The Dinosaur Feather

Chapter 5

She was unmoved by Professor Helland’s death. Monday evening, as Anna climbed the stairs to her apartment, she was ashamed of her reaction. The apartment was empty and cold, so she turned up the heat and closed the door to Lily’s room. She hated Lily not being there, and without a child in the bed the small colorful comforter seemed creepy. She slumped on the sofa, where she stayed for a long time staring into space. At two o’clock she went to bed, but though she was exhausted she couldn’t fall asleep. She tried thinking about Helland’s wife, who had lost her husband, their daughter, who had lost her father, and about the times Helland had been kind to her. But it was no use. Her heart remained untouched.

Helland had let her down, indirectly belittling her academic work through his lack of engagement and had, in every respect, been a useless supervisor. For nearly a year he had let her flounder. She didn’t care that he was dead, and she almost didn’t care how he had died, either. She tossed and turned, kicking off her blankets. Finally, she got up to go to the bathroom.

After the short preliminary interview, they had been driven to Bellahøj police station in separate cars. Anna with Professor Ewald, Johannes with Professor Jørgensen. Professor Ewald dissolved into tears, her hands were shaking and she kept blowing her nose and fidgeting with a soggy tissue.

Somewhere along the way, Anna snapped: “What are you crying for? You couldn’t stand Helland.”

Professor Ewald looked mortified.

“We worked together for twenty-five years. Lars Helland was a good colleague,” she wailed.

Anna glared at the window, knowing full well that the two officers in the front were watching everything that was going on in the back. Every word, every breath, every revelation. She was also well aware that she wasn’t coming across as terribly sympathetic.

At the station they were interviewed again by the World’s Most Irritating Detective. He appeared to have eaten beets for lunch; Anna noticed a purple stain at the corner of his mouth when it was her turn. She was asked the same questions as before, and she gave the same answers. At one point when she irritably repeated herself and made it clear that she had already answered this question, Søren Marhauge raised his eyebrow a fraction and said: “Please understand that we need to do our job properly. An apparently fit and healthy man has been found dead in his office with his tongue sliced off. Imagine he was your husband or your father. I’m sure you would want us to be extra thorough, wouldn’t you?” His voice was mild but firm, and he held her gaze a little too long. Anna looked away. When she had read through and signed her statement, she was free to go.

It was three o’clock that afternoon when she caught the bus back to the university. She was thinking about Dr. Tybjerg. She was due to meet him in an hour. Did he already know what had happened? Anna had no idea how quickly the news would reach the Natural History Museum, but the parking lot had been teeming with police cars, so it was likely to be soon. Then it struck her that she might be the one who told him. Dr. Tybjerg was bound to be deep inside the collection and wouldn’t have spoken to anyone. A strange sense of dread filled her. She turned her head and looked out the window. The sky was still heavy and gray. Then another thought occurred to her: what if her dissertation defense was canceled? She couldn’t bear to wait any longer. The whole situation was already a nightmare, but if her defense was postponed for weeks, until after Christmas even, she would get seriously depressed and Lily would definitely start calling Cecilie “mom.” Last Friday, Anna had handed in four copies of her dissertation; one for Helland, which was now lying, blood-smeared, in a sealed evidence bag somewhere at the police station, one for Dr. Tybjerg, one for the unknown external examiner from the University of Århus, and one for the University Library for future students to use. Surely the library’s copy could be given to Helland’s replacement? Her defense was in two weeks, so someone already familiar with the subject should be able to gain sufficient understanding of the argument to be able to examine her. How about Johan Fjeldberg? Professor Fjeldberg was a highly respected ornithologist at the Natural History Museum, and she knew that he had worked with Dr. Tybjerg before. When she met with Dr. Tybjerg, she would make him promise that her dissertation defense would go ahead.

There were fewer unfamiliar cars in front of Building 12 now. The door to Professor Helland’s office had been sealed. Professor Ewald and Professor Jørgensen had yet to return, and the whole department felt strangely deserted. Anna shuddered and quickened her pace. She stopped just as she reached the door to her study. It was ajar, and she could hear there was someone inside. A cough was followed by the sound of an office chair rolling across the floor. Anna’s heart started to pound. She was convinced she had locked the door when they left. She heard another small cough, then two footsteps, before the door was opened fully.

“Shit, you scared me!” Anna practically shouted. “How did you get back here so fast?”

Johannes held his head in his hands.

“Christ,” he said, heaving a sigh of relief. “I didn’t even hear you. My interview didn’t take long, so I waited for you, but when you didn’t show, I left.”

Anna gave him a quick hug and sat down in her chair. An echoing silence ensued, then she said, “What the hell’s going on? Was Helland murdered?”

Johannes looked upset.

“I don’t know what to think,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “It’s unreal. Besides, I only got two hours’ sleep last night, which makes it difficult to think clearly. How about you?”

“I don’t care,” she said.

Johannes was shocked.

“I don’t believe you.”

“But that’s how I feel,” she mumbled. She turned halfway in her chair and gave Johannes a lost look. “I feel completely indifferent about his death.” She turned her attention to her screen and started checking her e-mails. Johannes carried on looking at her as though he wanted to say something. An e-mail had arrived from Cecilie, attaching a new photo of Lily. Had Cecilie already picked her up from nursery school? The message had been sent at 2 p.m., which could only mean Cecilie had collected Lily after lunch, even though Anna had asked her several times not to pick up Lily until after three so she wouldn’t miss out on the nap. Anna stared at the photo. Lily was wearing a new dress, and her hair looked somewhat different. Had Cecilie given her a haircut? Anna tried to figure out if the photo was misleading her or whether Cecilie really had snipped off Lily’s baby curls. Johannes was still looking at her.

“Why didn’t you get any sleep last night?” she asked, without taking her eyes off the screen. Lily’s eyes shone as if she couldn’t be happier anywhere but where she was right now. In Granny’s bed with all the picture books Granny had borrowed for her from the library.

Johannes was exhausted; he buried his face in his hands again. The movement made Anna turn around.

“It’s a long story. I met someone at the Red Mask a few weeks ago,” he said, “and we hit it off. No, not in that way or, at least, not as far as I was concerned. And now I’m dealing with a stalker. I haven’t experienced anything like this, ever. E-mails, phone calls in the middle of the night…” He smiled, embarrassed. “Anna,” he added, interrupting himself. He swallowed. “I feel really bad…”

“But if you’re not attracted to the person, then that’s it. You’ll just have to be honest and—”

“No,” Johannes stopped her. “I feel really bad because I…” he looked anguished. “I accidentally told the detective that… I don’t know why, but I accidentally told him—”

At that moment Anna’s cell phone rang. She rummaged through her bag, but by the time she found it, it had gone to voice mail. It was Tybjerg’s number, but he left no message. Anna briefly wondered whether he was calling because he had just heard the news. She tossed her cell on the desk and turned her attention back to Johannes.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Johannes looked remorseful.

“I told the detective what you said last spring,” he said, at last. Anna was puzzled.

“What did I say last spring?”

“That you wanted to play pranks on Helland. I told the police that you didn’t like Helland all that much,” Johannes sighed.

Anna stared at him.

“But why?” she said.

Johannes shrugged.

“Because I’m an idiot. I’m sorry. I know you’re not involved.” Johannes looked shattered.

“I really—” Anna began. Then her cell rang for the second time. “Damn it,” she fumed and checked the display. It was Dr. Tybjerg again.

“Dr. Tybjerg?” she answered.

“Anna,” Tybjerg whispered. “Have you heard what’s happened?”

Anna gulped.

“Yes,” she replied.

“I have to cancel our meeting today. I can’t…” The signal was bad. “You’ll have to come some other time. Next week.”

“Next week?” Anna pushed her chair away from the desk. “You’re not serious? We have to meet, Dr. Tybjerg. I have my dissertation defense, and I want…” She took a deep breath and braced herself. “I have to have that defense, please,” she insisted. “It’s terrible what’s happened. But my defense has to go ahead, do you understand?”

“I can’t,” he said, and hung up.

Anna turned to Johannes. Her eyes filled with tears.

“Don’t worry,” she said in a thick voice. “You’re not the only who’s let me down.”

“Anna…” Johannes pleaded. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I said it. And that’s what I told the detective, Marhauge. I told him that you definitely had nothing to do with Helland’s death. I was beside myself.”

Anna got up.

“Where are you going?” Johannes whispered, as she headed for the door.

“To the museum to find Dr. Tybjerg.”

“Does it have to be right now? Can’t you stay for a while? I have to go soon, and I don’t want to leave… until we’ve made up.”

“That’s not my problem,” Anna said, icily.

She heard Johannes heave a sigh as she walked down the corridor to the museum.

Dr. Tybjerg could invariably be found in one of three locations: his basement office, the cafeteria, or at the desk below the window by the door to the Vertebrate Collection, measuring bones. She tried the collection first. No sign of Tybjerg. Then she tried the cafeteria. Still no Tybjerg. Some young scientists had gathered around a table. Anna could smell pipe tobacco. That left only his office.

Anna had been puzzled by Tybjerg’s office ever since she first saw it. Dr. Tybjerg was one of the world’s leading dinosaur experts, but his office was small and damp as though the faculty were trying to keep him out of sight. Two walls in the tiny room were filled with books from floor to ceiling, Tybjerg’s desk stood against the third wall, and at the fourth, below the basement windows, was a low display cabinet with dinosaur models and Tybjerg’s own publications. The door to his office was locked, and Anna peered through the window but it was empty and the light was off. She called him on her cell phone. No answer. Finally, she found some scrap paper in a trash can and wrote him a note: We need to talk. Please call me to arrange a new meeting. She stuck the note to the door.

At that moment the light in the corridor timed out and she realized just how dark it was. Outside, someone walked past the low basement windows, and she saw a pair of legs wearing red boots, heels slamming against the cobblestones. Her heart raced as she stumbled along the corridor. She found the switch near the door to the stairwell and turned on the light. It was empty and quiet.

Anna and Karen had been friends since they were children. They were in the same class at school and were always together in the village of Brænderup, where they grew up. One day, while roaming around Fødring Forest, they met Troels. A hurricane had raged recently and there were fallen trees everywhere, their roots ripped out of the earth like rotten teeth. The girls had been told not to play in the forest under any circumstances.

They were jumping on the slimy leaves and daring each other to leap into the craters because they had heard stories that the wind might cause the trees to swing back up and crush you. Karen was the braver; she stood right under the roots of a dying tree and clumps of earth sprinkled onto her shoulders as she reached out her hands toward the sky in triumph. They had strayed further and further into the forest, until they remembered a giant ladybug made from the stump of a tree that had been felled. They wondered what might have happened to it during the storm and decided to investigate; after all, they weren’t far away. What if the ladybird had been uprooted and was lying with her legs in the air?

They discovered Troels sitting on the ground, leaning against the ladybird. They didn’t notice him at first. They were busy chatting and patting the ladybird. It wasn’t until Anna climbed up on its wooden wings and had made herself comfortable that she spotted a tuft of hair sticking up on the other side. It belonged to a boy with freckles and a sad look on his face.

Anna said “hi” and tossed him a pine cone, which he caught. The next hour they were absorbed in their play. The darkness came suddenly, as if big buckets of ink had been poured between the trees. Troels grew anxious and said: “Shouldn’t we be going home now?” The girls nodded. Oh yes, they ought to. The three of them skipped through the forest and, as they reached the edge, the beam from a torch picked them out and they met Troels’s father for the first time.

Cecilie’s reaction would have been: “Where on earth have you been, you horrible little brats,” then she would have hugged them and pretended to be mad.

Troels’s father said nothing. He slowly pointed the torch from one face to the next.

“Sorry, Dad,” Troels whispered.

“See you later,” Anna said, taking Karen’s hand. If they cut across the field, they could be home in twenty minutes.

“Oh, no,” Troels’s father said. “You’re coming with me. You’ll walk to the parking lot, where my car is, like good girls, and I’ll give you a ride home. Is that clear?”

Anna had been told her whole life never to go with strangers. Never ever. The three children plodded down a gravel path in total silence, past dimly lit houses, in the opposite direction to where Anna lived.

When they reached the parking lot, she tried again: “We’ll be fine from here. Thanks for walking us…”

Troels’s father stopped and made a half turn. Anna couldn’t see his face very well.

“Get in,” he ordered them and opened the door to the back seat. Anna was about to protest, when she saw the look in Troels’s eyes. Just get in, they pleaded. The car smelled new, of chemicals, as though every fiber had been cleaned. She helped Karen put on her seatbelt. The car glided through the darkness, away from the forest and out onto the main road. Troels sat, small and dark, on the passenger seat next to his father.

Cecilie opened the door, a towel wrapped around her head. She was in the process of dyeing her hair; Anna could see tinfoil sticking out over her ears. Cecilie was wearing a faded robe. Music was coming from inside the house, and it smelled of mud.

“Hi, kids,” she said cheerfully. Then she noticed Troels’s father behind them. A deep furrow appeared on her brow.

“What’s happened?” Cecilie’s eyes widened. Had the man hit them in his car? Were they all right?

“Good evening, ma’am,” Troels’s father said. “In the future, I suggest you keep a closer eye on your children. I found them in the forest, playing under fallen trees.” He paused, then he clapped his massive palms together. “It’s a dangerous place to be.”

“Get inside, girls,” Cecilie said to Karen and Anna. Something Anna didn’t recognize flashed in her mother’s eyes.

“Thanks for your help,” she said in a monotone voice, and closed the door.

When the car had disappeared, Cecilie started pacing up and down in the kitchen, and she didn’t stop until Jens came home.

“What are you accusing him of?” Anna heard Jens say in a low voice. “Giving the girls a ride home and staring at your robe?”

After the summer break, Troels started in Anna and Karen’s class. It was five months since their meeting in the forest, but they hadn’t forgotten him. Their teacher introduced him, and Troels’s face lit up a little when he saw them. He had grown taller, but his expression was the same, and his eyes were still very dark.

During recess Karen asked him anxiously, “Did your dad get really angry last time?”

And Troels smiled broadly and said, “Oh, no, not at all.”

That afternoon Anna and Karen walked home together from school. The golden wheat swayed in the fields. At some point they stopped and decided Troels would be their friend.

A week passed. They spent every recess with him, walked home from school together, and one day, when they were about to say good-bye, Anna asked if Troels wanted to come to her house. He looked at his watch and smiled. Yes, please, he would like that very much. They played in the garden and when it started to rain, they went inside and made themselves sandwiches. The girls swapped stickers, and Troels handled the pictures very carefully and examined them closely. He, too, liked the ones with glitter babies and puppies the best.

Cecilie came home and Troels got up politely to shake her hand. The telephone rang at that moment, so Anna wasn’t sure if Cecilie had remembered who Troels was. When Troels went to the bathroom and Cecilie had sat down with a cup of tea, Anna whispered that he was the boy they had met in the forest last March. Cecilie paled.

“You can visit us anytime you like,” she said, when Troels came back. “Anytime you like.”

“Thank you very much,” Troels replied.

Cecilie bought a scrapbook and ten sheets of stickers for Troels. Anna felt so jealous she wanted to cry. Troels unwrapped his gift as though he had been entrusted with a blanket full of precious eggs. His face lit up, then he looked miserably at Cecilie.

“I can’t accept this,” he said and carefully pushed the present away. Anna picked up the scrapbook and admired the pictures. Big cherubs on clouds, glitter babies, animals, and baskets of flowers. If Troels didn’t want them, she certainly did.

“Of course you can,” Cecilie said warmly. “Now you can swap, can’t you? They’re a present.”

“No,” Troels said, still wretched. “I really can’t. I’m not allowed to accept presents.”

Cecilie narrowed her eyes and studied him.

“Hmm,” she said. “Well, you can’t take them home, obviously. They need to stay here.”

Anna stared at her mother.

“They’ll still be my stickers, you understand, but I’m not very good at swapping, so I would like you to do it for me. Extend my collection. Do you think you can do that?”

Troels nodded and opened the scrapbook with awe. With the same deference, he removed the wrapper and gazed at the stickers. Later that afternoon, when it was time for him to go home, he placed the scrapbook on the bookcase in the living room, where it remained until his next visit. The scrapbook lived there for years.

It was not until four months later that Anna and Karen visited Troels. It was at the start of December, and after school they caught the bus to his house, a huge, newly built bungalow a few miles outside the village. They sat on the floor in Troels’s room making Christmas decorations out of paper and were listening to music when Troels’s father came home from work. They heard him speak on the telephone in the hall in a loud voice, then he swore at something before he suddenly popped his head around the door.

“Hello, girls,” he said, showing no signs of recognizing them. Shortly afterward he came back and put a bowl of chips and three sodas on the floor.

“Troels’s mom wants to know if you would like to stay for dinner?”

Karen and Anna exchanged looks.

“Yes, please,” Anna said quickly.

Chips and sodas! For dinner they had pork tenderloin in a cream sauce and for dessert they had chocolate ice cream. Troels’s mother was a petite, elegant lady who worked as a real estate agent in Odense. Troels’s sister was fifteen years old and really pretty. She had very long hair, she wore lip gloss, and she said, “Pass the potatoes, please,” in a terribly grown-up way. Anna felt a pang of infatuation and glanced at Troels. He smiled at something his father had said, replied and laughed heartily when his father expanded on and repeated the punchline. Anna took it all in.

Troels’s father started telling vacation stories. On vacation in Sweden, Troels had fallen off a jetty when trying to measure the depth of the water with a stick, which was far too thin and had snapped under his weight. Troels had wailed like a banshee, he was so scared, but the water was less than three feet deep and rather muddy. The girls imagined Troels screaming and dirty, and they laughed. His father hosed him down in the garden behind the cabin. On the same vacation, Troels’s father recalled, they had visited a traveling fair where one of the stalls had a board with a man on it, and if you could hit a red disc with a ball, he would plunge into a tub of water. Troels’s father had persuaded the stallholder to replace the man on the board with Troels, who had been moaning all afternoon that he was too hot. Troels got dunked repeatedly and had duly cooled down. Anna and Karen laughed again.

“And then there was the time when Troels wouldn’t stop wetting his bed,” Troels’s father began. “Do you remember, girls?” he said to Troels’s mother and sister who had started clearing the table.

“Not that story, please,” Troels’s mother called out from the kitchen where she was scraping leftovers into the trash. “The girls won’t want to hear that.”

Troels’s father leaned toward Anna and Karen.

“Troels wet his bed until he was six,” he announced.

Anna looked uncomfortably at Karen who seemed to be mesmerized by Troels’s father.

“We were at our wits’ end, weren’t we, Troels?” his mother said, still at the kitchen table. “All of us, you included, isn’t that right, darling?”

Anna looked at Troels, and something inside her turned to ice. Troels made no reply, silent, as his half-eaten chocolate ice cream cone slowly melted in his hand.

His mother carried on while she dried a baking dish, “We tried everything. We tried bribing him with candy and toys, we gave him more allowance, we even made him wear his soaked pajamas all day, but it was no good. He just continued wetting his bed.”

Karen was still smiling, so Anna kicked her under the table.

“And do you want to know how it stopped?” Troels’s father asked, blithely.

“Ouch,” Karen exclaimed and sent Anna a furious look. Anna glared back at her. Finally, Karen noticed Troels.

“Tell the girls how you stopped wetting the bed, Troels,” his father ordered him. Troels whispered something.

“I can’t hear you,” his father said. “Speak up.”

“When I pooped my pants on my first day of school,” Troels said in a flat voice.

The girls looked at each other.

“And you can’t poop your pants at school, can you?” his father went on. “The other children will laugh at you. So you have to stop, don’t you? If you ever want to have any friends, that is.” His father gave Troels a friendly slap on the back and roared with laughter.

“Stop it!” Anna burst out. “Stop it!”

But his father had already got up to leave, the dishwasher had been loaded, his sister had disappeared, and his mother was folding clothes in the laundry room; they could see her through the open door.

“That was a lovely meal, thank you,” Anna muttered. “I have to be home by seven.”

When Anna and Karen had put on their shoes and coats and shouted “bye-e!” from the utility room, Troels was still sitting at the table with the melting ice cream cone in his hand.

“Bye, see you tomorrow,” he said and gave them a pale smile.

Cecilie called Troels’s parents one day to tell them she could use some help around the garden and offered Troels fifteen kroner an hour to do the work. While Cecilie spoke to Troels’s father, Anna was in the kitchen, listening to her mother’s high-pitched chirping. Cecilie slammed down the telephone at the end of the conversation and when she joined Anna in the kitchen, she smiled stiffly and smoothed her dress.

“Done,” she said. “Five hours a week. Thank God.” She flopped down on the kitchen bench next to Anna.

“Phew,” she exhaled and smoothed her dress again.

One evening, when Anna was twelve years old, she overheard her parents talking about Troels. It was the late 1980s, and by now Jens had officially moved to Copenhagen but he visited them constantly. They had just said goodnight to her, but before she fell asleep Anna remembered she had forgotten to give her mother a letter from school and got out of bed.

Halfway down the stairs, she heard Jens ask: “What makes you think he hits him? You have to be able to prove it, Cecilie. It’s a serious charge.”

A pause followed. Then Anna heard Cecilie cry.

“I want to help, but I can’t!” she sobbed. “That beautiful, fragile boy. Look at him! He’s suffering, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.”

Jens said something that Anna couldn’t hear, and Cecilie replied: “I know, Jens.” She sounded irritated now. “I’m aware of that. You’ve told me a thousand times. I just can’t bear it that he has to live like that.”

Cecilie blew her nose. Anna was getting cold on the stairs and hoped that one of her parents would notice her. That they would carry her to the living room and let her fall asleep under a blanket while their voices grew muffled, just like when she was little. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks. Right now she hated Troels. Her parents seemed to prefer him to her. She felt alone in the world. They started discussing Jens’s job. Eventually Anna went back to bed.

One summer day Troels dropped by unexpectedly. He seemed happy. His parents had gone to Ebeltoft to pick up a new car and wouldn’t be back until the evening. Cecilie and Jens were entertaining old college friends, and the lawn was teeming with children. The sun was shining, there was iced tea and sandwiches, and swallows were dive-bombing the garden. Troels watched the chaos, rather intimidated; he hadn’t been expecting this. Two boys, Troels’s age, were playing football, but Troels didn’t want to join in. He sipped tea and Cecilie introduced him to everyone.

“This is Troels. He’s goes to school with Anna.”

“He’s gorgeous,” Anna heard Cecilie’s friends whisper.

Jens decided they should all play baseball. Everyone leapt from their chairs; four large stones were found, along with a bat and a yellow tennis ball, and two teams picked. The mood in the backyard was light-hearted and boisterous. Anna and Karen rolled their eyes at the silly grown-ups. They were both wearing makeup, but none of the adults had said anything. It was Troels’s turn to bat. He said, “I don’t want to”—not very loudly, but loud enough for Anna to hear it, and she was some distance away. Troels sent her an apologetic smile.

Jens’s old friend, Mogens, who was bowling, encouraged Troels.

“You can do it,” he said warmly. He positioned himself behind Troels and guided his arms in a horizontal arc through the air.

“Keep the bat high,” he instructed him. “Don’t let it drop.” He tapped Troels’s drooping elbow. “And watch the ball.”

Troels’s arm was still limp.

“Come on! Concentrate. It’s not that hard!” Mogens called out. Anna instinctively glanced at her mother. Cecilie wanted to say something. She raised her hands as if to object. Next to Troels, Mogens was a gentle giant.

“What do you think this is, eh?” Mogens roared with laughter and grabbed Troels’s white, freckled arm and dangled it. “Flab?” he chuckled. Troels looked vacantly at Mogens, who was ducking and diving like a boxer, throwing mock punches at Troels.

“Come on, son, show us what you’re made of!”

Troels raised the bat and hit Mogens over the head. Clonk. Mogens clutched his head. Everyone went very quiet.

“What did you do that for?” Mogens gasped.

Troels ran off, and Cecilie chased after him. They had been gone for nearly an hour when Anna decided to look for them. She found them in the back seat of the car. Troels looked red-eyed and lay with his head in Cecilie’s lap. She stroked his hair. He didn’t want to go back to the party, even though Cecilie assured him that it would be all right. That Jens would definitely have explained to Mogens why Troels had hit him. This puzzled Anna. Troels refused point-blank. He wanted to go home. Cecilie hugged him, and she and Anna watched Troels ride his bike unsteadily down the road before his speed increased and he was gone.

In the garden, the mayhem had come to a halt and people were sitting around again. Mogens was pressing an icepack against his head. He still looked stunned. An eerie silence reigned.

“Are you all right?” Cecilie asked.

“Yes,” Mogens replied. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yes, you humiliated him,” Cecilie replied.

“Hey, listen,” Jens objected. “That’s not fair.”

“No, I mean it. Not deliberately,” she said, addressing Jens. “I know that. And 99 percent of boys would have reacted differently. But not him.”

“No, it was a real pity,” Mogens said, miserably, and touched his sore head again.

When Troels turned seventeen, he had his tongue and his nose pierced and he started wearing tight trousers and Doc Martens. The skinny boy was gone. Troels was now almost six feet tall, he had large, supple hands and broad shoulders. He had come close to being expelled from high school, but Cecilie intervened and pleaded his case. He didn’t visit them as often as he used to, so Anna and Karen no longer knew as much about what he did or who he was with, but he told them that he sometimes took the train to Århus or Copenhagen to go to a gay club. The girls thought it sounded very exciting.

One day, Troels stopped by to ask Anna if she wanted to go for a bike ride. After riding for a while, he grew hot, pulled his jumper over his head, and bared a torso mottled with bruises.

“What on earth’s happened to you?” Anna was shocked.

“I went home to see my dad and to wash my clothes,” Troels said, giving her a cheerful look.

“He hit you?” Anna whispered.

“Yes, but I hit him back.”

Anna stepped hard on the pedals to keep up.

“And do you know something?” Troels gave Anna a complicit look. “It’s a real pain that I look like this.” He rose up on his pedals with studied indifference.

“Why?” Anna panted.

“I’ve been spotted by a modeling agency in Odense.”

“You’re kidding!”

“No, it’s true. They want to make a portfolio about me. They said they could get me a lot of work.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon discussing Troels’s future modeling career. Paris, New York, and Milan all beckoned. Anna promised she would definitely visit him. They ended up on a fallow field where they lay among meadow flowers, gazing at the sky and fantasizing about champagne fountains and silver confetti descending from the ceiling. Or rather, Anna did. Troels sat next to her. His back hurt too much for him to lie down.

In 1997, the year Anna, Troels, and Karen graduated from high school, it seemed the summer would never end. It was so hot their clothes stuck to their bodies, and the nights, too, were warm, azure, and endless. The three friends were euphoric; the world was theirs and they felt that if they exhaled simultaneously the heavens would expand forever. They went to parties in houses owned by people they didn’t know and drank themselves senseless. Houses empty of their friends’ parents who were away on vacation, where neglected houseplants were shoved aside so the windows facing the fields could be flung wide open, where they could crash and sleep under the sky, if they felt like it, or accidentally start a small fire, as happened early one morning in late July. The teenagers watched in contrite silence as the fire engines pulled up, and then stared at their feet while a fireman held up a cigarette butt to their faces and lectured them. Of course, it wasn’t the actual butt that had started the fire, merely one of the many strewn across the garden. The next day, the party carried on as if nothing had happened, houseplants pushed aside and windows thrown open.

Later, when Anna looked back on that summer, she wondered if things might not have ended so badly between them if it had rained. They rarely slept, and when they weren’t partying they hung out in Karen’s small apartment in Odense, eyeing each other like wild animals.

It all happened one night when Karen had scored some cocaine, and they snorted it all at once. Anna went to the bathroom, and when she returned, Karen and Troels had gotten the bright idea that now was a great time to try group sex. Well, why not, Anna thought. Her mouth felt dry like sandpaper, and she went to the kitchen to get a drink of water. When she returned, Karen and Troels were dancing around, naked from the waist up.

“I thought you were gay,” Anna exclaimed. Troels and Karen collapsed in heaps of laughter.

“And we thought you were open-minded,” Karen called out. They gestured for Anna to join them.

They climbed into Karen’s bed, and Anna and Troels started kissing while Karen pulled off his trousers. Troels started laughing into Anna’s mouth, because Karen was fumbling, and temporarily let go of Anna to come to Karen’s aid. Troels and Karen began kissing, and Karen managed to pull Troels’s pants down. His dick was pierced. Anna stared at Karen’s hand enclosing it. Troels closed his eyes, and Anna could hear him gasping with pleasure while he continued kissing Karen. Anna rolled aside. At some point, Karen opened her eyes, looked at Anna and held out her hand to her, but before Anna had time to take it, Troels lifted Karen up and turned her over, so she lay on her back, her curls spilling over the pillow. His dick pointed momentarily at Karen and then it disappeared inside her. They both shut their eyes. Anna sat up. Everything went black. She kicked at their joined bodies and hit Troels right on the hip, sending him rolling with a howl. His mouth opened, his erection subsided, and Karen looked from one to the other, confused. Anna flew at Troels, and let her clenched fists rain down on his face, his chest, and his stomach, as he lay halfway across the bed. Troels’s face went white and his eyes burned.

“Stop it, Anna,” he hissed. But she didn’t stop. Karen tried to grab Anna, and Troels, who had passively let the blows fall, got up to gather his clothes. Anna pushed Karen aside and slumped on the bed. Troels had put on his jeans and he pulled his T-shirt over his head as he left through the front door. He didn’t close it behind him. His footsteps echoed down the stairs, then he was gone.

Karen sent Anna an outraged look and said: “What you just did, Anna Bella, was fucking unnecessary.”

That was ten years ago.