When she finally read the book, she was stunned. Mainly at the violence and the factual manner in which it was depicted. She said she couldn’t recognize me at all. The words were mine, but the images they conjured up she could in no way connect to me as a person. I said it was the best compliment she could give me and I meant it, or I did at the time.
The publication was celebrated at Krasnapolsky, which ZeitSign had booked for the night. The bar was located in central Copenhagen and was at the time one of the trendiest places without being exclusive. It was a huge change from the Scriptorium parties. This time we had bartenders, bouncers and waiters. Black banners promoting the book hung from the walls all the way around the rectangular room and stickers were scattered across the tables. At the bar guests could buy the book at a reduced price, which a lot of people did. In fact, more copies of
All my friends came, as did all of Line’s family and even my own parents turned up. ZeitSign’s staff were present as well as a fair number of journalists, whom Finn plied with drinks. I got drunk very quickly, both on my editor’s visions for my future and a couple of strong cocktails called Demons, which had been invented for the occasion, so my speech was a tad more improvised than I had planned. But the mood was jubilant, except that Mortis was in his usual changeable frame of mind and kept fiddling with the free copy I had signed and given to him. I knew he disapproved of my writing a typical genre novel and he was only waiting for an opportunity to voice his disgust. I managed to avoid him all evening and at some point he left. Bjarne and Anne were there too, obviously. They had given me a gold fountain pen, ‘to sign autographs’ as Bjarne had joked, and done their best to recoup the cost of it in Demon cocktails.
The party at Krasnapolsky ended and I remember very little of the rest of the night. I know that at some point we went to Cafe Viktor, a place I had never been to before – I wouldn’t have been seen dead there – but the flattering attention from my guests, the Demon cocktails and the success of the book went to my head and convinced me that I was the most important man in the whole world, or at least in this bar. I enjoyed rubbing shoulders with famous cyclists and wannabe celebrities, who were all suitably impressed when they learned who I was. I couldn’t get enough of it. I wanted all of them to come and meet me, and I made sure I spoke to as many people as possible.
My guests slipped away quietly, even Bjarne and Anne. I think they said goodbye to me, but I’m not sure. I was probably deep in conversation with some television presenter.
That was my first, but by no means my last meeting in Cafe Viktor.
When I surfaced the following morning, I could taste Demons in my mouth. I swallowed half a litre of water. I was alone, but Line had bought all the papers and arranged them on the coffee table next to a thermos flask of coffee.
Armed with coffee and my duvet, I sat down to read the reviews. They were mixed, but even the worst ones were to my benefit. The critics queued up to express their outrage at the explicit violence and the scenes of torture and murder, but there was fierce disagreement whether this was art or exploitation. These mixed reactions were precisely what Finn Gelf had predicted and he had assured me that both points of view would boost sales. Regardless of which review people read, they would be intrigued by the critics’ disgust and revulsion. Everyone would want to read a book that induced nausea in several critics and a few had refused to finish.
After writing in isolation for so long, being on the receiving end of this kind of attention was very strange.
At the bottom of the newspaper pile, I found a note from Line. She had taken Ironika to her family so I could have a lie-in. She didn’t say whether she had read the reviews, but she added a PS that she had unplugged the telephone.
I got up from the sofa, a little wobbly, and walked over to the windowsill where the telephone was. I had barely plugged it in before it started ringing. It was a journalist from
Initially, after reading the reviews, she had no idea what to think, but the huge interest did convince her I was on to something.
She was proud, she said, and that was the best review I could have hoped for.
16
‘IT’S A BIT early to be drinking, isn’t it?’
Ironika gave me a reproachful look as I poured myself a glass of beer from the keg in the backroom behind ZeitSign’s stand. She had shoulder-length hair, dyed black, and wore slightly too much eyeshadow over her blue eyes. A tight black blouse emphasized her teenage breasts and a red gingham miniskirt over black tights with ‘random’ holes revealed her long, pretty legs. She was Line’s daughter all right, and it was becoming more obvious the older she got.
‘I had an early start,’ I replied and drank nearly half the beer before topping up my glass. ‘Besides, it’s been a bad day.’
‘Great, thanks,’ Ironika said and sipped her mineral water, the only thing she wanted from ZeitSign’s bar even though it was lukewarm.
‘Yes, until now, of course,’ I said, by way of a save, and smiled. ‘It’s good to see you.’ That was a lie. I would have preferred her not to see her father hungover and on the verge of a nervous breakdown. It was more than seven years since I had last seen her, apart from the photographs on my parents’ walls.
‘I’m here with some friends,’ she said. ‘And I thought I would stop by and get myself an autograph.’ She waved the book.
‘Of course,’ I exclaimed and grabbed it while I set down my beer and fumbled in my inside pocket for a pen.
‘Have you read it?’
‘Not yet,’ Ironika replied. ‘But I’ve read a couple of the other ones even though Mum hides them.’
‘She hides them?’
‘Yes, she piles them up in her wardrobe, like that would stop us or Bjorn, but I always find them.’
‘Yes, you’ve always been bright,’ I said and smiled to her.
‘I don’t like them … The books, I mean.’
I tried to maintain my smile, but she must have seen that it grew somewhat rigid.
‘But that’s probably just because I don’t understand them,’ she added.
I shrugged. ‘They’re not really suitable for children.’
Her eyes hardened. ‘Frank, I’m not a child any more.’
‘No, you’re not,’ I said quickly. ‘It’s just so long ago …’
At that moment Finn Gelf burst into the cubicle.
‘Frank, are you ready …’ He spotted Ironika. ‘Oh … you’ve got a visitor,’ he said with a sideways smile.
‘This is my daughter, Veronika,’ I said. ‘You’ve met her before.’
‘Of course,’ Finn exclaimed and stuck out his hand to her. ‘But the last time you can only have been … three years old, I think, so you probably don’t remember me.’
Ironika shook her head, but she still took his hand and pressed it.
‘So your dad brought you along to the book fair?’
