to dwell on his death in front of an audience, assuming there was one.A surprising number of cars were parked outside the church. Someone stood in the doorway and ushered people in. Pernille. Behind her a long row of wreaths and flowers stretched down the aisle. Half the pews were full.
‘Bess!’ she said, and opened her arms as if to embrace me. ‘Where on earth have you been?’ I shook my umbrella and showered her with raindrops. She was forced to step back so I could squeeze past her enormous belly. Sudden rage surged up inside me. ‘Who do you think you are!’ I hissed. Then I saw the coffin. And with that came the thought of Halland inside it. I stepped into the church holding the tiny pink rose. Looking straight ahead, I strode down the aisle to the coffin, placed the flower on the lid and then edged my way along the front pew without looking at anyone. Who were all these people? After a while I realized that the pastor was trying to attract my attention.
‘Where do all these people come from?’ I whispered angrily.
‘Halland’s daughter placed a notice in the paper yesterday . Didn’t you see it?’
I wasn’t keeping up with the newspapers. His daughter ! Who did she think she was?
‘She’s not Halland’s daughter !’ I said loudly.
‘In that case, apologies are called for. I must have got the wrong end of the stick…’ The pastor glanced towards the entrance with a bewildered look on his face. His glasses slid down his nose and he pushed them back into place.
The bells rang, the door was closed and the organ struck up. Pernille sat down beside me. I slid away from her. She slid with me. Was she stupid or what?
‘I suppose you arranged for nibbles at the Postgården too?’ I hissed.
‘Nibbles?’ This was going to be an ordeal. ‘Did you notice we had our picture taken?’
‘When?’
‘There were some photographers outside.’
I hadn’t noticed. Forcing myself to concentrate on the coffin, I found my place in the hymn book and ignored her as best I could. I would be furious with her later. Not now. Later.
16
Arthur’s father and I lived no further apart, with half the globe between us, than we were together in this house .
Charles Dickens, LITTLE DORRIT
A person can be matt and shiny at the same time. Halland was just that. His eyes were closed when I ran into the hospital and found him on a gurney in a corridor without even a screen around him. I didn’t know if he was asleep. I saw his matt and shiny face and his closed eyes and thought he was a stranger. We had been living together for more than a year, yet I had never told him that I thought about Abby every day and that I kept wondering if I had made the right decision in the first place. Every single day. I told him about my writing – a little bit – and about books and shopping, and about people I met in town. We were getting to know the neighbours, and I told him about them. Now he was lying on a gurney in a hospital corridor and didn’t even know I was there. He suffered too much pain. He couldn’t hear me yelling at the nurses to find somewhere else to put him, to get him a doctor, to do something . And he was oblivious when I threatened to contact a journalist I knew on one of the tabloids. I didn’t know any tabloid journalists. A lie. But it helped.
The porter wheeled him along without looking at me. I held Halland’s cold, damp hand. I couldn’t talk to him with the porter there, so I squeezed his hand.
They said he had woken up. But when I went in to see him he just lay there. I sat down and waited. His breathing was laboured. The sun shone through the window; I felt hot and nearly fell asleep. Then, without turning his head, without even opening his eyes, he said, ‘The anaesthetist asked where I wanted to go. He told me to imagine somewhere I was happy. I said, “On a bus.” They all laughed, but he said, “A bus it is, then!’’’
At first I said nothing. I didn’t think he was
‘Bess!’ she said, and opened her arms as if to embrace me. ‘Where on earth have you been?’ I shook my umbrella and showered her with raindrops. She was forced to step back so I could squeeze past her enormous belly. Sudden rage surged up inside me. ‘Who do you think you are!’ I hissed. Then I saw the coffin. And with that came the thought of Halland inside it. I stepped into the church holding the tiny pink rose. Looking straight ahead, I strode down the aisle to the coffin, placed the flower on the lid and then edged my way along the front pew without looking at anyone. Who were all these people? After a while I realized that the pastor was trying to attract my attention.
‘Where do all these people come from?’ I whispered angrily.
‘Halland’s daughter placed a notice in the paper yesterday . Didn’t you see it?’
I wasn’t keeping up with the newspapers. His daughter ! Who did she think she was?
‘She’s not Halland’s daughter !’ I said loudly.
‘In that case, apologies are called for. I must have got the wrong end of the stick…’ The pastor glanced towards the entrance with a bewildered look on his face. His glasses slid down his nose and he pushed them back into place.
The bells rang, the door was closed and the organ struck up. Pernille sat down beside me. I slid away from her. She slid with me. Was she stupid or what?
‘I suppose you arranged for nibbles at the Postgården too?’ I hissed.
‘Nibbles?’ This was going to be an ordeal. ‘Did you notice we had our picture taken?’
‘When?’
‘There were some photographers outside.’
I hadn’t noticed. Forcing myself to concentrate on the coffin, I found my place in the hymn book and ignored her as best I could. I would be furious with her later. Not now. Later.
16
Arthur’s father and I lived no further apart, with half the globe between us, than we were together in this house .
Charles Dickens, LITTLE DORRIT
A person can be matt and shiny at the same time. Halland was just that. His eyes were closed when I ran into the hospital and found him on a gurney in a corridor without even a screen around him. I didn’t know if he was asleep. I saw his matt and shiny face and his closed eyes and thought he was a stranger. We had been living together for more than a year, yet I had never told him that I thought about Abby every day and that I kept wondering if I had made the right decision in the first place. Every single day. I told him about my writing – a little bit – and about books and shopping, and about people I met in town. We were getting to know the neighbours, and I told him about them. Now he was lying on a gurney in a hospital corridor and didn’t even know I was there. He suffered too much pain. He couldn’t hear me yelling at the nurses to find somewhere else to put him, to get him a doctor, to do something . And he was oblivious when I threatened to contact a journalist I knew on one of the tabloids. I didn’t know any tabloid journalists. A lie. But it helped.
The porter wheeled him along without looking at me. I held Halland’s cold, damp hand. I couldn’t talk to him with the porter there, so I squeezed his hand.
They said he had woken up. But when I went in to see him he just lay there. I sat down and waited. His breathing was laboured. The sun shone through the window; I felt hot and nearly fell asleep. Then, without turning his head, without even opening his eyes, he said, ‘The anaesthetist asked where I wanted to go. He told me to imagine somewhere I was happy. I said, “On a bus.” They all laughed, but he said, “A bus it is, then!’’’
At first I said nothing. I didn’t think he was
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