ she says.
I say nothing.
‘And I’ve accepted it.’
Is the noise and clamour of the hall now suddenly more audible? Something in the background din becomes louder; it travels through my ears and spreads through my body.
‘I’m handing in my notice,’ she says.
We sit in silence, our eyes lowered. I know I have to say something. I even know the right words.
‘Congratulations on your new job.’
‘Thank you,’ she says, pauses for a moment, then continues. ‘You haven’t asked me what it is.’
I try to open my mouth. My mind is swirling with a thousand and one questions, and none of them necessarily has anything to do with Laura’s new job.
‘What is it?’ I finally manage to ask.
‘I’ll be painting walls, just like I did here. Eight walls, all roughly the same size. It’s a commission, a company that wants the kind of foyer that makes a real impact.’
There’s a flicker in Laura’s eyes, a smile on her lips that I remember only too well.
‘What I mean is, now I’ll be able to do the kind of work I’ve wanted to do all along,’ she continues. ‘This is my real calling, the profession I’ve always dreamed about. Finally. Sometimes our dreams … really can come true.’
She’s not smiling any more.
‘I want you to know that it’s partly thanks to you.’
‘Thank you,’ I say and try to continue, but I can’t quite grab hold of my thoughts.
‘As you probably remember, I found painting really difficult for so many years. This was a big turning point for me. Thank you for that too.’
‘Of course,’ I force myself to say. ‘It’s a pleasure.’
‘What about you?’
The question takes me completely off guard. There’s no quick answer, and Laura notices it.
‘The park seems to be doing really well,’ she says. ‘I’ve never seen this many people here before.’
‘Footfall is at an all-time high,’ I admit.
‘You did it, Henri.’
‘What did I do?’ I ask before I even realise.
For a moment, Laura avoids eye contact and gently strokes a few wisps of hair.
‘If I understood correctly, the park was in a spot of financial difficulty when you took over,’ she says. ‘But now things look much better, right? There are plenty of customers, and the employees all seem so … happy and satisfied. You could say, you saved this park. You’ve done a good job.’
We don’t know that yet, I think. It’s still hanging in the balance. Well, it’s hanging, let’s leave it at that.
‘It looks like most of the work is done,’ I say. ‘I truly hope so.’
Laura seems as though she is about to say something, but then clenches her lips tightly together and looks like she is just waiting for the impulse to pass. The change in her face is slight, it lasts only a fraction of a second, but I notice it all the same. Then her eyes begin to glisten. She gives a curt smile.
‘I don’t want to keep you,’ she says quietly.
‘It’s no trouble,’ I say, and the words sound every bit as banal as they are. Because this might not be any trouble, but it’s the utmost agony.
The pandemonium coming from the hall is like a sea surging behind us or somewhere to the side. Perhaps both of us listen to the waves for a moment. There’s that same numbness in my fingers now as before, an invisible weight pushes down on my diaphragm, and icy stones seem to churn through my guts. I assume our meeting is over. I am preparing myself to say something fitting, such as, I should be getting back to these spreadsheets, or something like that, but Laura speaks first.
‘I have one more thing to ask.’
I try to look curious and expectant. I might have succeeded, I’m not sure.
‘This business,’ she begins. ‘The one that has commissioned the murals. They want to proceed quickly. The official opening of their new premises is in a month and a half. And I have to work a month’s notice here. I won’t have time to finish the murals in only two weeks. I am prepared to forgo my wages for the next month.’
Perhaps I look as though I haven’t understood her, though I believe I have. She continues.
‘I want to leave right away, so that I can get started on the new murals. Of course, I don’t expect you to pay me a month’s salary while I’m working for someone else. So I will forgo my—’
‘That’s not necessary.’
‘I want to.’
‘It’s not—’
‘It would make me happy.’
Laura certainly doesn’t sound very happy. In fact, she sounds more serious than she has for a long while. I don’t know what it is about her reaction that surprises me the most. And it makes me move, somehow, though I still feel shackled in a bath of concrete.
‘For your daughter’s language school or…’ I begin without knowing where I am heading. At the same time, Laura lowers her eyes, her hand rises quickly to adjust her glasses. Then she looks up at me again.
‘It’s all taken care of,’ she says, her tone indicating that there is a full stop at the end of the sentence. She pauses.
I tidy some papers on the table that don’t need to be tidied. I can’t think of anything else to do with my hands. All I can do is remain seated and look directly into Laura’s blue-green eyes.
‘Of course,’ I stammer. ‘You can leave right away.’
These are perfectly everyday words, but they hurt my mouth. I don’t fully understand why. Laura’s eyes gleam, and in a movement as quick as lightning she wipes her temple and cheek with her right hand, then corrects her posture again. She looks as though she is both sitting and standing up at the same time. Eventually she places her hands on the arms of the chair.
‘I’ll get going,’ she says. The words sound as though they are directed at someone other than me, other than herself.
She stands up. For a moment, I think the squall from the park grows stronger, then I realise that the waves are inside me.