Page 33 of A Copenhagen Snowmance
Kindly taking control of the conversation, Jamie tells her about the first time he walked through the cemetery during the summer and was surprised to see people of all ages on picnic blankets, using the area as a park, drinks and all. She’d not quite considered that that might look strange to others, but she’d spent many a summer evening chilling with friends or a weekend afternoon reading a book amid the graves. Totally accepted and normal. She suggests he heads up to Bispebjerg Cemetery in May, for their cherry-blossom festival.
“It’s beautiful,” she says, “almost Japan,” which makes him chuckle. It’s the first chuckle she’s had from him, and it raises her spirits.
“Lunch!” Jamie states, pointing in the direction of Nørrebro. She’s not saying no to that. Her stomach is rumbling under the down of her big coat.
It’s still a good fifty-minute walk to where he has planned, but the route is pretty, especially with the snow. Walking side by side, close but not quite touching, they meander through Østre Anlæg, the park created from the city’s old fortifications, complete with a flooded moat, the lake now frozen over and glistening in the early afternoon sun. They passthe State Museum of Art and the Botanical Garden with its iconic Palm House, Jamie finally steering them to Torvehallerne, two glass food halls blending stalls and eateries. There are cheesemongers, French pâté stalls, a butcher, amid porridge vendors, poke-bowl cafés and many others. Jamie and Anna um and ah whether to go for open sandwiches at one shop, but a Spanish tapas eatery wins out, as Jamie is, it turns out, a sucker for a deep-fried croquette. Minutes later they’re installed on two yellow metal barstools by a window, with a plate each of three baguette slices topped with different toppings, a glass of Spanish wine each and a side plate of molten croquettes.
The smoked-salmon-and-mayonnaise-salad-topped slice doesn’t stay on the plate long, with a tuna one following quickly after. The meatballs in tomato sauce actually make her moan aloud.
“OK,” says Jamie, “that’s clearly your fav—” And then he stops. Anna sips from her wine, waiting, realising just how hungry she was and how the wine is hitting the spot, but his attention is firmly caught by something on the other side of the pane. Anna turns, but whoever it is has walked in through the glass doors just behind her and Jamie is still entranced. Anna turns to the other side to get a proper look.
It’s a tall, Nordic blonde woman and a small child. Both are warmly dressed, the little girl in a floral snowsuit and a purple balaclava that rounds her face and rosy cheeks. The woman takes a moment to pull back the head part of the balaclava to become a neck warmer, releasing a wealth of light brown hair. It’s as she rights herself that she sees she’s being watched, and her focus moves from Anna to Jamie. Her expression then changes from relaxed to very tense. Whatever Anna’s sitting in the middle of, it doesn’t feel comfortable and she doesn’t know what to do. At a loss, she moves her eyes down to the little girl and gives her a smile, which is enthusiastically returned.
“Hej, Lajla,” Jamie says. His voice sounds careful and tense. Not the Jamie voice Anna’s used to.
“Um…Hej,” Lajla responds and Anna looks back up to see her looking about, perhaps for escape.
“How are you?” he asks in English, although Anna is sure he normally ventures the initial pleasantries in his best Danish when he meets friends.
“Fine.” Her tone is tight. Anna looks at Jamie for direction, but his attention is now on the little girl.
“Hej,” he says to her, a big smile on his face, and again the little girl smiles back. Is it Anna’s imagination or is Lajla moving between them?
Jamie snaps his attention back to Lajla. “This is my girlfriend,” he introduces Anna. It comes out oddly, not natural, but then she supposes that as a fake couple, it would. The way he drops his hand on top of hers across the table is clumsy, too. Jamie is clearly out of sorts here. He was much smoother with his colleagues, but she knows a “we’re on” sign when she’s being given it. Knowing her role, she holds out her other hand to Lajla.
“Anna,” she says, in the way Danes do.
Seeing scant option, Lajla shakes her hand and gives her name, too. There’s no smile coming back at Anna, but there’s less of an edge to her expression.
“I have to go,” she says quickly. “I’m meeting friends.” Anna suspects this isn’t true, and she notes Lajla only refers to herself, as if her daughter isn’t there.
“Good to see you both,” Jamie says, but Lajla just nods and draws the girl away by her hand.
Jamie looks back out of the window and takes a long swig of his wine. Anna simply observes him, waiting for an explanation as to what that was, but as she does so, sees Lajla and her daughter leave again from one of the side doors behind Jamie’s back. Weird.
The little girl looks back at the food hall as they go and Anna can’t help thinking there is something about her that’s familiar.
Jamie takes another of the croquettes, and then another.
“You really like those,” she says, for want of something to say.
“Comfort food,” he mumbles. Clearly something about the exchange has made him need it. And something aboutthatgives Anna a clue.
She hazards a guess. “Was that who we’re fake dating for?”
He looks down at the table. “Aye. It took me by surprise. It was a bit?—”
“Clunky?”
He gives her a wry smile.
“Can we talk about it? I’d like to understand.”
Jamie’s face says there’s a million other things he’d far prefer to talk about, but she knows she has some credit here, having told him more about Carl last night.
“Come on,” she coaxes. “You might feel better, and I can definitely fake-girlfriend better if I know what I’m dealing with.” Lajla and Jamie would make a striking couple. Anna needs all the ammo she can get.
He still doesn’t look convinced.
