Page 10 of A Copenhagen Snowmance

The long and short of it is she’s there for at least another day.

She decides she’ll ring every four hours to see if anyone’s cancelled their tickets and she can move up the waiting list. She considers it being proactive, which must count for something in the universal scheme of luck.

She has to be “in it to win it”, and if she isn’t manifesting her need, then how can the universe know what to send her way?

She glances at her bag at the door, primed and ready.

She could be on the metro in fifteen minutes, sprinting into the departures hall twenty-two minutes after that.

Anna boxes the air to show she’s “got” this.

“Is that to frighten me?” Jamie stands leaning against the doorframe, arms folded and watching her.

God, he’s good-looking. For so long she’s not looked at another man in any kind of appreciative light, and now it’s no effort at all.

She whips her hands behind herself, feeling a rush of heat to her face.

“Noooo. You know, just keeping limber. Can’t get my step count in, thought I should do something else.”

The singular eyebrow that rises on his face is a perfect blend of poise and disbelief.

She busies herself at the nearest box, one for the Red Cross shop nearby.

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 not happy, 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 the Friluftsliv?” 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 her morfar was 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 tried all the 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 cinnamon gifflar.

“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 evenings in for that matter, laughing together as if they were sisters, not just the best friends they used to be.

Anna feels her head become hot and her heart’s beginning to race, too, but not in a good way. Alarm bells are ringing in her head.

Here it is. Exactly the reason she hadn’t wanted to come out. Still trying to hide amid the snacks in her trolley, she also pulls the hood back up over her head. Yes, she looks like a mad woman, but she has to get out of here ASAP, and unseen.

Turning away from the laughing woman, dreading she’ll be spotted, and more so that the woman isn’t alone, Anna sprints for the cashier, pausing only to pull a packet out of a freezer cupboard.

There’s a queue, but Anna keeps her head down, loading the food onto the conveyor belt, and then bagging it all at the other end, making no eye contact with the spotty, teen cashier.

Jamie will just have to work out she’s left.

It’s either that or she had to abandon the trolley in the aisle, but she really wants to contribute to their food supply.

Not that any of her things would particularly count as nutrition.

But it’s been over eighteen months since she was faced with these treats, so sue her.

Bill paid, she’s out of the door into the snow and gone, not stopping until she’s back at the house, in the front door – a panicked struggle with her key – shrugging off her coat in a heap and leaning her forehead against the warm wall of the hall.

This! This was why she didn’t want to come back.

It’s played out precisely as she’s expected and dreaded, and it shows she’s been right all along to stay away.