This Should Be Written in the Present Tense

8

After lunch on the Sunday I had a burst of efficiency despite being tired. I hadn’t slept properly for two nights by then. I lugged my dirty washing in a bin bag along the main street towards the church, then down a little hill to a corner where I was sure there was a launderette, only there wasn’t. There wasn’t even a corner, just a patch of grass with a sandpit and a swing. Two girls were sitting on a bench smoking, they’d never heard of any launderette. One of them said there was a tailor’s where they did dry-cleaning. She had new white pumps on and got the other girl to stamp out her cigarette. The other girl thought there might be a launderette by a block of flats in Sorø. She wouldn’t swear on it, but she was fairly sure. It was because her uncle lived in Sorø. As they spoke I realised I didn’t have any change. I’d used it all up paying for my railcard the day before. I trudged back up the little hill past the old merchant’s house and along the main street. The bookshop window was decked out with magazines and woolly socks, apparently the socks were knitted by a local woman. They were striped and came in all different sizes. I’d been in on the Friday to buy some fine-tipped marker pens. The woman asked if I meant fell-tips. She laid out a selection on the counter and I bought two so as not to look stingy.

I carried the bin bag slung over my shoulder. It was heavy, full of towels and trousers and tops, colours the lot of it. I’d imagined there was enough for two loads. Now I went home and filled the bath with hot water and soap powder. I emptied the bin bag into the water and separated the clothes with a big wooden spoon, then left it all to soak.

In the front room I emptied a removal box and put the contents away in the drawers and at the bottom of the wardrobe in the bedroom. I made myself a cup of coffee and drank it standing up by the worktop in the kitchen, then I went and rinsed the clothes and wrung them out. It was hard work, especially the jeans. My hands were bright red and my knuckles all sore by the time I stood at the clothes line with the washing in an old tub I’d found in the shed. It was a bit dirty, but it couldn’t be helped. There was just enough room on the clothes line if I hung everything by the narrow end. I had one big bath towel and two small fawn-coloured ones with an advert for some coffee on them. I went into the shed and tidied up a bit, stacked some old flowerpots so they took up half the space, threw a pile of damp newspapers in the bin. The sky was very dark. Afterwards, as I stood with another cup of coffee in the kitchen, it began to rain. Just a bit at first, but then in no time it was lashing against the windows. I dashed out into the garden and snatched the washing from the line and dumped the lot in the utility room.

Later that afternoon I hung the clothes over all the chairs, the chest of drawers and the radiator, and turned the heating on full. The front room filled with the smell of fabric softener and I opened the window a bit. I went and lay down on the bed and pulled the duvet up over my head. When I woke up it was getting dark. I went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth. As I stood there with my mouth full of toothpaste, there was a knock on the door. It was a young couple in raincoats with an empty picnic basket. They wanted to know if they could use the phone.

‘There’s one over there,’ I said and nodded towards the station.

‘It’s out of order,’ said the girl. ‘That’s why we’re asking.’

‘We forgot to get off the train at Lundby, we only need to get a message to her brother. He’s waiting for us,’ said the guy.

‘But I haven’t got a telephone. I’ve only just moved in.’

‘So has he. That’s why we forgot to get off. Not here, like,’ said the girl and scratched her thigh. She was wearing white jeans with grass stains on.

‘Oh,’ I said.

‘We think it’s because it hasn’t been emptied,’ he said. ‘Anyway, soggy to bother you.’

The girl laughed and shook her head at him. She lifted up the basket apologetically.

‘We’ve been at Knuthenborg Safari Park since ten this morning.’

‘Perhaps you can ask the people who live above the station,’ I said. ‘I know someone lives there.’

‘We will. Thanks a lot for your help,’ they said almost at the same time, and stepped down onto the path. They turned and waved, raincoats standing out in the fading light.

I didn’t know what to do with myself. I felt I should wash my hair. I realised I hadn’t had my dinner. I went into the kitchen and opened all the cupboards. There was some pasta and pitta bread and several cans of tuna, but nothing I really fancied. I went into the front room and looked across at the station. There was a light on upstairs, but I couldn’t see anyone there. I stuffed a hundred-krone note in my pocket together with my front-door key, pulled on a jumper and shut the door behind me.

The snack bar was a sausage stand with a wooden extension, in the car park next to the baker’s. I bought a hamburger and some chips and carried the box home in both hands with steam coming out of the holes in the lid. As I got to the house I saw a young woman come out of my front garden and walk slowly back in the direction of the station. She stopped and pulled her sleeves down over her hands and glanced back towards the house. She straightened up and folded her arms as soon as she saw me. I didn’t know whether to say hello or not. I turned up the path with my takeaway, but then she hurried over.

‘Hey, excuse me.’

She had wet hair and a shrill voice.

‘It’s not on, you know, sending people over to ours to use the phone.’

‘No, I’m sorry,’ I said.

‘We can’t have people knocking on the door thinking they can just come in and make a call whenever it suits them, they can go to the petrol station instead.’

‘I really am sorry.’

‘Or the one by the church. It’s only a little walk, if they really need to call someone.’

‘Of course.’

‘Besides, I was in the middle of something,’ she said, gathering her oversized jumper around her.

‘I’m really sorry.’

‘Well, then.’

She nodded, then turned and went back towards the station. On the step under the lamp the young couple with the picnic basket stood looking across at me. The girl waved. I lifted my takeaway to wave back, the girl said something to her boyfriend, then they came towards me. I sent them a bewildered look I thought could be seen from a distance, but before I knew it they were standing there in front of me, and the girl was all smiles.

‘It’s so nice of you, really,’ she said.