The Dinosaur Feather

about our plan. She was missing us so much, she said. Her joy inspired me. One day, I visited Cecilie and had tea with her. It was a lovely afternoon. I apologised for my years of silence, but Cecilie said it didn’t matter. I told her I had had a hard time and asked her not to mention to you that I had been there. I said that I wanted it to be a surprise, but really . . . I was scared that you would get angry again. Jealous and angry. That we would end up back where we started. I wanted to agree some ground rules with you. You must never humiliate me again. I can’t take it. In return, I would keep a low profile, as far as your parents were concerned – if that was what you wanted.
    ‘I also went to see Jens. I waited for him outside his office, saw him come out. He had aged, I thought, he looked withered and grey. I followed him home, but I chickened out. So I got in touch with my sister instead. Karen’s joy, Cecilie’s open arms . . . I got carried away and rang my sister. She was as cold as ice. ‘Don’t you ever call me again,’ she said. ‘Don’tever come near me or my children or I’ll call the police.’ He smiled, embarrassed. ‘My dad and I fought when he was in hospital, terminally ill with cancer; I smashed a vase across his head and he threw a drawer at me. My sister always got so upset when we fought.’ His smile started to fade. ‘At his funeral, six days later, I still had seven stitches in my forehead from the drawer he’d hurled. I don’t know how he got the strength. He was weak and dying. I still have a scar.’ Troels turned to Anna and ran his finger along a thin white line.
    ‘It never occurred to my sister to ask if I was all right. She refused to sit next to me at the funeral. She and her family sat on the opposite pew. Afterwards, she came up to me and said that if I ever contacted her again, she would have me charged with assault. Our dad was eaten up by cancer, but according to her logic, I had killed him with a vase.’ For a moment Troels looked exasperated.
    ‘When I called my sister that evening to attempt a reconciliation, it soon became clear that she had no intention of forgiving me. When I hung up, I had a small breakdown. I was thinking about Johannes all the time, I was scared of what I had done, scared that he might file charges against me, and all the time I just wanted to be with him. Karen suspected nothing. We met a couple of times, we had coffee and Karen chatted away about the great reunion that was to come. Suddenly, I had to see you. It seemed to be the only right thing to do. Perhaps you could speak to Johannes . . . I don’t know what I had imagined. I waited for you – twice. Found your address online and gained entry to your building, hoping you would be in. I deliberately didn’t call you first, because I didn’twant you to turn me away. I was convinced that if only I could speak to you, everything would be all right again. I chickened out both times. One time I panicked. The woman below you came up to check on your daughter. I found out you had gone for a run. She left the door open and I followed her in. I sat down and pretended to be an old friend. She threw me out. Told me I had to wait outside. She gave me such a hostile and suspicious look, her eyes flashed as if she had seen through me, caught me in the act. That’s when I panicked. I ran down the stairs and suddenly I heard you come back. The door downstairs opened, you were out of breath, I could hear that it was you. You coughed. I hid in the meter cupboard. You and your neighbour looked for me, as if I were a criminal, as if I were a danger to others.’ His voice sounded tired. ‘Just like when we were back at school, right? My dad had to be strict or he wouldn’t be able to control me, he told my teachers. No, of course he didn’t hit me. But he made himself clear, he assured them, he set boundaries. They understood that. They, too, had a job controlling me. Your parents were the only people who didn’t buy that story.
    ‘I curled up inside the meter cupboard and you walked right past me. When I heard your footsteps above, I got out and I ran. I found myself in Vesterbro. In front of Johannes’s building. I looked up at his windows. The light was on, and after a while Johannes appeared – he was on the phone. I stood outside for a while, then I knocked on his door. And when he answered it, I forced my way in. I had called him every day for two weeks, I had sent flowers, I