“You’re a boring old fart, that’s what you are,” Henrik scoffed.
Søren said nothing.
They found a small bar in Vesterbro and got drunk. Henrik grew increasingly raucous, and Søren was desperate to leave when Henrik struck up a conversation with two women at the table next to them. One was called Katrine, she was from Århus, but had lived in Copenhagen for a few years while she was training to be a teacher; her course would finish just after Christmas. She was very dark, like a gypsy, even though she spoke with a strong Jutland accent. What did Søren do for a living? They got talking and, at Henrik’s suggestion, they pushed their tables together. Later they went on to a club that Søren had never been to before. He felt strangely animated, oblivious. It was wonderful. His old life seemed so far away.
At two o’clock in the morning he decided to call it a night and went to find a cab. Katrine wanted to share it. She lived on H. C. Ørstedsvej and could be dropped off on the way. Afterward, Søren could barely remember how they had started kissing. It was so random. When the cab stopped outside Katrine’s block, she invited him in. He nodded and paid the cab fare.
Katrine lived in a two-bedroom attic apartment with coconut mats, plants, and lots of books. She went to brush her teeth and he could have left then, but he stayed, flipping through a book with photographs of churches. She even unloaded her washing machine and hung her clothes out to dry on a rack in the living room, as though she was deliberately giving him a chance to reconsider. He told her about Vibe. His girlfriend, who was in Barcelona on business. Katrine just smiled and said Barcelona was great. He stayed. They made love, and it was wonderful. Different, because she wasn’t Vibe. Søren had been unfaithful to Vibe a couple of times at the beginning of their relationship, but that was years ago. Katrine felt and tasted different.
He stayed the night. The next morning Katrine got up and made toast and coffee for them. It was nice. They didn’t exchange telephone numbers, and Søren went home.
Later that afternoon Søren was racked with remorse, the strength of which he hadn’t believed possible. He took a shower, but it was no good. Henrik telephoned and behaved intolerably. She was hot, wasn’t she, eh? Had he done something about it? Of course he hadn’t. Søren pretended to be offended and ended the conversation. Vibe would be back in three days, and during those three days Søren forced himself to think about having children. His guilt had nothing to do with Katrine; he had already forgotten all about her. He had slept with her because he was stressed about Vibe and the baby business. He had tried to relieve his frustration by doing something completely unacceptable and outrageous. He didn’t want to be that guy. Suddenly it was clear to him: he either had to get Vibe pregnant or he had to let her go so she could have children with someone else.
When Vibe came home, she was happy and relaxed. Søren wondered if she, too, had been unfaithful. In the days that followed, they appeared to benefit from their break. Vibe’s eyes no longer held that hurt expression, and she seemed so absorbed by work that she was far too tired to think about having a baby and their relationship. They spent a lovely Christmas with Knud and Elvira, they cuddled in front of the fireplace and exchanged presents; on New Year’s Eve they hugged each other for a long time when the clock struck twelve. Neither of them spoke, but it felt like a commitment. Søren woke up on the first of January believing the crisis had passed.
Then one evening, completely out of the blue, Vibe said that they had to talk about it. Barcelona had been amazing, inspirational, and when she came back, her work had meant as much to her as in the old days when she had worked late practically every night. But since they had completed their latest project, her life had become humdrum.
“And I can still feel it,” she said, quietly. “I want to have a baby. My body wants to have a baby. I can’t help it.”
Søren sat down in the sofa and put his arms around her.
“Perhaps it’s time for us to go our separate ways,” he said. The tears started rolling down Vibe’s cheeks.
“So you still don’t want to? Never, under any circumstances?” she asked.
“No.”
Shortly afterward Vibe went to bed. She didn’t kiss him goodnight, she just closed the door to the bedroom. Søren stayed behind feeling like a total dick. He didn’t want to have children. The feeling couldn’t be mistaken, but neither could he fathom what lay behind it. Was it about Vibe? Did he want children with another woman, but not with her? No, he didn’t. So what was it all about? He grabbed a beer from the fridge and turned the TV volume to mute. The world was a dangerous place, that was why. Children might die, children
did
die, he thought, angrily. It wasn’t all romantic, as Vibe imagined. Children were born only to end up in the morgue; young girls, half-naked, bruised, battered, and dead. Teenage boys high on designer drugs, beaten to a pulp by each other, or smashed up in cars or motorbikes driven by their drunk friends. Søren had accompanied countless parents to the morgue. He didn’t want children. When he had finished his beer, his sadness overwhelmed him. They would have to break up, so Vibe could have her child with another man.
They decided to tell Knud and Elvira together the following Friday. It was a Tuesday and Søren was dreading the moment because Vibe was like a daughter to the old couple. He was convinced they wouldn’t accept the reason for the breakup as they had both hinted, repeatedly, that they would like some great-grandchildren soon. Vibe slept on the sofa the whole week, even though Søren offered her their bed. She didn’t want it. She was fine sleeping in the living room, she said.
That Friday, Søren picked Vibe up from work. They drove to Snerlevej and parked in front of the house. Søren loved to go back to his old home. He loved opening the door with the key he had been given when he turned ten and started making his own way to and from school, he loved the smell in the hall, a mixture of what was cooking in the kitchen and damp coats, boots, shoes, and old wool. There was always a bottle of red wine waiting on the radiator when Vibe and Søren came to visit, always delicious food and warmth, and after dinner they would play Trivial Pursuit, the men against the women. But that evening when Søren unlocked the door, something was clearly very wrong. Vibe followed behind him. They had hugged each other briefly on the garden path, and Søren had asked if she was sure.
“I’m sure I want a child,” she had replied, and looked away. They went inside the house. Søren called out. The hall was cold, there was no smell of food or wine, and the hall light, which was always on when his grandparents were expecting guests, was off. They hung up their coats and exchanged baffled looks before Søren opened the door to the living room. Knud and Elvira were huddled together. Elvira was crying. She was sitting on Knud’s lap, her head resting on his shoulder. Knud had both his arms around her. They stayed like this, even though Vibe and Søren had now entered.
“What’s happened?” Søren exclaimed. Elvira raised her head and looked at him, red-eyed.
“Come here, my love,” she said, patting the sofa. Vibe and Søren stared at them, paralyzed.
“No,” Søren said. “Can’t you just tell me what it is?”
Elvira was ill. She had a tumor in her breast, and the cancer had spread to her lymph nodes. She had been told that very day. It was terminal.
That night they reminisced about Elvira’s life. That was what she wanted. Past summers, the plums, Perle, the goat kid they had bottle-fed in the back garden, about the time Søren had found her wedding ring in a jar of strawberry jam. They laughed and drank wine and ate pizza, which Søren went out to get. They lit candles, and the evening concluded with Vibe and Elvira beating the men so emphatically in Trivial Pursuit that Vibe suggested that Søren and Knud should ask for their school tuition back. At no point did Søren and Vibe tell Knud and Elvira why they had come.
When Katrine telephoned, Søren had almost forgotten her existence. He was at work, it was summer and it was seven months since their one-night stand. The weather had been mild and pleasant, and Vibe and Søren spent all their spare time in the garden in Snerlevej. Elvira was dying. They had installed a hospital bed in the living room for her three weeks prior, and since then she had deteriorated quickly. Vibe and Søren had still not mentioned their split to Knud and Elvira. They couldn’t bear to and had agreed to wait until after Elvira’s death. She deserved to die as happy as possible. Vibe had moved out at the start of April, but when they visited Knud and Elvira, they would catch the same bus or share the car, and when they walked up the garden path, they would hold hands. They still saw each other, both at home in their old apartment and in Vibe’s new one. It felt good, but strange, titillating almost, to make love to Vibe in her new bed, in a bedroom with apple green curtains and wallpaper with tiny flowers, it was almost as if they had only just met. They went to the movies like they used to, went running together every Sunday, and even flew to Paris for a long weekend. A strange calm existed between them; limbo. A few times Vibe had cautiously asked him if his mind was made up, and he had kissed her forehead and said that she deserved better.
“And so does your child,” he had added.
When he realized that it was
that
Katrine who was calling, his palms grew sweaty. His first thought was genital warts, his second, HIV. Tracking him down had been no easy task, she said with a nervous laugh, because she only knew that his name was Søren and that he worked at Bellahøj police station. She had been put through to several different people, and she was relieved she had finally found the right person. She laughed nervously again, and then she said gravely, “But Bo and I agree that I should.”
Søren was baffled, who was Bo? Bo was her boyfriend, she explained, and she had met him shortly after the night Søren had spent with her. They had just moved in together.
“And Bo will be the baby’s father,” she then said.
Everything stopped.
Søren didn’t understand a word.
It was surreal.
They spoke for a little while. Afterward he called Vibe and told her that he was working late and please would she go to Elvira and Knud’s on her own and he would join them later? Is everything all right? she wanted to know. No, yes, he stuttered. Something has come up at work, he lied.
He worked through the longest day of his life without any sense of what he was actually doing. At five o’clock he drove to H. C. Ørstedsvej and rang the bell. The nameplate below the bell was new; in addition to Katrine’s name it said
Bo Beck Vestergaard
. Upstairs, in Katrine’s apartment, the situation became even more bizarre. Katrine was seven months pregnant, her belly beautiful and round.
“We’re really looking forward to the baby,” Bo said, narrowing his eyes.
Bo was assembling a changing table in the corner of the room. He was clearly putting in a lot of effort. However, Søren was the biological father, Katrine said, there was no doubt about it. Katrine didn’t meet Bo until after she had found out she was pregnant, and Bo had been relaxed about the whole thing—after all, they were all adults, and he was very much in love with Katrine. Initially, they had decided not to contact Søren, but as Katrine’s pregnancy progressed, they had second thoughts. They didn’t want to lie to the child, but this was precisely what they were setting themselves up for if they concealed the baby’s real parentage at this early stage.
Søren didn’t know what to think. His jaw had dropped and panic stuck to the inside of his throat like an obstinate fish bone. Bo continued explaining. Søren would be kept informed and the child would be told when it was old enough, but Bo and Katrine agreed it would be too confusing for the child if there were multiple fathers around during the early years. Søren understood, didn’t he? He wouldn’t have to pay child support either, unless he absolutely insisted. Bo had his own business selling musical instruments, and Katrine had gotten a job at a school in Valby; she was currently on maternity leave. They would manage. In fact, they were asking Søren to keep a low profile and not interfere too much. Not until the child itself wanted to meet its biological father. It was clear, as far as Bo was concerned, the need would never arise. Søren nodded, asked a timid question and nodded again. He declared that he would need time to process it all. Bo looked pleased and saw him out.
Søren stumbled out into H. C. Ørstedsvej, clammy with sweat, his mouth dry. In a kiosk he downed two soft drinks straight from the refrigerated case while the shopkeeper eyed him suspiciously. What the hell was he going to say to Vibe? Vibe, who had blind faith in him, who still called him “the straightest guy in the world” to her friends, even though they had broken up, even though he hadn’t been prepared to give her the child she so desperately wanted. He walked down to the lakes and began pacing up and down. He had to convince Bo and Katrine that it would be in everyone’s best interest if Søren never became the baby’s father. Not ever. Not on paper, not in real life. It would hurt Vibe deeply if the truth came out. Besides, he didn’t want to be a father, for Christ’s sake. Not to Vibe’s child, not to Katrine’s, and certainly not to Bo Beck Vestergaard’s. It was completely out of the question. He had donated some sperm, that was all. It should never have happened. Katrine was supposed to have had her period, and afterward she was supposed to meet Bo, and they should have had a baby of their own. Why the hell hadn’t he used a condom? He stopped at Saint Jørgen’s Lake and kicked a low wall hard with his black leather shoe. When he had calmed down, he went to see Knud and Elvira.
“It’s good that you’re here now,” Vibe said quietly, as he entered the living room. At first he couldn’t see Elvira and, for a brief second, he imagined that she had got out of bed, fit and healthy, and gone out into the garden to pick elderflowers, but then he spotted her. She was lying in a fold of the comforter—at least that was how it looked. Søren held her tiny frail hand and sobbed his heart out. Three hours later Elvira sighed softly, and then she was gone.