Burned

Chapter 51

Jonas’s burning eyes rip Henning out of his sleep. He curses, sits up, finds himself on the sofa in front of the television and realises he must have dozed off during an episode of That 70s Show.

The television is still on. The screen is filled by a man with blond hair who is eating cheese while a multitude of women of different colours and shapes and one man swap seats. Henning leans back and imagines himself riding a wave. Keep breathing, he says to himself. Keep breathing.

He is reminded of Finding Nemo, the animated film, where Nemo’s father searches for his missing son and meets Dory, a fish who can barely remember her own name, but who loves to sing. Henning can hear her voice in his head: ‘Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.’

They must have watched Finding Nemo at least thirty times, most of them the summer they visited an idyllic Danish island called Tuno. It rained the whole time. They hardly left the charming cottage they had rented on the car-free island. But Jonas loved Nemo. He wonders what that holiday would have been like without Nemo.

His mobile vibrates on the coffee table. The noise startles him. He looks at the display: caller unknown.

‘Henning Juul,’ he says and clears his voice of sleep.

‘Hi, it’s Truls Leirvag. I hear you’ve been trying to get hold of me?’

The voice is dark and coarse. As he gets up, Henning places Truls’s dialect somewhere near Bergen. Perhaps even in Bergen.

‘Oh, hi. Yes. Great. Thanks for calling.’

No response.

‘Er, yes. I wanted to ask you about this screenplay you’ve taken out an option on. Henriette Hagerup’s script.’

More silence.

‘Can you tell me a little about her script, please? Why did you decide to option it?’

‘For the same reason we usually option scripts, I suppose. We liked it. We think we can turn it into a good film — eventually.’

‘What’s it about?’

‘It’s called Control+Alt+Delete. It’s about a young woman who achieves fame and fortune, but dreams about pressing Control+Alt+Delete on her keyboard — and starting her life over. She doesn’t like the person she has become. And using a very special keyboard, she gets the chance to relive her life. Now the question is: will she make the right choices this time or will she make the same mistakes again?’

‘I see.’

‘The script needs some work, if I can put it like that, but the story has great potential.’

Henning nods to himself.

‘And Yngve Foldvik came to you with this script?’

A pause follows.

‘Yes.’

‘Is that common?’

‘What?’

‘Supervisors tipping off former colleagues about a script written by a student?’

‘I don’t know, but why not? I don’t see anything wrong with it. If you’re planning on writing some crap suggesting that, you can — ’

‘Oh, no, I’m not going to write about it. I’m merely curious. It was my understanding that your co-producer, Henning Enoksen, wasn’t party to the discussions which ended up with you buying the option. Why wasn’t he?’

‘Because we trust one another’s judgement. Have you any idea how many scripts are sent to us, Juul? Every day. How many meetings we hold, how much paperwork we have to plough through in order to make the films we want to, how hard — ’

‘I know,’ he interrupts. ‘What was your impression of Hagerup?’

Henning hears Leirvag take a deep breath.

‘She was a really attractive girl. I can’t believe what has happened to her. She had such a zest for life. So open and hungry, so trusting. Not arrogant or pretentious.’

‘I presume that you had meetings with both Foldvik and Hagerup, given that he introduced her to you?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘What was the chemistry like between them?’

‘What do you mean? Chemistry?’

‘You know, chemistry. The way they looked at each other. Did you pick up any sexual tension between them?’

Another silence. A long one.

‘If you’re saying what I think you’re saying, then you can fuck off,’ Leirvag says in a rising, braying Bergen accent. ‘Yngve is a decent man. One of the very, very best. He tried to help one of his students. What’s wrong with that?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Do you ever go window-shopping, Juul?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you always buy the things you like?’

‘No.’

‘No. Precisely.’

Henning isn’t put off by the irritation in Leirvag’s voice.

‘What happens to the script now?’

Leirvag sighs.

‘I don’t know yet.’

‘But you still have your option, even though the writer is dead?’

‘Yes. I think it would be sad if we didn’t complete something she started. She would have wanted the film to go ahead.’

Nice PR point Henning thinks.

‘What does Yngve think?’

‘Yngve? He agrees with me.’

‘So you’ve already discussed it, then?’

‘No, I, eh, we — ’

Henning smiles to himself and wonders if this might have been what was on the tip of Henning Enoksen’s tongue. That Leirvag was busy planning the film’s future life without Henriette — and with Yngve.

‘Thanks for talking to me, Truls. I don’t have any more questions.’

‘Listen, you’re not going to write about this, are you?’

‘About what?’

‘About Yngve and the film and all that?’

‘I don’t know yet.’

‘Okay. But if you do, I want copy approval. You know, check quotes and so on.’

‘I don’t know if I’ll be quoting you at all, but if I do, I’ll be in touch before it goes to print.’

‘Great.’

Leirvag gives him his e-mail address. Henning pretends to be writing it down, but is in fact standing in front of his piano, wishing he could play it again. Leirvag hangs up without saying goodbye.