You're Mine Now

by Koppel, Hans

‘Is there anything good on?’

  Anna glanced down the listings.

  ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘When’s Hedda coming back?’

  ‘I guess the film will finish around eight, half-eight. What’s the time now?’

  ‘Half past seven.’

  Magnus looked at Anna until she turned round.

  ‘Why, are you wanting some?’ she asked.

  He shrugged.

  ‘Might as well take the opportunity.’

  Ten minutes later they were both satisfied. They lay next to each other on the bed. Anna reached out and took Magnus’ hand.

  ‘That was lovely,’ she said.

  ‘You were eager.’

  ‘Aren’t I always eager?’

  ‘You were very eager.’

  ‘Good. Or are you complaining?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘It’s been a while,’ Anna said. ‘So good that you took the initiative.’

  She patted his hand, got up and went to the bathroom. By the time she’d finished in the shower, he was dressed and the bed was made.

  ‘Maybe it’s just me being ridiculous,’ she said, when they had settled down in front of the television and the vacuous programmes had switched her brain into a kind of transcendental rest mode.

  Magnus turned, looked questioningly at her.

  ‘The car,’ she said. ‘We can always do the sums.’

  13

  ‘How did it go yesterday?’ Sissela asked, in a loud voice across the office.

  Anna had just come out of the lift and pretended she had no idea what Sissela was talking about. She walked briskly over to her desk, didn’t want to share it with the open floor.

  ‘What?’ she said, once she’d got there and put her bag down, she could feel that Sissela was still looking at her.

  ‘Your meeting,’ Sissela continued, in the same official voice.

  ‘My what?’

  ‘Your meeting. With the lunchbox. The playboy.’

  ‘Who? Oh, right. You’re terrible, do you know that?’

  ‘Very curious, possibly. What did he want to know?’

  ‘Nothing in particular, really. More what we were thinking, target group, that sort of thing.’

  Anna sat down and turned on the computer. She opened her email and looked through the inbox. Photographers, freelancers, internal mail and press releases – a constant stream of anxious questions, hopeful proposals and unnecessary information that never ran dry.

  Anna remembered a colleague who had once come back from a longish holiday to three hundred and twenty-eight emails. Invigorated by the salt water and sun-tight skin, she had taken a deep breath and deleted them all. Over the next two weeks, she kept waiting for angry faces, averted eyes and irritated reminders from neglected email contacts. Absolutely nothing happened. Emails had been invented to keep an open line of retreat and to comfort the anonymous. Every pling meant they existed, even if they meant nothing.

  ‘So there was no humping, then?’ Sissela asked.

  Anna kept her eyes on the screen, double-clicked on one of the emails and pretended to read.

  ‘Absolutely, of course there was. I’ve come straight from there. You could wring out the sheet. Don’t know whether it was the sweat or the fountain orgasms.’

  ‘Fountain orgasm is just another way of saying incontinent,’ Trude interrupted, putting a cup of coffee down on her desk. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I was just telling Sissela about my wild twenty-four hours with the sex god,’ Anna said.

  ‘Righty-ho,’ Trude said.

  She sat down and started to go through a knitting pattern. Trude could happily proofread all kinds of specialised texts. Anna couldn’t understand how she did it. Her own experience on the handicraft front stretched as far as an oven cloth in class five.

  ‘You didn’t ask if he wanted a threesome?’

  ‘He said he’d think about it,’ Anna replied.

  ‘Hello, I want to be in on it,’ Sissela squealed.

  Anna nodded, earnestly.

  ‘I’ll ask him.’

  ‘Yes!’

  Sissela raised her hands above her head like a five-year-old before she realised the joke was over, and she held out her hand to Anna.

  ‘Have you got the list?’

  Anna handed her the schedule for the current edition. The jobs had to be recorded and ticked off to show that they were finished with editing and layout. The crossed squares marked where the adverts were to go.

  ‘What kind of death do we have this week?’

  She was referring to the feature series about people who had died young.

  ‘The tsunami.’

  ‘Son? Daughter?’

  ‘Husband.’

  ‘How old?’

  ‘When he died, you mean? Forty-five.’

  ‘And the wife survived?’

  ‘She wasn’t there,’ Anna said.

  ‘A man on his own in Thailand?’ Trude said. ‘Isn’t that a bit suspect?’

  ‘He was there for work. Pilot.’

  ‘Highlight that, so no one starts to wonder,’ Sissela said.

  ‘Already done,’ Anna said.

  ‘Good. Pilot… I like that. Have we got any pictures of him in uniform?’

  ‘Of course. What do you take me for? But I think they had to isolate him, as it was a group photo from some catalogue or other.’

  ‘So was he good-looking then?’ Trude asked.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Probably gay,’ Sissela sighed. ‘Surrounded by willing stewards who know how to keep their mouths open and nod at the same time.’

  Anna shook her head.

  ‘God, if anyone could hear us,’ she said. ‘What would they think?’

  ‘Mamma mia,’ Sissela said, and rolled her eyes.

  Anna went through her emails, glanced at the text and answered in as few words as possible: thank you, good, we’ll sort it, deal with that next week, call when you have a moment. She forwarded two press releases to the relevant editors, and added: something for you? Interested?

  Nearly all the bold posts were gone when her phone rang.

  ‘Anna.’

  ‘It’s me,’ said Erik.

  She spun her chair halfway round, away from her colleagues’ prying eyes and ears, and felt her cheeks flush.

  ‘Hi.’

  She tried hard to sound normal, which only had the opposite effect.

  ‘Are you sitting in a bad place?’

  Anna felt for the volume button on the side of the receiver.

  ‘Yes,’ she said and stretched to pick a pen up from the desk.

  Something to hold, whatever. There was an uncomfortable silence at the other end.

  ‘We have to talk,’ Erik said. ‘Can I call you later?’

  ‘I’ll call you back.’

  She tried to sound formal this time, but still sounded unnatural.

  ‘Promise?’ he said. ‘As soon as you can.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll call you later.’

  Erik hung up.

  ‘Good, let’s say that then,’ Anna concluded for no one other than those sitting at the next desk.

  She pretended to end the call that had already ended and put the phone down on desk, display-side down. Her throat was dry when she swallowed, she lifted up some papers, looked for something to read, fiddled with her mouse. Sissela was sitting looking at her computer, but Anna could feel her curiosity and knew that she wouldn’t get away with it.

  ‘Right, cup of coffee,’ she said abruptly, and stood up. ‘Anyone else?’

  She turned quickly to Sissela, who slowly shook her head.

  ‘I’ve got one,’ Trude said, who was so deep into her knitting pattern that she was unaware of the drama that was going on behind her.

  Anna didn’t want to leave the phone on her desk, but couldn’t take it with her out into the kitchen either. Everything was registered and demanded an explanation. Often with a playful smile so it was impossible to object
to the invasion of privacy.

  She left her mobile phone where it was and hurried out to get some coffee. The dishwasher was as always nearly full of dirty cups and every decent-sized cup was miscoloured. Anna chose a smaller cup and overfilled it. She tried to take some sips but the freshly made coffee was too hot, so she had to balance the full cup in front of her as she walked. She was a few metres from her desk when her phone started to ring again.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ she called, but Sissela, ever willing, had already stretched over to her desk and looked at the display.

  ‘Magnus,’ she said, disappointed and handed her the phone.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Anna took the phone and answered. Her husband announced to her the good news that the couple had been granted an audience with the car dealer himself that very afternoon. If she could be ready by a certain time, Magnus would pick her up outside work. Anna tried very hard not to deflate his excitement and promised to be there.

  She put the mobile phone down again, felt calmer. The everyday conversation had taken the edge off the previous call. She tasted the coffee and started to open the readers’ letters, a pile that was steadily decreasing. Contrary to popular belief, subscribers to the Family Journal were comfortable using computers and more and more frequently emailed in their opinions and suggestions. Anna’s impression was that women were generally far less technically challenged than men, particularly those over a certain age. She thought about her own family. Her father had never even learned to turn on a computer, whereas her mother was forever online and on Facebook, and not long ago had started to use Twitter. Kathrine’s two followers, Anna and Hedda, received regular updates about what she had been to see at the cinema, what she was reading, what she was having for dinner.

  An email pinged into her inbox. It was from Erik and didn’t have a subject. Anna double-clicked.

  Call as soon as you can. Important.

  Did he have nothing better to do? She’d said she would call. He would just have to be patient. What was so important that it couldn’t wait a few minutes…?

  He had an STD. Young people got STDs. He wasn’t that young really, but still single and very definitely sexually active, given how easy it all seemed to be for him and how good he was at the handiwork. He’d just been up to the clinic and done some tests and his blood showed…

  Dot dot dot.

  Anna pushed the thought from her mind. The occupational hazard of working for a magazine that dedicated far too many pages every week to everyday dramas. She deleted Erik’s mail, picked up her phone and went out into the corridor.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, in his best bed voice.

  ‘What is it that’s so important?’

  ‘I just wanted to know how you are.’

  ‘Fine,’ Anna said.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  She looked around. No one was nearby.

  ‘Aren’t you at work?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, yes. The others haven’t come in yet. Thought it was best to call when I can.’

  ‘Was that the rush then?’ Anna said.

  ‘Yes, nothing else. And I didn’t dare to mail you. Your colleague, she seems… How shall I put it without sounding rude? Naturally curious?’

  Anna burst out laughing.

  ‘You can say that. She likes to know what’s going on. And sits opposite me, if you were wondering why I sounded a bit stressed when you called.’

  ‘I got that impression.’

  ‘When can I see you again?’ Erik asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Anna said. ‘We’re not going to meet again.’

  ‘Okay.’

  He sounded hurt. Anna took a deep breath.

  ‘Look, we’d just get ourselves in a mess.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, Erik.’

  Anna regretted saying his name. It sounded patronising and arrogant, like an adult to a child. She didn’t want to remind herself of the age difference.

  ‘What’s there to get wrong?’ he said. ‘You got what you wanted, and now you’re scared.’

  ‘I’m not scared.’

  ‘You’re not? Well, what is it then? Because I certainly can’t remember meeting anyone who I’ve clicked with like this. Ever.’

  ‘Erik, I’m older than you.’

  ‘So what?’ Erik retorted. ‘If it works, it works. And you can’t say that it doesn’t work.’

  ‘I’ve got a husband and daughter.’

  ‘So why did you jump into bed with me?’

  Anna was standing at the end of the corridor beside a weeping fig that was as big as she was. The office was out of hearing, but she still felt uneasy. A private conversation was a secret conversation and would inevitably lead to speculation.

  ‘Sex,’ she whispered. ‘I was attracted to you.’

  ‘And now you don’t want to know me any more?’

  Anna sighed.

  ‘I don’t think I thought about what was at risk,’ she said. ‘It really hit me yesterday. I can’t carry on, it’s just not going to work.’

  ‘So that’s it? Wham-bam, thank you, ma’am? You’ve had your fun, something to gossip with your friends about over a glass of wine. Proof of how liberated and modern you are. A strong woman who just takes what she wants, making up for centuries of oppression.’

  ‘Now you’re well off the mark.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘Yes, I think you are. It was you who made the pass, the pleasure was absolutely mutual and I would never say a word about what happened to anyone. I’m no kiss-and-tell.’

  ‘Ooh, girly talk.’

  ‘Erik, I have to work.’

  ‘Wait, wait.’

  She gave a loud sigh.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Can I mail you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Email. I’ve still got some questions I need answered. About the magazine. There wasn’t much shop talk yesterday, if you remember.’

  ‘Yes, you can email me,’ Anna said.

  ‘No risk that your colleagues will read it?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Anna…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Maybe it was just a bit of fun for you, but it really meant something to me.’

  ‘Erik, believe me, you’ve got even greater experiences ahead. And if it’s any comfort, it was quite something for me too. You’re a fantastic lover, you are, but we’re at different stages of life. It would be silly to drag it out.’

  He said nothing. Anna felt uncertain.

  ‘Are you still there?’ she said.

  ‘One last thing,’ he said. ‘Could I ask you for a favour?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Can you promise you’ll give me a chance? Professionally, that is. That you won’t just dismiss my proposal because you don’t want anything to do with me?’

  ‘Of course. The decision’s not mine to make, but I would never do that.’

  ‘Good, because this job is important for the agency and even more important for me.’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘Well, I’ll email some questions over then.’

  ‘Do that.’

  ‘Kiss.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Tchüss, it’s German for bye.’

  ‘Right.’

  Anna closed the conversation and went back to her desk.

  ‘Love problems?’ Sissela asked.

  ‘Yes, no. It was Hedda. She said, he said, but I didn’t mean it, and now he thinks…’

  ‘Not easy being a girl.’

  Anna couldn’t tell whether Sissela had swallowed her lie, but it was done now, so she’d have to weather it.

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘but something we all have to go through. And it doesn’t help to smooth the way.’

  She was full of self-loathing. Using her daughter as an alibi for screwing around.

  An email pinged into her inbox and Anna jumped on it. Just a freelance photographer who wanted to remind her of his
existence. Anna replied:

  Her reply left the computer with a swoosh. One of the well-known sounds in a modern editorial office, just as familiar as that of a mobile phone vibrating on a desk, or a newly awoken printer whirring rhythmically as it spits out page after page and the quick click of nails on keyboards.

  Her computer pinged again. It was from Erik:

  As I said, there are some job-related questions that I need answers to. My colleagues are convinced that you need a PR campaign that targets men, but I’m not convinced that it’s the right way to go. I doubt that we could ever attract that many men and am concerned that we might just end up alienating women instead. Your naturally curious colleague said that she wanted people to realise that Family Journal was more than just recipes and housekeeping. I got the impression that she was irritated that the magazine didn’t have the same status as a fashion magazine. I don’t think that you should compete with them, it’s a totally different kind of magazine, another target group. But you could relatively easily glam up the photos in Family Journal without upsetting your readers. I’ve got a few ideas that I’d like to run by you.

  Erik

  PS. I understand that we’re in different situations and that there can never be anything between us, but I would still like to meet you again. If nothing else just to clear the air after last time.

  Do you want to? Can you?

  Anna felt her tense shoulders soften. He wasn’t a stupid boy. His analysis of Sissela was perfect, his objection to his colleagues’ campaign idea was smart and his apology was sincere. She had nothing to fear. More than her own desire to go round to his flat and ask him to take her again.

  No, she wasn’t going to do that. She mustn’t. Or maybe…?

  The big question was what he saw in her. No matter how flattering his interest was, she still had to face facts. Something wasn’t right. Anna pressed REPLY. The white page made her hesitate.

  Hi Erik, thanks for your email. I have to say that…

  No. Delete.

  Erik, the pleasure was very definitely mutual…

  Not pleasure. What sort of a word was that? Start again.

  Erik. Thank you.