Anna was confused. “The child,” she said. “That was me.”
Ulla went quiet, then she said, “No, she couldn’t have been you. The little girl was called Sara. I’m sure of it. My mother’s name was Sara, and when I was young I knew that if I ever had a daughter of my own, I would call her Sara. So, of course, I noticed every little Sara, I met.”
Anna was flabbergasted.
“So the name Anna Bella means absolutely nothing to you?”
“No.” Ulla Bodelsen was adamant.
Anna felt like screaming. It couldn’t be true. The man, Ulla remembered, was Jens, Anna was sure of it! Brænderup, the communes, Cecilie’s absence, Jens who had to manage everything on his own, it was them! Her life. Her childhood. There was no Sara. Ulla Bodelsen had to be wrong.
“Please may I visit you?” Anna asked out of desperation.
“But, child,” Ulla Bodelsen said, “even if I am your old health visitor, I won’t be able to recognize you, it’s been almost thirty years. You’re a grown woman now, not a toddler.”
“No,” Anna said. “I know, but perhaps you’ll recognize my daughter.”
Another silence.
“Of course you can come,” Ulla said then.
“As early as tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow is… Friday? Well, that’ll be fine.”
When Anna had ended the conversation, she was trembling.
Who the hell was Sara?
She wasted the next half hour on her computer. Googled something, tried to compose an invitation to her dissertation defense, but who was there to invite? She looked up Karen’s address on the Internet. This was something she did regularly, and every time the address came up as somewhere in Odense. This time Anna’s jaw dropped when the search results appeared. Karen had moved and was now living in northwest Copenhagen, not far from Anna and even closer to the university! It had to be her. Karen Maj Dyhr. There could only be one person with that name. She stared at the telephone number for a long time. She twirled on her chair, looking around the room. Johannes’s computer was still missing, and the mess on his desk was unbelievable. She wondered why he hadn’t replied to her text about his computer being confiscated. If anyone had removed hers without asking, she would have had a fit. She texted him again.
Haven’t you hibernated for long enough now? No response. Damn! She called him. It went straight to voice mail. Thoroughly annoyed, she began going through his drawers. Chaos everywhere. Papers, notes, and books. She wasn’t looking for anything in particular, nor did she find anything interesting. It was almost two o’clock. She switched off her computer and packed up her stuff. She wanted to speak to Johannes. He had said they were still friends, so he had to talk to her. They couldn’t go on not speaking.
She was about to leave when she remembered the necklace. She took out the small white box. Fancy Professor Helland buying her a present. No man had ever given Anna jewelry. The pendant couldn’t be mass-produced; after all, how many people would appreciate the significance of an egg and a feather? Helland must have had it made especially for her. She held up the chain and put it on. Then she left. As she passed Helland’s office, she said out loud: “Sorry, but there’s no way I’m thanking a door.”
She caught the bus to Vesterbro and headed for the street where Johannes lived. As she crossed Istedgade, she was reminded of a winter’s night, a long time ago, when Thomas and she had left a bar where they had spent three hours. It had snowed in the meantime, Copenhagen had been enchanting and they decided to walk all the way home. There was white virgin snow, the clouds had long since disappeared and they could see a million stars. In front of their block, Thomas had pressed Anna up against the wall.
“Let’s not go inside,” he whispered. “It’s beautiful out here.”
“Love me,” Anna said suddenly. “Love me, no matter what happens.”
“Anna,” he said. “I love you no matter what. It’s you and me forever. With kids and the whole kit and caboodle.” He laughed. Anna had started to cry.
The next morning all the snow was gone. That was four years ago now.
Anna crossed Enghave Plads, where the winos still hung out even though the temperature had dropped to below zero. It had started snowing and she pulled up her hood. She had visited Johannes several times, and it had always been enjoyable. Johannes had treated her to a selection of unusual sandwiches of his own design and made tea in individual cups rather than in a pot. Every time he brought her a fresh cup, it would be accompanied by a crunchy biscuit on the saucer. On one occasion, he had starting quizzing her about her private life. Not just superficial information, such as grew up in a village outside Odense, single parent, but personal stuff.
Johannes had long since told Anna everything about himself that mattered. His father had died when he was very young, and he had acquired a stepfather, Jørgen, when his mother remarried. His stepfather owned a furniture emporium and hoped Johannes would take it over one day. It had been very hard for Johannes to fight this expectation. He hadn’t really pulled his life together until he joined the goth scene, where he had met a uniquely accepting community. In a voice that came close to breaking, Johannes had told her about his younger sister. In return, Anna felt she ought to be honest about her own life.
At first, she tried to get away with the edited version, and initially Johannes bought it. But the next time they met he had said: “Anna, you really can trust me.”
It had taken Anna two hours to tell him the story about Thomas. She had gotten pregnant and Thomas hadn’t been pleased. Anna had raged and cried. She didn’t want an abortion. Neither of them had worried about contraception for almost three months! When Thomas finally acquiesced, Anna convinced herself she had read too much into his initial reaction. A child was something abstract to a man, and he had simply been incapable of relating to it. They were going to live happily ever after.
Shortly after Lily was born, the rug was pulled from under Anna’s feet. Lily woke up four to five times every night, and Anna could barely breathe when Thomas came home from work; it felt like she had a metal hoop clamped around her chest. She cried; she screamed. She hammered her fists against his chest, woke him up at night because she couldn’t bear to be alone. Thomas withdrew from her. He worked late, went to bed early, ignored her when she spoke to him. And yet she didn’t see the split coming.
With her voice subdued and her head lowered, she confessed the most shameful moment of her life to Johannes.
Lily was eleven months old and could say “Dad” and “Mom” and “hi” though she still didn’t walk. One Saturday, when Anna and Lily came back from swim class, Thomas’s stuff was gone. She had been out for four hours. The stereo and two framed posters were missing from the living room, the espresso maker had gone from the kitchen, and Thomas’s office was empty. On the floor was a box containing the instructions for the dishwasher and the warranty for the blender. He called her later to say: “We’re not together anymore.” How stupid did he think she was?
The shock hit her that night and lasted three months. She couldn’t sleep and kept shaking all over; she sweated and had palpitations. Lily cried and cried and wanted to get into Thomas’s office. Anna tried to breastfeed her and kiss her clammy forehead, reassuring her everything would be all right, but Lily just screamed even louder. Seeing her eleven-month-old daughter grieve was the worst thing Anna had ever experienced, and she had no idea how to console her. The latch on Thomas’s office was worn and the door kept opening of its own accord. Lily would crawl in and sit on the wooden floor, rocking back and forth, in an attempt to comfort herself. Finally, Anna nailed the door shut.