The barman put another glass of wine down for her. She nodded thanks and took a drink. As she returned to the magazine, a shadow loomed beside her.
A voice came from over her shoulder. “Excuse me?”
Alice’s shoulders knotted. She looked up. “Yes?” The bearded guy from the end of the bar now stood at her side.
“Where are you from?”
She rolled her eyes and turned back to the bar. “I’m sick of people asking me where I’m from.” When the guy had slunk away, she took a large gulp of wine and pretended to read her magazine. But too many things crowded her mind. The weight of her mother’s need for redemption amid impending death. Alice’s own public shaming and condemnation on social media. The revitalised memory of Ved Volden. All this pressed down on her. And on top of those, both the bearded guy and her reaction to him bugged her.
Alice got off the stool, grabbed her magazine and hurried back to her room, determined to sleep for the next 10 or 12 hours and calm her raging mind.
51
Two hours after his evening flight from Frankfurt landed at Heathrow, Ian lay on his back and stared at the ceiling in Jo Page’s bedroom. He tried to shake the guilty feeling that had taken hold as he wondered what life with Jo would be like. The fact that he even considered it suggested he was coming to a point where he would have to stop, but as Jo bounced back into the bedroom with two glasses and a bottle of wine, he realised he wasn't ready yet. In any case, why he should he feel guilty if Alice wouldn't sleep with him?
She put the glasses down and filled them as Ian watched. “What?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“You're looking at me funny.”
Ian smiled. “You’re gorgeous. You're naked. You know I can't resist you.”
“Oh yeah?” She climbed onto the bed and straddled him. “Prove it.”
“You’ll get me into trouble someday.”
“Better keep me satisfied then.”
“Will that keep me safe?”
“Afraid I’ll tell her?”
“Don't even joke about that.”
“Why? Because she’d want to fuck me instead of you?”
“Alice doesn't fuck anyone anymore.”
“Not that you know of. How do you know she’s not spending her Saturday night picking up some Danish hunk in a trendy Copenhagen bar?”
Ian laughed. “Yeah. Sure. If she did, I’d leave her and marry you.”
“I might hold you to that.”
“I was joking.”
“Many a true word...”
“Huh? No...”
She put her hand over his mouth. “Shh. Shut up and fuck me.”
52
Alice met Connie on Fiolstræde for lunch at an Italian restaurant. They sat at one of the few vacant tables outside and small talked until they'd ordered the food. When the waiter left, Connie tapped Alice on the hand. “You seem distant. What’s wrong?”
Alice rested her chin on one hand and shook her head. “Where do I start? I don't feel... I don't even know the right word… Safe?”
“It’s probably your mother. The influence our mothers have on us, even as adults, can be difficult to shake. It shapes our personalities. Our behaviours.”
Alice looked at her and winced. “Can you be my friend instead of my therapist?”
Connie looked surprised. “A good therapist is a friend who doesn’t judge. A good friend is a therapist who doesn't charge.”
Alice smiled and squeezed Connie’s arm. “Sorry. I guess that came out wrong. You’re right. And you are a good friend. I wish you lived in London. You could analyse me all you want.”
“Are you seeing someone? You know, someone like me. A therapist?”
“No. Been thinking about it though.”
“Best to do rather than just think.”
“I was doing fine until all this crap happened. The champagne tweet. Samir lying. The Twitter trolls. Getting arrested. Going to Ved Volden. Mama dying. Where will it end?”
“Do you want my advice or my support?”
“I don’t know.”
“Let me put it to you this way, support often means telling the person what they want to hear, which is fine in the short term, but won’t necessarily solve anything. Advice should offer a practical solution to the problem. Unfortunately, in times of emotional stress, people tend not to be practical.”
“God. I could scream.”
“Please don’t. People would stare.”
Alice laughed. “I wasn't serious.” Her laughter faded and she looked at Connie. “At least I don't think I was.”
Connie ran her fingers along the tablecloth as she spoke. “Here’s the practical. You want it?”
Alice nodded.
“It may sound like a lecture, but I don't intend it that way. Still okay?”
Alice waited a beat and ran her tongue along her teeth before she spoke. “Okay.”
“The Twitter storm will pass. You’ve deactivated your account. Open a new account in a few months if you must but forget about it for now. The police released you and eliminated you from the investigation. It was traumatic, and I would suggest therapy back in London to address that. Going to Ved Volden was a good start, but you’re not finished yet. Your mother’s apology will help in time. I think it’s good she did that, however, you should go back and see her again. Say goodbye.”
“I didn't forgive her. Didn’t absolve her.”
“You should.”
“Why? To make her feel better?”
“No, Alice. To make you feel better.”
*
Alice arranged to speak with a consultant at the Centre for Cancer and Health. Professor Anne-Mette Krüger took Alice into a quiet room overlooking a courtyard where they sat at a small table.
“What’s the prognosis?” Alice asked.
Prof
