“Then how does she—”
“I just said a friend and a lawyer,” she says, speaking more quickly now. “No one would be able to tell I meant the two of you, and …” Here she commences on a long, convoluted explanation.
I wouldn’t exactly say that Helena and I are about to drift apart. Yet somehow, I feel that Andrea and I are more on the same wavelength, since like me, her understanding of the world is based on a certain knowledge of neuroscience. A little while later, Helena and I hang up.
I’m still hauling around the Netto bag, with the things I bought to make my encounter with Trine look like a coincidence. I stand on the tram platform at Nørreport, surrounded by wet people who all look exhausted, going home from work to the suburbs.
Our friends at Saxtorph all thought that I tried to commit suicide. They thought I ruined their headmaster, and their school. I drove them out of paradise long before anyone knew Frederik was ill.
I call up Bernard, even though I know he’s sitting in a meeting for the next forty-five minutes, and I leave a message on his machine.
“It went swimmingly with Trine. She said that Frederik changed a lot. There’s definitely something we can use.” Then it just slips out. “Other than that, Helena just called and said you know her friend Sissel from the Energy Agency.”
Should I have kept my mouth shut? But there isn’t anything, is there. I keep talking.
“In any case, I’m going to call Frederik now and tell him about Trine. I’m sure he’ll call you a little later and tell you all about it.”
I call Frederik after boarding the tram to Farum. I sit leaning right up against the window and whisper into my handset, covering my mouth and phone with my hand.
“Did you tell people at school I tried to commit suicide?”
“No, not at all.”
“But then where’d they get that idea from?”
“I have no clue.”
“You do understand, don’t you, that it’s not especially nice to hear that old friends have been thinking that?”
“Yes, of course I do.”
There are so many faces in Farum that are familiar from the old days. I used to like the fact that it was a small town where I was always saying hi to neighbors’ friends or to parents of kids I used to have in class.
But ever since the embezzlement made headlines, I’ve stopped nodding and smiling every which way. I’ve withdrawn from the community, and people haven’t said hello to me for a long time either.
So that’s how I walk home, in my own little bubble. I wonder: how many of the people I pass have heard rumors — not just about how I was mixed up in the embezzlement, but also before that, about how I tried to kill myself four years ago, and how ever since, I’ve been a millstone around the neck of my husband and his school.
I’m definitely moving to another town. Next summer, when I get my divorce, I’m going to move. And I’ll get a job in another town too, and then I can be 100 percent Bernard’s, regardless of whether I can get him to leave Lærke or not.
Darkness falls early because of the clouds still hanging overhead, and in no time I’m walking the long paths connecting the apartment blocks of Farum Midtpunkt. As soon as I step into this ghetto of mine, my steps slow and I inhabit my body once more. Here, among the rust-clad apartment blocks, I can relax. Here there are fewer people I know my own age. Groups of young immigrant men are standing around. We’ve seen each other before, some of them years ago in the schoolyard, others just because now this is my neighborhood too. We greet each other with a glance or a small nod. Maybe they know that I’m a teacher at a nearby school, but I don’t think they realize a lot of people suspect me of embezzling. And if they did, I wouldn’t mind.
I call Bernard again, since he hasn’t returned my call. He doesn’t answer the phone. His meeting should have been over a long time ago.
Frederik’s made us dinner, and as soon as we’ve sat down and dished out the fried liver and potatoes, he tells me what Bernard thinks about my conversation with Trine.
I’m very conscious not to interrupt the arc of the bite of potato I bring to my mouth. Not too quick, and not too slow; Frederik mustn’t notice anything odd.
“So you’ve talked with Bernard?” I ask in my calmest, my most restrained voice.
“Yes.” And yet he must notice something anyway, for he asks, “What? What? Is there something wrong with that?”
“Not at all, of course not. What’d he say?”
“He thinks that what you’ve done is great. It could make a huge difference—” He stops. “What is it? Now what have I done?”
“Nothing. You haven’t done anything.”
“But what’s the matter then? Why do you look like that?”
“I don’t look like anything.”
“Something’s eating you.”
“I’m just thinking about your case, and that makes me nervous. That’s all.”
We keep eating, while he looks at me inquiringly and I try to appear natural. I already know that I’ll go out for an evening walk tonight in order to call Bernard. Frederik’s gradually gotten used to me needing to go on long walks almost every night.
After dinner, I’m back down among the young dark men between the long dark buildings. At night, the Midtpunkt apartment blocks aren’t brown anymore but black.
How often does someone get raped here? Never, as far as I know. How often are there attacks or shootings? Almost never. The area’s bad reputation is mostly due to teenagers who try to snatch purses or extort money from the sick or elderly in exchange for leaving them alone.
I leave a message on Bernard’s machine.
“Are you sick? Is something wrong?”
Maybe his cell phone’s broken, or maybe he’s left it somewhere.
Still no answer. When I get back home, before I go to bed, I send him a text. I write,
Love you. Do text me tonight if you want.
• • •
Saturday morning, after a miserable night’s sleep, I meet up with Andrea near the local marina. I’ve promised to show her some of my favorite runs, as well as the spot of my atheistic revelation by Lake Farum. As a pedigreed scientist, she’s been much more intrigued by my revelation than I have, and she’s discussed it with the other biologists at work.
Andrea’s not a very experienced runner. She shows up in baggy exercise clothes and her shoes look ancient, though that shouldn’t matter as long as we stick to the soft forest paths.
Right away I can see it’ll be easy for me to talk while she gasps for breath beside me, and while we’re still jogging through Nørre Woods, I’m already telling her that I feel a bit uneasy about Bernard not calling me back. She asks about the last message I left on his machine. I say it was the one that mentioned Sissel.
Andrea snorts. “But Bernard’s been around the block more than any man I know. I thought you knew that.”
“What!” I pull up short.
“He oozes sex,” she says. “No one’s that way unless they’ve had some experience.”
“I simply can’t believe that. I know him really well now, and he’s the one guy who — he’d never—”
“But I’m talking about before the accident.”
It’s like a blow to the gut. “Before the accident?”
“Didn’t he tell you they were both in the car?”
“Yes. Of course he did.”
“Didn’t he tell you he was injured too?”
“Yes.”
“Well? What kind of injury did you think it was?”
“I don’t know.”
I’m drawing a complete blank. I can’t recall anything he said about it, or that I even gave it a second thought. But he did say it was serious. That I remember.
It’s as if I’m taking a final exam in a bad dream; I can’t think straight.