Aftermath Page 6

  “Julie, it’s …”

  “Oh please, don’t start,” she says, breaking in. “I’ve heard it all before.”

  I just stand there looking at her. It’s so tiring when she’s in this mood, it’s such heavy going. I take a sip of my coffee and turn to look out the window again; if it hadn’t been for all the neighbors, I’d have taken my coffee outside, but there’s no chance of getting any peace and quiet in the yard, there’s always somebody who feels duty bound to be sociable.

  Moments pass.

  Then: “Could you turn that music down?” Julie says, with a note of irritation in her voice.

  I turn around. She has put down the holiday brochure and picked up what looks like the notepad with her wedding to-do list on it, she’s scribbling something down.

  “Of course! Sorry,” I say, turning off the music.

  “That’s not what I said.”

  I try to smile.

  “I know. But we can just have a bit of quiet, if that’s what you want.”

  “If that’s what I want?”

  “Hm?” I say, acting as if I didn’t catch that last part.

  She looks at me, gives a little snort, then she sticks her pen between her teeth, looks down at the notepad again.

  I take a slug of coffee.

  “I’m not really sure whether I can be bothered going to the mountains after all,” I say suddenly, it just comes out, but there’s no way I can back out now, so I don’t quite know why I say it, maybe because I’m feeling guilty about going off with the guys when she’s feeling so scared and when she’s so stressed out about the wedding, because I need to hear her say that she’ll be fine and that of course I have to go, yeah, that’s probably it. “I was just wondering whether I ought to call Jan Olav and tell him I’m not coming,” I say, still giving her an opening to say of course I should go, but she doesn’t.

  “Okay,” she says, not taking her eyes off the notepad. She waits for a moment, then looks up at me again. “Why do you always have to start this? We both know you’ll end up going.”

  I don’t say anything, try to look as if I don’t know what she’s talking about, but can’t quite manage it.

  “Well, we do, don’t we?” she goes on. “You’re only saying that so I’ll think you’re not happy about going or something like that.”

  “Maybe,” I say. But I’m not happy about going. “And it doesn’t exactly make it easier that you have as much against it as you obviously have.”

  “So you think I should just act as if I think it’s perfectly okay?”

  “No, not act as if you do. But … well, I just think, if you don’t dare to be alone, why don’t you stay at your mom’s … and anyway, I think you’re making more of a fuss about the wedding arrangements than you need to,” I say.

  “Mom’s going to Sweden with one of her friends this afternoon to pick up cigarettes and bacon. And how do you know I’m making more of a fuss about the wedding than I need to when you’ve never taken any interest in what has to be done?”

  “Julie, I can’t be bothered arguing.”

  Short pause.

  “And besides, I don’t know how you can bring yourself to go off to the mountains with that snob. I’d end up killing him, I’m sure I would,” she says. She’s ashamed of how she behaved at dinner the other evening, it’s so obvious that that’s why she’s saying this; she’s trying to blame Jan Olav for the little scene she made, as if it was his snobbishness that caused her to do what she did, that’s what she’s implying. I look at her, am just about to say this, but I don’t, and I won’t, I need to cut her some slack.

  “He’s not so bad when you get to know him,” I say. I don’t think Jan Olav’s at all snobbish, but I say it anyway, to help her shed a little of the guilt she’s feeling, it’s a good way of mollifying her slightly.

  She gives another snort.

  “Yeah, right.”

  Two seconds.

  “Julie, hey.”

  “What?”

  “How much fun do you think this trip’s going to be for me if I leave when we’re like this?”

  After a moment or two she sighs and I see her shoulders sink a fraction, then she looks at me and blinks.

  “I’m sorry, Marius. Of course I want you to have fun. Go, I’ll be fine,” she says, blinking again. She looks tired and drawn when she does that; this is her way of telling me she doesn’t mean what she just said, I suppose: she’s telling me to go and enjoy myself, says she’ll be fine, but the look on her face and the slump of her shoulders are signaling that she’s exhausted and depressed and I really ought to stay home. I’m just about to say this straight out, but I don’t.

  “Thanks, it means a lot to me to hear you say that,” I say, smiling at her, but she doesn’t smile back, she doesn’t like me taking her at her word like this, it annoys her when her attempts at emotional manipulation don’t work, I can tell by her face, which has suddenly taken on a look of indifference, an air of disinterest designed to let me know that she can manage perfectly well without me, thus making me feel less worthy in some way. She doesn’t say anything, keeps her eyes fixed on her notepad.

  “Oh, by the way, do you have time to run down to the superstore before you go? I thought I’d write the place cards today,” she says, knowing full well that it’s the middle of the Friday rush hour and I don’t have time to drive down to the superstore for her now, that’s exactly why she’s asking, I’m sure it is, she’s asking because she wants me to feel bad when I say no.

  “I wish I could,” I say. “But I …”

  “Fine! I’ll do it myself,” she cuts in, eyes on the notepad again.

  “Julie, please. Don’t start all that again.”

  “All what?”

  “Julie, hey.”

  “I just thought you might do me that one small favor. To save me having to go into town today.”

  “But I don’t have time. I’m meeting Kristian and Jan Olav in forty-five minutes. And I haven’t finished packing yet.”

  “Huh,” she says, inhaling sharply.

  I just stand there looking at her, am about to ask her whether she shouldn’t take a break from the wedding arrangements and relax a bit, but I don’t, she’d only jump at the chance to tell me how little I’m doing. Well, somebody’s got to do it, and since you can’t be bothered, it’ll have to be me, that’s what she’ll say, or something of the sort. And then I’ll say it’s not that I can’t be bothered helping, but for one thing I don’t see the point in planning everything right down to the smallest detail, and for another it doesn’t matter what I do, it’s usually wrong anyway—she corrects just about everything I do and whatever she doesn’t correct she double-checks to make sure it’s been done properly—and if that’s the way it’s going to be, then I might as well leave most of it to her to start with, that’s what I’ll say, or something along those lines, and then the argument’s off and running. I run my hand through my hair, feel myself growing more and more resentful.

  “Marius?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re talking to yourself again,” she says and she shakes her head, never taking her eyes off me. I put my coffee cup down on the table next to the stereo, am about to excuse myself by saying I was just thinking about something, but I don’t, I’m getting really pissed off now and I don’t feel like apologizing for anything.

  “Yeah, right” is all I say, then I walk out of the living room and into the hall. Her phone is lying on top of a pile of magazines on the bureau, I pick it up, check her text messages, I can’t help it, she and Kristian were thick as thieves at dinner the other evening—not that I think there was anything like that going on between them, but I can’t resist a quick peek, to be on the safe side, but no, there’s nothing new since last time I looked, so I check her recent calls instead, with a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure she can’t see me, she can’t, so I turn back to her cell, her mother called, but otherwise there’s nothing new there either. I put the phone dow
n and go down the stairs to the basement feeling slightly relieved, only for a moment, though, and then I’m struck by a twinge of guilt: I had made up my mind not to do that anymore, I don’t want to be a jealous loser who has to keep tabs on his girlfriend at all times and I never thought I’d be like that when Julie and I got together. I remember being happy to have a girlfriend who wasn’t particularly attractive and whom I didn’t therefore have to worry about losing to another man, I thought that meant I’d be able to relax a little, but no, I can’t stop myself from checking up on her, I don’t understand it, I need to pull myself together and stop this nonsense, try to show a little faith in her. I open the door to the storage room and step inside, go over to the workbench. My good mood seems to have deserted me, I feel less and less like going, it’s way too late to call off, I know I have to go, but I’m feeling even more unhappy about it than I did a few minutes ago. Not so much because I’m afraid Julie will take it into her head to do something stupid while I’m away, more because I won’t be able to enjoy the trip when things between us are the way they are at the moment, my conscience will be pricking me all weekend, I know it will. I pick up my fishing rod, take off the reel, and stick it in the top pocket of my rucksack, feel myself growing more and more resentful. I yank the zip shut, then plant both hands on the bench, shut my eyes, and stand there, breathing through my nose.

  “Fuck, why do we always have to do the right thing,” I mutter, then I open my eyes and take my hands off the bench. After a moment I hear the beep of a text coming in. I pull my cell from my pocket and check it, it’s from Jan Olav. “Have to pop into the Wine Monopoly, running fifteen minutes late” is all it says. I type “OK,” press Send, and lay the phone on the bench.

  Then: “Marius,” Julie calls. “Where are you?”

  I don’t answer straightaway, don’t feel like it, want to be alone awhile longer.

  “Marius!”

  I turn, step across to the storage room door, close it gently, so it will sound credible if I say I didn’t hear her calling me, then go back to the bench. I pull the top section of the rod out of the bottom, hear the little pop as the two pieces part company, I take the blue canvas bag off the bench, slip both sections into it, and tie the strings around it.

  Then I hear the faint creak of the door opening.

  “So this is where you are.”

  I turn and look at her, she has a sheet of paper in one hand and the ballpoint pen in the other, she seems to be in a better mood now. She smiles at me.

  “Yes?” I say.

  “It’s this seating plan. I can’t figure it out.”

  I turn away without saying anything, sigh as I pick up the larger tackle box—she’s going to start fussing about the fucking seating plan again.

  “Oh, I know you think I’m a control freak,” she says. “But the seating plan is important, if everyone is to have a good time.”

  “I’m sure it is,” I say.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Marius. We’re getting married. You could at least pretend to be a little bit enthusiastic.”

  “Yeah, yeah, but—er,” I say, my shoulders sagging. I wait a moment, then turn back to her. “Do we really have to go over the seating plan again? I thought we got that sorted out ages ago.”

  “More or less, yes. But it suddenly struck me that Robert and Heidi should be seated farther apart. They had a bit of a thing before Robert started seeing Vibeke, and since Vibeke is what you might call the jealous type, it might be better to put her and Robert somewhere else. But where, that’s the question … you see, I thought of putting them at the middle table down the far end, but Vidar’s sitting there and you know what he’s like when he’s had too much to drink, so that’s no good, we need to have someone there who won’t mind the odd dirty joke. So maybe it would be better to …”

  “Julie,” I say, breaking her off. I stand there, staring at her, it’s on the tip of my tongue to say that I’ll be leaving in a minute and we’ll have to talk about this later, but I don’t get the chance because suddenly her cell phone rings, she puts her hand in her pocket, takes it out, and looks at the display.

  “It’s Mom again,” she mutters and puts the phone to her ear. “Hi,” she says, then she turns, steps out into the hall, and closes the door behind her: more talk about the wedding dress, no doubt; that or something else I’m not supposed to know anything about. I give a little sigh as I turn and open the big tackle box. That’s the second time today her mother’s called and it’s only three o’clock, I’m so sick of all their fussing, the one’s as bad as the other, Julie and her mother, it’s great that they’re going to so much trouble to ensure that we have the best possible wedding, I want it to be a great wedding too, of course I do, but they go way overboard, talking and acting as if even the tiniest detail is a matter of life or death. One of them freaks out and starts bawling and shouting at the band for having double-booked, the other can’t sleep at night for agonizing over the color scheme for the bridal bouquet. The wedding arrangements take up all their time and energy. I thought that sort of thing happened only in rom-coms, but obviously not, it’s bordering on madness. I take a couple of spinners and a little box of lead sinkers out of the large tackle box and put them in the small one.

  Then I hear the door creak open again.

  “Well, that’s that settled, at least,” Julie says.

  I say nothing, I know this is my cue to ask what’s been settled, but I can’t be bothered, it’s a pretty dumb way of letting her know that I’ve just about had enough, but that’s too bad, I don’t turn around either, take a little box of hooks from the big box and put it in the small one.

  “Oh, I forgot to ask if you’d called the doctor,” Julie says.

  “Yeah, you did,” I mutter.

  “Oh, Marius. Don’t be like that. It’s just that I’ve got so much on my mind, what with the wedding and all.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I hear her sigh.

  “Well, did you call?”

  “Yes,” I say and leave it at that.

  “Okay, so how did it go?” she asks, a little more sharply.

  “Not too well,” I say, don’t know why I say that, the test results were absolutely fine, but here I am telling her they weren’t good.

  “Oh? What did he say?”

  “I’ve got MS,” I say, just like that, it’s the sort of joke that Julie can’t stand, but it just slips out, I don’t know why.

  I hear her sigh.

  “That’s not funny!” she says.

  “I never said it was,” I say.

  Silence.

  “I called a minute ago,” I add, pointing to my phone on the bench, there’s silence for a moment or two and I nearly tell her that I’m only kidding, but I don’t.

  I keep my back to her, close the small tackle box, lift the top flap of the rucksack, and pop the box into the main section, give no hint that I’m joking. I’ve just lied and told her I have MS, I don’t quite know why, maybe as yet another way of letting her know that the plans for the wedding have got out of hand, maybe as a way of reminding her that whatever she may think there are actually more important things in the world than what font to use for the invitations, an attempt to get her to put things in perspective and calm down a bit. I draw the main section of the rucksack closed, flick the top flap over, then turn and look at her. She’s standing there staring at me, stock-still with her arms hanging by her sides, she’s speechless, stunned, not only does she think I’m telling the truth, she’s almost in shock, I can tell by her face. Oh shit, no, I can’t do this to her, I have to tell her I’m only joking or this little white lie will turn into something more spiteful and I don’t want that, I have to tell her the truth now: my blood pressure was a little on the high side, the doctor said, but other wise everything was absolutely fine, and I have to tell Julie this. But I don’t, I take a sort of bittersweet pleasure in getting through to her the way I’m doing now, for the first time in ages she actually understands what I mean whe
n I say there are more important things in the world than the color of place cards, and I’m so happy, it’s rotten of me, I know, but I can’t help it.

  “So, you don’t have to give any more thought to that seating plan,” I say with a tight little smile, then I turn away again, pick up the small bag containing my maps, compass, and pen, and stuff it into the side pocket of the rucksack.

  She still says nothing.

  “As soon as I get back I’ll send out a letter to say the wedding’s off,” I say, it just comes out, I almost jump when I hear myself say it, oh, but no, I have to stop this, I can’t do it, but I am, I am doing it, and this bittersweet feeling just grows and grows inside me, getting stronger and stronger. “But maybe you could call the vicar and let him know,” I ask, then I turn and look at her, she has put her hands up to her face, stands there with a hand on each cheek, staring at me, she still doesn’t say anything, she’s totally flabbergasted, okay, now I really ought to drop it, I can’t carry on like this, now I ought to own up and apologize. But I don’t, I hate to see Julie like this, but that bittersweet feeling just keeps growing and growing inside me, I’m filled with a sort of malicious glee, a terrible, but wonderful, feeling. “And your mom, she needs to be told right away,” I say. “It’ll save her all that work on the wedding dress. There was still a fair bit to do to it, as far as I know,” I add, then I turn my back on her again, pick up the little bag containing matches and firelighters, open it, take out the matchbox, and give it a little shake to check that there are still some matches in it, it gives a faint rattle. “Plenty of matches there,” I say, talking now as if nothing has happened, as if everything is perfectly okay. There’s silence again for a moment, then I hear Julie sniffle. I’ve made her cry now, what on earth am I doing, what’s got into me, why am I doing this, it’s not purely to make her calm down and get the wedding into perspective, that’s not why I’m tormenting her like this, although that may be what triggered it, but there’s something else behind it now, is it because it makes me feel powerful, because I want to prove to myself and to Julie that I can still change my mind if I want to, is that why I’m lying about having MS and talking about canceling the wedding? To prove to myself that it’s still not too late? Yes, maybe it is. And underneath that again, perhaps, lies that old familiar fear of commitment, the fear of losing my freedom, another cliché, I’m as big a cliché as Julie and her mother. A moment, then Julie comes up to me, puts her arms around my waist, and presses herself against me, she doesn’t say a word, just stands their holding me and it feels so good, I realize how much I love her, she’s the one for me, her and no other. I may have a fear of commitment or at least a fear of taking the huge step that marriage actually is, but my love for Julie is stronger than all that, I may be overcome by fear and doubt now and again, but my love for Julie always drives the fear and doubt away, as it’s doing now. I close my eyes and feel her warmth. One second, two, and now I have to come up with a way of getting myself out of this, I can’t just say it’s not true, not when I’ve let it go on as long as this, maybe I should say the tests showed that I might have MS, something like that, and that I won’t know for sure till Monday or something like that, yeah, I could do that, then I could call her at work and tell her the results were negative, I hate to think of her having to live with the uncertainty till then, but there’s no other way. It’s better than telling her the truth at any rate.