Page 2 of A Copenhagen Snowmance
Waiting in reception, she notes the boxes behind the desk. The clinic officially closes tomorrow, but they’ve been quite stern with her about not leaving it until then.
“Hej,” says a woman in scrubs passing through on the other side of the reception desk. Anna can’t help but notice the woman’s gaze sweep over her more-than-damp state.Judgey.
“Hej. Anna Lundholm. I’m here to pick up?—”
“Ja,” the woman cuts her off and runs her eye to the desk. “It’s good you came. It’s the only one left, and it’s been a while.” There’s an admonishment in there. Anna mumbles something contrite about living in London. The clinician places a brown cardboard cylinder on the counter. It’s plain, but for a label with a name and then Anna’s details below.
Anna feels a pang in her heart. The sticker readsPølse. Sausage. Her grandparents’ cat, and hers after they died; a moody old thing but beloved nonetheless, and absolutely the only reason that could bring her back to Copenhagen, as everything else save for weddings and funerals can be done digitally here. She’s missed him. Very much. But in the madness of the last eighteen months, she’s never had the chance to properly mourn him. Or collect him. Hence the trip.
Placing the cylinder carefully in her bag and saying goodbye and thanks, and good luck and also merry Christmas, she leaves the veterinary clinic. The cold smacks her in the face, and the snow serves a follow-up slap. The wind has picked up and the flurries mean business. Anna’s quick to rebutton her coat and cross her arms in front of her as she dips her head and steers directly across the street and in through a gate. She has one more stop before she turns her nose back towards the metro, the airport and London. And then that’ll be it. The Bosh to the Bish and the Bash. One more stop, and she’ll finally be properly done with this city, its bad memories and scowly men.
ChapterTwo
On the little list in her head, Anna has four points.
Arrive
Collect ashes
Scatter ashes
Leave
And she’s already managed the first two, so yay, Anna! She gives herself a mental pat on the back.
Through the gate, Holmens Kirkegaard, the cemetery which lies between the vet and her old home, where she lived with her grandparents and later with Carl, is where her grandparents now lie. Since the vet first called (OK, called for theeighthtime, but she’s been busy), Anna’s been thinking what to do with Pølse’s ashes. Her grandparents, Vivi and Mads, had had him since he was a kitten, and they all doted on each other. When Anna had inherited him, he’d done his best to come across as aloof and too cool for her, but she’d already seen his true colours and he soon gave it up. He came for cuddles as much for himself as for her, the two of them mourning her grandparents together. It makes complete sense to leave the ashes with Vivi and Mads. The three of them belong together.
Anna soon finds the path she has walked many times before, between the low-hedged plots that cover the cemetery. Danish graveyards are some of the best kept in the world, from her experience of exploring cities on foot. In her mind’s eye, she thinks of the cemetery in spring or summer, or occasionally in the autumn when the leaves are golden and russet, but always with radiant light shafts. But those images in her head aren’t what meet her now, as the snowflakes and wind are dancing together to form the beginnings of a snowstorm. The snow is resting on the boughs of the fir trees, and it would look positively festive if it wasn’t for the biting wind whipping her face, making her squeeze her eyes as closed as she can while still affording her some vision. The weight of the moisture in the wool of her coat is now considerable and it’s no longer the warm item it was when she left the airport.
“Hej, Mormor.Hej, Morfar,” she wheezes out as the snow flies in her face, greeting her grandmother and grandfather in turn. She’d got used to chatting to them over the five years they’d been gone, before she left, using their shared headstone as a sounding board for ideas. Sometimes it just helped to say things aloud, to feel it was shared. And they were very good at keeping confidences. She should stay for a longer chat, to update them on what’s happened and where she’s living, but she can feel now that her boots aren’t waterproof, and she’s beginning to shiver with the cold. She tells them she’s brought Pølse to join them. Unzipping her bag, however, she hears sounds behind her and turning, she sees a large party of people heading towards her through the snow. Of course they are bundled up in proper winter clothing, but there’s no disguising the priest, in her long black robe and white ruff collar, at the front. (Anna bets she’s got lots of lovely merino-wool base layers under that, as will the mourners probably… and almost everyone else in the entire city, with the exception of herself.) There’s no disguising the coffin being carried behind her, either. Anna can’t think of worse weather to be doing this in. Rain is one thing; the snow, cold and wind another. She scans the ground around her and sees the prepared grave just three plots along. She’d been so targeted through her squinting eyes, she’d missed it completely.
Standing very still, Anna lowers her head as the cortège reaches and passes her, telling herself it’s in respect, which it absolutely is, but it’s also in a vague attempt at anonymity. There’s bound to be someone in this group who knows her or knew her grandparents. Instinctively, she pulls her bobble hat further down over her ears to hide herself as much as she can. While she’s loved her hat for years, just this minute she wishes it was a nondescript colour, rather than bright red with a white pompom.
She deliberates on the next course of action. Scattering the ashes while there are others who would see is a no-go. It’s just not done. And she’d want to do it gracefully and slowly, with the respect Pølse deserves, and in this wind and trying to be surreptitious, that’s not going to happen. There’s every chance Pølse might blow over them all. Equally, she doesn’t think she can stand waiting for the entire duration of a burial without seeming noticeably odd. Or perishing. Moving stealthily from one foot to the other, she tries to generate some heat, but quickly accepts that without breaking into actual star jumps this is a nonstarter.
Anna’s shoulders sink as she sees she’s missed her moment. Carefully, she re-zips her bag, Pølse safely dry inside– unlike herself– and judging it respectfully safe to withdraw, swiftly does so while trying to lower the volume of her chattering teeth.
Muttering apologies to Pølse and promises to find somewhere equally lovely in London, Anna’s trip back across the graveyard is as brisk as she can manage, given her limbs are beginning to seize up with the cold and wet of her clothes. Her back-patting mood has dropped considerably, and now she’s simply focused on getting back to the airport and onto her nice warm, toasty plane. A quick look at her Apple watch tells her it leaves in three hours. That’s fine. There’s just time for a speedy mooch through the airport shops and definitely for that hot dog and Cocio. And akanelsnegl. Probably an extra one for tomorrow, too. There are comforts only cinnamon swirls can truly offer.
Descending into the shelter of the metro is a deep relief. She appreciates the plain grey stone walls and floor; there’s literally nothing to tell her she’s in Copenhagen, no litter to remind her of everyday foods, no posters for sites or events. The anonymity aids her tunnel vision to get out and away. Scarred from earlier, she checks that Scowly Guy isn’t about, which thankfully he isn’t. The awkwardness would have been horrific. Anna pops in her AirPods on the platform to drown out all the Danish conversations. It’s different from when she overhears Danes on the London Underground. She’s pleased to detect fellow countrymen who are travelling like she is, but here it’s overwhelming and the everyday-ness of the conversations too raw. But she lets herself look out of the window this time as the train comes above ground, expecting to see the Blue Planet aquarium and Kastrup Fort, but only seeing white as the air is full of falling snow.
Reaching the terminus, she almost bursts off the train and sprints into the airport hall, desperate to get through security and airside, where she can face away from the city and mentally be on her way. In less than six hours she’ll be back in her rented apartment, in front of the TV, watching something,anything, rendering today a simple blip in her life and soon to be forgotten. OK, she’ll still have Pølse to scatter, but then… then she can fully move on.
Weirdly, staff are meeting the arriving passengers in the main hall, and at first Anna thinks it might be some kind of Christmas shenanigans. The hall is decorated with white star-shaped Christmas lights. But registering the dropping shoulders and faces of the passengers in front of her, she comes to suspect not. Pulling out an AirPod, she hears the words “cancelled” and “snow” and “closed”.
Anna reaches a man in staff uniform. He looks weary already.
“Hvad sker der?” she asks. What’s happening?
“All flights are cancelled. Grounded due to the snowstorm.”
“For how long?” she asks, panic beginning to rise in her. This was not in her plan.
“No idea. The weather is worse across the rest of the country and there’s more to come.”
This is not what she wants to hear. “OK, OK,” she says, more to herself than him. She will just need to revise and adjust her plan. “But I’ll just wait here in the airport, yes?” She can totally manage that. Sleeping on one of the designer chairs, living off hot dogs and cinnamon swirls for as long as it takes, is absolutely within her skill set. Her cavernous bag probably has most of everything else she’ll need and there’s bound to be a toothbrush– designer probably, but needs must– to buy somewhere in the building. Dry clothes might go on the shopping list, too. Anna feels a small spark of pride at her survival thinking.
“I’m sorry, no. We’ve no idea when flights will resume and we’re emptying the airport. No one else comes in. Everyone is being urged back home or to hotels.”
