This Should Be Written in the Present Tense

9

So there I sat in the front room with my chips and this young couple, surrounded by all my washing. I’d left the hamburger on the worktop in the kitchen. They both sat on the edge of their chairs, the girl jiggled her foot up and down, the table kept trembling. Perhaps I hadn’t tightened the screws properly, it felt a bit rickety.

‘Help yourselves,’ I said.

‘Thanks,’ said her boyfriend without taking any.

‘Our train’s at twenty past ten,’ said the girl.

He looked at his watch.

‘Exactly one hour and fifty minutes.’

‘Did you get hold of your brother?’ I said.

‘Yes. He was supposed to pick us up in Lundby,’ said the girl.

‘Yes, you said,’ I said, and she nodded.

‘He’s only just moved there. We’re from Sundbyvester actually. All of us, I mean,’ she said, jiggling away. The whole table was shaking.

‘All three of you?’ I said.

‘Four, actually. He’s got a boy aged two,’ said her boyfriend.

‘What a lot of you,’ I said.

‘We were going to see his new house on the way back. But now we’re just going to go home,’ she said.

‘Your foot, love,’ he said, and she smiled. She had such a nice smile, then after that we were quiet for a bit.

The Hamburg express came thundering through. I’d eaten less than a quarter of the chips, the boyfriend had eaten one.

‘You forgot your hamburger,’ the girl said to me.

‘Oh, yes. Do you want it?’

‘No, you have it. We’ve eaten loads today, we’re not at all hungry.’

‘Me neither.’

‘You can take it with you for your lunch tomorrow,’ said the guy.

‘What sort of job do you do?’ said the girl.

‘I’m a student. In Copenhagen.’

‘Really? Handy living here, then.’

‘Yes, it is,’ I said, and they both nodded. They were leaning slightly over the table with their hands in their laps.

They told me about their trip to Knuthenborg and all the animals they’d seen. They went there once a year, his aunt lived near Nakskov and they always went in her car. It was an Opel registered for commercial use, she had a domestic cleaning business. Normally they went in the summer, but his aunt had broken her wrist falling down a slope at Nakskov Fjord, she thought she’d seen a man she knew. It was a complicated fracture, they didn’t even discover it for a few days. She’d got poorly and had to stay in bed with her arm full of fluid. People kept ringing to ask when she was coming to do their cleaning. Eventually she managed to drive to Stokkemarke and do the floors in two bungalows. Her arm was in plaster for six weeks, she couldn’t do a thing with it afterwards. She’d only just started driving again, which was why their trip to Knuthenborg had been put off.

‘She lost a lot of customers while she was off sick,’ he said.

‘She’s eight per cent invalid now, but she can’t do without her hand,’ said the girl.

‘Who can?’ he said and they both nodded. After that we were quiet again for a bit.

‘What do you do, anyway?’ I asked.

‘We’ve got summer jobs in the Tivoli Gardens,’ he said. ‘I sell snacks and she’s on Hook-a-Duck.’

‘That’s how we met, two years and three months ago. I can hardly believe it,’ she said, and he ruffled her hair.

‘You got hooked yourself.’

‘Ha, ha,’ she said and ruffled back. Then she cleared her throat. ‘No, really. Tivoli’s the best job in the world. There’s no two days alike.’

‘Shame about the rest of the year, though,’ he said, and she gave him a shove.

‘Ha, ha, ha.’

We decided to watch TV. I had three channels, but there was nothing on. Even so, we ended up watching a programme about silent movies. She snuggled up to him and put her head on his shoulder, I could tell she was struggling to stay awake. When the programme finished I got up.

‘We’d best get to the train in good time,’ I said.

‘Are you going to walk us over? Thanks ever so much,’ said the girl. They jumped to their feet and got into their muddy trainers. There was still plenty of time as we said goodbye on the platform. I waved again when I crossed over the tracks. They waved back, then he found something in his raincoat pocket that distracted them. I sneaked a look at the timetable on the board. It was Sunday and there were no more trains. They realised the same thing a moment later and caught me up on my front path looking sheepish. I put the key in the door and the girl put a hand on my shoulder and thanked me for being so kind. I answered without turning round.

‘It’s nothing, really.’

‘Oh, but it is,’ she said.

‘We can lie on our raincoats in the front room,’ he said.

‘There’s carpet in there,’ said the girl. ‘The coats will do for covers.’

‘I’ve got some old blankets somewhere.’

‘We can all go in together in the morning,’ said the girl. ‘What time’s your train? We’ll sit quiet, I promise.’

‘If there’s something you need to read or something, she means.’

‘Just after nine,’ I said.