Page 56 of A Copenhagen Snowmance
“SKÅÅÅL!” A roar goes up from the next table– ten bankers, from what they’ve overheard of their loud conversation. The rest of the room erupts into their ownskåling, and moresnapsis shotted. Katrine and Anna follow along, this time with an Aalborgsnapsand Anna is thankful for the diversion. It allows her to take back control of the conversation.
“I do like him. He’s a great guy,” she gives Katrine. “And maybe something while I’m here would be fun, but that really would be the sum of it. Don’t think it’ll be more, Trine, because it won’t. I don’t want anything permanent. I’m happy as I am.”
It is deeply annoying to Anna that Katrine can do that eyebrow thing, too, but eventually her dissatisfied editor lets it go. Ish. “Take the short-term fun, Anna. You could do with someone great being good to you, even for a little while. Even if it’s just to get you back out there.”
Back out there.That feels like a foreign land and has done for a while. The thing is though, the thought which pings into Anna’s squiffy mind, is this; she’s a travel writer,an explorer, which literally means venturing into foreign lands…
ChapterTwenty-Five
Despite not being able to feel her teeth– a state that is, she must admit, due more to the number of shots she’s had than the cold– Anna still has the sense to walk her bike home rather than cycle. Katrine shares the same route for half of the way, so they continue their slurring until they finish with a huge hug and go their respective ways. Katrine’s parting shot is to “Go get him!” and it’s all Anna thinks about as she plods homewards.
The muscle-memory is back as she locks her bike in the yard, but it doesn’t extend to getting the key in the lock, which takes a few goes. Fair enough, she thinks, it’s dark. Not her fault.
While it is indeed dark, it’s only just gone seven, yet her boozy brain tells her she needs to be quiet because Jamie might be asleep. She might even whisper it to herself out loud, but it seems sound advice and so she does her best to tiptoe around the hallway. Removing her chunky boots brings spectacular failure in this.
“Everything OK out there?” comes a voice from the living room. That faint glow of light isn’t just to ward off burglars, then.
“’S’fine!” she loudly whispers, from the floor, confused now as to whether she should be quiet or not. “’S’fine, ’s’fine, ’s’fffff…” she tails off, having difficulty getting her crossbody bag off herself from this angle.
“Need any help?” he asks. His voice is slightly singsong. Not mocking, per se, just knowing.
“All good,” she replies, finally dislodging the bag and flinging it in the corner, vaguely near her boot. The one she did get off before keeling over. Flipping onto her back, she unbuttons her coat and slides her arms out of the sleeves, then raising one foot in the air, unzips the remaining boot and sends it to join its mate. Much safer from this position. She takes a moment to stare at the ceiling and work out the next bit. Crawl up the stairs to her bed, or into the living room to say hello? She remembers her mission to explore Jamie’s foreign lands, though she’s not sure crawling will be the most alluring approach.
It takes her a moment to control her eyes, but when she does, she focuses on the Poul Henningsen pendant lamp, to steady her breathing and thinking. She should probably try her best to disguise her tipsiness. It’s possible she might even have surpassed tipsy. Not all men find that attractive. But they’d drunk together the night of The Kissssssss– she takes a few moments to veer off at a tangent in her thinking, to replay the kiss, a smile bursting across her face– so he can’t be too against it, can he? She thinks about what Katrine had said about having some fun and going to get him. Katrine’s editing advice has always seen her safe before, why would that not also apply to life advice?
“What are you muttering out there?” Jamie asks, and she realises she’s been thinking out loud again. That’s probably not a good idea.
Anna turns onto her front, then gets up on her hands and knees. With the help of the banister she’s up onto her feet– yay!– where she gives her hair a quick smooth down, only to find she still has her hat on. She drops it onto the coat and re-smooths her hair, giving herself a quick glance in the hallway mirror. She’s looking… pink. That’s all she’s got. Pink. That’ll do. And she heads into the living room to go get him and venture into his foreign lands.
Turning into the room, Anna is drawn up short by what she’s met with. Any muttering she’s been doing lodges in her mouth as she stands stunned. Jamie stands at the far end of the room, with an apprehensive smile.
“I hope this is OK? I took a bit of a chance you’d be fine with it.”
Wide-eyed, Anna can only manage a slow mute nod.
The entire room is bedecked with Christmas ornaments. Baubles,nisserof all sizes, embroidered wall hangings, hanging paper stars, woven paper hearts, colourful card cones filled with wrapped sweets, little bells, and in the deep windowsill a winter scene of snow-dusted model houses on a cotton-wool “snow” ground. Perhaps they’re not quite in the same order as hermormorhad them, but they’re all Vivi’s decorations, all the things Anna remembers from her childhood Christmases. Next to Jamie, and equally tall, stands a wooden eco tree, covered with baubles of all colours, strings of Danish flags and live candles in golden holders, which he must have lit just as she stumbled in. Crowning it is a gold star, the sight of which makes her eyes sting, as she and hermorfarhad made it together with golden craft wire.
“When…” she begins, but of course he’s been working on this all afternoon. “Why…” she restarts.
“I saw the boxes in the basement when we were getting the bike out and I thought…” He stumbles. “Well, I thought you might enjoy seeing the things again. I guess it’s been a while.”
Last Christmas, in London, an onlooker would not have been able to tell it was December in her apartment. There was little difference from summer, except the windows were closed and the heating was on. Now, her eyes keep sweeping over the decorations, drinking them in, remembering them like old friends, and her fingers itch to touch them or pick them up.
“Thank you,” she says, but the words are still sticking in her throat, so instead she takes the few steps over to him and throws her arms around his neck to hug him. “Thank you,” she says again, clear this time. “It’s wondrous.” That feels like the right word as, of course, it’s beautiful, but it’s not just what it looks like but also everything invested in the items, the meanings and the memories.
She feels his arms wrap around her back, warm and safe, and he says into her hair. “You’re welcome. It was nothing.”
But it was far more than nothing, more than she’d expected and far more than she’d realised she needed.
“And besides,” he says, “at thirty-five I felt I should own a tree.”
“A man of amenities,” she confirms into his chest.
Holding on tight to him for some moments, she revels in the closeness, then looks up into his face. With her slurry eyes she savours the depth of his and the prominence of the brows above them. She follows the smooth line of his nose to his lips.
She leans in to place a kiss on them.
Neither of them let go.
