Page 81 of A Copenhagen Snowmance
“Absolutely.” Anna gets it, not taking offence.
Katrine turns to her friend. “Anna, you’re going to be fine. In a week or two you’ll be able to look back on this with some distance. Maybe you’ll send him an email or a text, explain why you said whatever it was you said, make the apologies you need to, but meanwhile you know he’s looking after your house, and he’ll be a good memory.” She stands. “We’ll text regarding the dinner.” She bends to give Anna a hug and whispers to her, “I missed you.”
“Me, too,” whispers Anna. And then, “Godt nytår.” Happy new year.
Anna honestly hopes a new year will move her on.
ChapterThirty-Four
The flight is delayed. Of course it is. Given this trip, she wonders how she hadn’t expected it. There’s heavy fog in Gatwick and they’re waiting for it to lift. But even before this, her exit has been hampered. First her baggage conveyor-belt broke, with her suitcase inconveniently out of reach so she couldn’t transfer it to another. Once she’d been helped and moved on to Security, her bag had failed the X-ray, due to a so-small-it-took-ages-to-locate bottle of hand gel she’d forgotten to transfer out. Some might suggest her resolve is being tested.
As soon as she’s through to airside, she bypasses all her favourite shops to find a seat, and pulling out her phone, she takes a deep breath and calls Jamie. She needs to tell him she is sorry, that she didn’t mean what she said, that she should never have uttered the words. If she has hope of ever breathing comfortably again, she needs to apologise. She understands that he won’t speak to her after, that the damage is done, but she will at least have told him she is sorry.
It rings out. He’s not picking up her call. Staring at the screen, she gets it. She understands. She didn’t take Carl or Maiken’s calls either once.
She starts a text, but no matter what she writes, it’s not enough and she deletes it time and again. This apology needs to be spoken; the hurt came from spoken words, the remorse should come that way too.
Dejected, she buys her hot dog and her Cocio chocolate milk, then moves on to Ole & Steen to buy akanelsneglfor tomorrow’s breakfast– her usual routine, trying to reassure herself of her course.
She sits by the glass window looking out onto the planes, checking the board now and again, but her flight is still delayed. Airside is milling with people excited to make their flights, but Anna simply isn’t one of them. Prompted by a nearby groan of “Mommyyyy,” she turns to see a family, some seats along. A girl, about eight years old, slumped in her seat, looks exhausted by it all. Anna gazes at her transfixed. She could be looking at her eight-year-old self. Ida always went into overdrive when they travelled on, trying to make this bit seem exciting. She would gush with facts about whichever new place they were headed for, while Anna would sit with her stuffed backpack, tired and wondering whether her latest set of friends would notice she was missing. In Ida-speak, what Anna is doing now, venturing out in the world, is a sign of her freedom and should be celebrated. The ability to restart and reinvent herself at short notice. But now Anna suspects Ida simply couldn’t manage a long-term relationship, ever, and Anna’s childhood stability was the collateral damage. Lovely old Anne-Grete had been right when she said Ida had fire in her bottom, and Anna wonders what life would have looked like, and would look like now for herself, if Ida had ever thought to douse it.
It’s dark outside, save for the airport lighting, but her gaze is lost in the middle distance as she sorts through her feelings. She takes a big bite of the hot dog and savours it. Outside is a land with many hot dog wagons, but also many other things that she loves and values. So why, really, is she willing to walk away from it?
The humiliation. That’s what it is. The bumping into people who knew and didn’t say. And those who knew and now rub it into her face. Those things are the things she’s removing herself from. Or running from, as Jamie would say. Only now, having been back, she wonders who wins in that situation. Those people don’t care whether she comes or goes. She isn’t wreaking revenge on them. They don’t give a crap either way. But there are people here whodocare about her, who like to see her, who don’t rub a misfortune many months ago in her face. So why is she removing herself from them?
Balancing her hot dog, she tries calling him again, wanting to face this, settle this, before she leaves the country. But again it rings out. He really doesn’t want to talk to her. Fair, she thinks. He’d once said being ghosted was horrible– she sees she’s about to be schooled. And rightly so. With a small sniff, she pockets the phone, then takes another bite of the hot dog, ruminating as she munches.
She thinks about people who care about her. Katrine had said “not all men and not every man”, but how were you supposed to tell the difference? She’d got it so very wrong with Carl. Having just seen him, Anna realises that here, eighteen months on, he didn’t seem a better human being for allegedly having found his happiness with Maiken. In fact, if she thinks about men she trusts, until a fortnight ago she would have singularly said hermorfar, him being the only real male role model she’s had in her life. But then there was Jamie…
She takes a swig of the Cocio and then another bite of the hot dog, as deep thinking like this is taxing. Jamie was right, shehadfelt comfortable with him (after the initial serial killer thing). In contrast to Carl, Jamie is a different league; easily more a Morfar than a Carl, on Anna’s limited spectrum of reference. And it makes her wonder whether he might be right about other things, too. Could the possibility of fortune supersede her past misfortune? Like Katrine said, the broken heart can be an open heart. Jamie certainly filled hers for the last two weeks. Perhaps itistime to put the humiliation behind her, as it’s another thing which isn’t serving her. It isn’t making her feel better holding onto it. Anna blows out a long deep breath in an effort to let it go.
“You really have everything on that hot dog, haven’t you?” says a voice from the adjacent chair and she nearly chokes. Staring so hard out of the window, she hasn’t sensed anyone take the seat. Her head swings to her right and there he is. Jamie. Sitting there, right next to her, his big coat on and his rucksack at his feet.
“What are you doing here?!” She’s shocked, but also elated, but then also fully ashamed. Perhaps he’s here to give her an earful. She’d take it. “I mean… Jamie, what I said to you. I absolutely didn’t mean that. I should never ever have said it. I am so sorry. Please forgive me.” She looks into his beautiful eyes, hoping not to see hate there. Hate would slay her.
“Anna—”
“No, please hear me out. What I said was appalling. So bad. I don’t even know why I suddenly felt the need to defend Ida, but to do it like that was awful. I am sorry, and I hope you’ll accept my apology.”
Jamie studies her, somewhat less angry than she expects and would understand. It’s sort of like he’s drinking her face in, truth be told. He sighs a deep sigh, then says, “Didn’t we already agree that people do mad things when they’re emotional?” Yes, they might have discussed that in the last fortnight. “Your apology is accepted.” Well, that has gone far better than she has spun in her head. Maybe there is something to this facing things thing after all.
“I called you. To apologise,” she adds, wanting him to know she’d tried sooner.
He digs his phone from a pocket and sees the missed calls. “There was a queue at the X-ray machines. You must have rung then.”
Which brings her back to her original question.
“Why are you here, Jamie?”
“There’s more I needed to say.”
“But how did you get in here?” She waves her hand around at the departures lounge in case he still doesn’t understand.
“I got a ticket. A return. I’ll fly back tomorrow. I’m hoping there’s a good Samaritan who’ll let me stay.” He bats his lashes at her, and she tries very hard not to smile, all the self-loathing easing now.
“There’s fog at Gatwick,” she says dully. “No flights in at the moment.”
“That’s OK,” he says, upbeat. “My flight’s to Heathrow.”
