This Should Be Written in the Present Tense

40

Dorte was sitting in her room on the ward in a woolly jumper and a pair of jeans, all the way there I’d been picturing her in a hospital gown. She sat at a little table with a mug and a cigarette, and looked up when she heard me come in.

‘Oh hello, love. How nice of you. Come and sit down.’

There was only the one chair in the room. She got halfway to her feet, but I shook my head.

‘No, don’t get up.’

‘Are you sure?’ she said. Her clothes hung miserably from her frame. She sat down again with her cigarette.

‘You sit on the bed, then,’ she said. ‘I hope you’ve not brought anything.’

‘I haven’t.’

‘That’s all right, then. There’s some peppermints in the drawer, do you want one?’

‘No, thanks.’

‘There’s chewing gum as well.’

‘No, thanks. How are you feeling?’

‘Oh, coming along, I think,’ she said.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Just coming along, that’s all.’

I looked out of the window. There was a big lawn and flowerbeds with blue perennials, and birch trees with still, bare branches. Beyond lay the fjord, white and calm as a millpond. The bus I’d taken had gone right along the edge, the only passengers had been me and two young girls. They kept sniggering about something one of them had in her bag.

‘Who sent me the letter?’ I said.

‘What letter? I don’t know about any letter,’ said Dorte.

‘There was two hundred kroner in it.’

‘That’d be Andy, then. He’s been such a help.’

‘Is he from England?’

‘No, he’s in the kitchen.’

‘Here, you mean?’

‘Yes, you can go and say hello.’

‘Okay.’

‘You should.’

‘I will, then.’

‘Yes, do. Look out for his cheekbones,’ she said.

He wasn’t in the kitchen, he was in the lounge wiping the windowsill with a cloth. He turned and smiled.

‘Hello, there,’ he said.

‘Hi. I’m here visiting Dorte. She’s my aunt,’ I said.

‘Oh, so you’re the one,’ he said, pulling off a rubber glove and extending his hand. ‘Nice of you to stop by.’

‘Thanks for sending that letter.’

‘Don’t mention it.’

‘How long’s she been here?’

‘Oh, ten or twelve days. She’s coming along fine now.’

‘She seems a bit confused to me.’

‘Do you think so? It might be the medication. She’s not off it yet.’

‘Why was she brought in?’

‘She was in a state. Not very well at all.’

‘Had something happened?’

‘No, nothing in particular, as far as I know. Sometimes it just happens, bang.’

‘How did she get here?’

‘As I understand it, your parents came with her. At least, I think it was them.’

‘I’m sure,’ I said.

‘Could that be right? I can ask to look in the record.’

‘No need,’ I said. ‘Thanks for helping her and everything.’

I went to the bathroom and drank some water. Everywhere was so clean and deserted. Dorte’s mug was empty when I went back to her room. I poured her some more coffee in the corridor and some for myself. There was some Battenberg on a plate and I took two pieces, one for Dorte and one for me. I got her to have a bite and talk about what happened.

‘I’d just made a tuna mousse, with gelatine. And then I dropped the whole lot.’

‘You poor thing.’

‘On the floor, you know. I didn’t know what to do.’

She shook her head.

‘I just stood there looking at it. Odd, don’t you think? I couldn’t move. There seemed to be tuna mousse everywhere. Then I felt so frightened.’

‘I understand.’

‘Do you? Anyway, the shop’s going to be so nice now, your dad’s going to paint it for me. It’ll brighten the place up no end. And your mum.’

Before I left we sat on the edge of the bed together. We looked out at the white fjord, she leaned her head against mine.

‘Are you getting on all right?’ she said.

‘Yes, I’m fine.’

We spoke very softly, we were sitting so close together.

‘Have you got exams?’ she said.

‘Now, you mean? No, not yet.’

‘That’s nice. You can take things easy, then.’

‘Yes, I suppose.’

She patted my thigh, then her own.

‘I’ve been meaning to give you these trousers. They’re no good on me any more.’

‘I think they’d be too small for me.’

‘Do you think so? We’ll have them let out, then.’

‘I didn’t think you could let jeans out.’

‘Oh, yes. You can put a gusset in.’

‘That’s kind of you.’

‘I can’t very well do without them here, but once I get home they’re yours. Proper Levi’s they are, from Bilka.’

‘Thanks.’

‘We could do a Bilka trip one day.’

‘Yes, we could.’

‘I’d like that.’

When I reached the stop, the bus had already gone eight minutes earlier and there was an hour and a half until the next one was due. The gulls soared silently over the fjord. I started to walk, I wasn’t bothered.