Page 12 of A Copenhagen Snowmance
He lets her off. “The room’s looking better.”
“I know, right?” It looks like a bedroom again, with actual space around the bed, as opposed to the earlier furniture Jenga. “I’ve pulled out a suitcase and some more clothes I’ll take back with me. The rest I’m packing down into the basement storage room.”
He nods.
“Finished your job for today?”
“Aye.”
“Solved climate change?”
“Ah, not quite,” he says with a slow shake of the head, “but working towards.”
Anna wonders what it must be like, working at the coalface of such a monumental task. Especially when a lot of what people classify as having fun, and indeed she encourages in her work, is detrimental to his cause.
“Any luck with the flights?” he asks, changing the subject.
“No,” she says sullenly. “It’s all fucked out there. And in the UK. Snow everywhere. They don’t know when I’ll be able to fly out, and my ticket won’t leapfrog anyone who has the ticket the day they reopen. I’m sorry to have to ask but?—”
Jamie instantly holds up a hand. “Just assume it’s fine. It’s your house. Consider us housemates.”
She finds him very confusing. He seems determined to remain aloof, but also seems happy enough for her to stay. Well, maybe nothappy, but accepting.
“Time to go out,” he states, cutting through the awkwardness.
She spins towards the window, now reachable and fully functioning again. Big flakes float down past the pane, though not blustering like before. He wants to go out?
“Why?!”
A sound comes out of his head, and it takes her a moment to recognise that it’s a bark of laughter. It’s the first proper sign of amusement he’s shown in her presence. He’s laughing at her panic. It’s her turn to scowl at him.
“Aren’t Danes supposed to love theFriluftsliv?” he asks, resetting his face.
“That’s the Norwegians. Masochists. Danes are more sensible. Outdoor living is only fun when it’s dry. Even better when it’s warm, but we can always wear outer layers. I don’t think we’re DNA-bound to love the rain and being wet. That might be you Celts.”
“Get a grip, Anna. We need food, and I have umbrellas, so let’s go.”
She wants to ask whether he can’t go by himself, but it feels rude.
* * *
Supermarkets appear to bring out the happy in Jamie. He peruses the shelves with interest, as opposed to her method of storming through. “Remoulade?” he asks, holding up the yellow squeezy bottle across the aisle in Netto. “Initially, I had no idea what this was. I was challenging myself to eat something new every week to expand my Danish repertoire, and this was one of the weirder ones, but it rocks.” Anna has a dealer for this in London. She won’t eat fish and chips without the garish yellow pickle-based condiment, which she finds superior to tartare sauce, and which is a household staple in Denmark. He holds up a glass jar of pickled herring. “These on the other hand, are a big no, especially the curry sauce one.”
That makes her laugh. “If you didn’t like one kind, why did you try more?” To be fair, she’s with him on the herring thing, but hermorfarwas a firm believer.
“Because you never know. I might have liked one and not the other, so I didn’t want to sign off the entire genre without trying.”
“You’ve triedallthe herring?” she asks, astounded, pointing to the row of different types, such as dill, mustard and the current Christmas marinaded variant. They each have a trolley, his with sensible things, hers with mainly snacks, sweets and cinnamongifflar.
“Aye. Now I definitely know.” Clearly a loon.
“This thoroughness, with things you don’t like, is that normal for you?” She doesn’t know whether what she’s experienced is Normal Jamie. It’s been a bit of a rollercoaster, so far; frosty and guarded, then more open and chatty, then not, and repeat.
He stops and thinks about it. Anna watches him, under the guise of waiting for a response.
Then he simply shrugs and says, “I don’t know,” before walking off into the next aisle, obviously on a mission, leaving Anna watching him some more.
A laugh from a little way off catches her attention and it’s like a cold bucket of water has been thrown onto her. She ducks her head down into the trolley as if checking the goods. She would know that laugh anywhere. So many evenings out, and eveningsinfor that matter, laughing together as if they were sisters, not just the best friends they used to be.
