Page 31 of A Copenhagen Snowmance
“I look like some bloodynisse-nymph!” The red hat and red bikini does make her look like a Christmas elf. “Did you see anyone with their phone?” she snaps, cross, appalled, distressed, all of that.
“Um, I was just looking at you,” he says, pointing to the phone as proof, keen to show he was in no way complicit. “I would have made them delete it if I had.” She would have dunked the photographer and their phone.
Anna’s own phone pings. Her eyes skitter to the message. Katrine. It’s a “starry-eyed” emoji with a photo attached. Anna doesn’t need to open it.
“That’s it,” she says, flopping back into the seat. “I am not leaving this house until I’m heading for the airport.”
“Yeah, no,” states Jamie. “We have an arrangement for this afternoon.”
“What?”
“Just get your work done,” he says. “We leave in about an hour.”
“Not leaving,” she says crossly. She sounds like a toddler, she knows.
“Anna, stop. I’m not going to blow sunshine up you by pointing out that it’s a hot photo. You’ll see that yourself when you calm the hell down. But Iamtelling you not to let it get in the way of your life. Ignore it.”
“Easy for you to say, you aren’t in a miniscule bikini,” she seethes.
“I am, in fact, topless, if you look,” he points out. “I’m wearing half the amount of garments you are. So, I should command the majority of the outrage here. But I know there’s nothing I can do about this, and to be honest, this suits my purpose brilliantly. Smilla will have something for her show and tell.”
Anna’s jaw drops. “You’re happy with this?!”
“It’s a blatant infringement of privacy. Aye. I get it. But it’s out there already and we aren’t doing anything indecent, and as such I’m going to see it as serving a purpose in our fake-dating. Great job there, fake girlfriend.”
His own stubbornness is well on show and outraged as she is, she can’t help but be impressed by his reframing. Again, if it had been anyone but herself she would have thought it a romantic shot, probably commissioned by Copenhot themselves. Perhaps she should reflect on what she finds acceptable for others but not herself, but that can wait for another day. Another day when she is safely away from this city.
Jamie’s expression says he isn’t going to be budged on this. With a cross huff, she goes back to her own work, hammering more aggressively on the keyboard and ignoring him for the following hour.
* * *
At noon precisely, Jamie slaps down the lid on his laptop.
“Time’s up. Let’s go.” His tone is bossier than normal, like he’s expecting resistance.
She hadn’t planned on a half day, but then she’s her own boss. The thought of bunking off with decent company is appealing. She’ll eventually be back in London with plenty of alone-time to fill. And yet, she says, “I really don’t want to go out.”
“I know,” he says, his voice softer, “but you can’t live like that. Hiding. And we had a plan. So, go get Pølse, and your big coat. I’ve got the rest.”
Oh. She hasn’t given much thought to his mentioning the ashes last night. But apparently this is happening.
The walk to Holmens Kirkegaard from the house is only ten minutes, but Anna revels in it. She’s fully wrapped up in a hat under her hood, coat, scarf, gloves, winter boots and a thick layer of lip balm. It’s a blue-sky day, but the cold is bitter out there. Jamie is equally wrapped up and carrying a rucksack that he’s refusing to reveal the contents of. Mysterious. Anna is not averse to this.
The dry crispness of the air is perfect winter weather. She’s not missing the perpetual damp cold of the London winter. Bundled into her layers here, the cold makes her cheeks rosy, but otherwise she’s toasty and, in spite of herearlier livid state, happy. Which is in stark contrast to the last time she walked this route, albeit in the opposite direction, bedraggled in the relentless snow and praying someone would be at home in the house. Anna sends a glance to Jamie as they walk side by side. How lucky she’s been. He can be aloof, but there’s still no signs of serial killer tendencies, and this excursion is so thoughtful.
They pass the wooden chapel at the gate and then Anna leads the way along the paths, finally coming to stop in the little plot where Mads and Vivi now reside. Compared to some, it is simple; no ostentatious, grand headstones for them. Just one matt, granite stone with both their names and dates engraved. The rest of the plot, within the low, perfectly-kempt box hedge is laid with small grey gravel, but speckled with many bigger rounded stones, with little messages of love. A trip to the beach with a bag had allowed for a little cairn in Anna’s back yard, where she would take a stone to write a message on for when shewould go to visit. Not that any of this is visible today, of course, because Snow.
“Cute birds,” says Jamie behind her. On the top edge of the headstone sit two brass birds, as if in chatter.
“This was exactly as Mads and Vivi were. They always had a conversation on the go.” Each bird currently bears a little snow hat.
“I forgot to bring a stone,” she says.
“Danish tradition?” he asks.
“No, just mine. Shows how out of practice I am,” she says, feeling bad about it. She’d left Mads and Vivi, too.
Jamie knocks her side with his, his hands firmly stuffed into his pockets. “Today you’ve brought them something else.”
