The Dinosaur Feather(135)

“It was easy to lie at home in Brænderup, too. We had moved into the house shortly before you were born and it wasn’t until later, when things had improved, that we became a part of the local community—the main reason we had moved out there in the first place. Another year and we would never have been able to keep such an illness a secret. It was as if it had never happened. Cecilie blossomed. Decorated the house and made new curtains. Enjoyed being a stay-at-home mom. That autumn you got a new name. That was the second fly in the ointment. Sara’s such a beautiful name. So is Anna, of course,” he hastened to add. “But I was used to calling you Sara. For years I would call you Sara when no one was listening. Do you remember me suggesting it for Lily?” Anna nodded. Jens seemed to have run out of words. Anna’s tears had dried, and she didn’t know what to say. Jens gave her an anxious look as if he was aware the jury was out.

Anna said: “You’re a hard-nosed political analyst, feared and admired, and you’re so weak when it comes to Cecilie.” Even she could hear her voice was more loving than she had intended it to be. “How on earth could you agree to something so outrageous?” she continued. “I simply don’t understand. Mom was seriously ill, and for two months I was home alone with her, every day. That’s bad, Jens. And it shouldn’t have happened. But it did. I would have understood. Cecilie was ill, it wasn’t her fault. But you chose to keep it a secret. I really don’t get that.”

She looked pensively into space before she continued.

“If only you knew how the pieces are finally starting to fall into place.”

Jens briefly raised an eyebrow.

“I was eighteen years old when I met Cecilie,” he said. “She was twenty-five. I was still living with my parents.” He smiled. “Cecilie bowled me over. Seven years older than me, mature and . . . a real woman. I admired her. She was beautiful, and she had her life figured out. She had just finished teacher-training and bought her own apartment when we started seeing each other. Cecilie was always the stronger.”

“Certainly the more dominant,” Anna interjected.

“Call it what you will. I’ve always been more reticent and invisible. The guy in the corner who never said much. Cecilie had courage. She set the agenda. Allocated roles and it suited both of us very well. At political meetings, Cecilie would speak out with a clear vision. I wrote whatever needed writing, but I never said anything. I’m sure people wondered what she saw in me. But we complemented each other. Cecilie was extrovert, vociferous, radical. I was loyal, flexible, and I worshipped her. That’s why we split up. Because it just wouldn’t work. Cecilie wanted a challenge. I tried, but I couldn’t give her what she wanted. And yet, we’ve never separated properly. We still loved each other, Anna. We still do. And, back then . . . back then she asked me to keep silent about what had happened. She wanted to forget it. She wanted to start over, wipe the slate clean. She couldn’t see why we should stir up something it would be in everyone’s best interests to forget. Not least you. Deep down I always knew there would be consequences. But she convinced me it was for the best. As a teenager you were unbelievably angry with us. We discussed at length whether you might have some lingering notion of what had happened. An imprint on your earliest memory, perhaps? Cecilie consulted several experts and received a lot of contradictory information, which only served to confuse us even more. In the middle of it all, Troels entered our lives. By the way, Troels . . . he dropped by . . .” Jens hesitated. He had interrupted himself and shook his head.

“We knew we loved you. We knew we had patched up the past as well as we could, and though you were one angry teenager, you were also utterly gorgeous. Extroverted and full of life. We met Troels and saw in him a child who so obviously needed us. Cecilie, especially, saw him as a project. At times, it was almost too much. I was terrified that you might get jealous. Luckily, you were also very fond of him. ‘Here’s a boy who’s never had anything,’ Cecilie said one evening. I don’t quite know how this related to you, but somehow it did. The reasoning was . . .” He looked away. “There was always someone worse off.” Anna flexed her foot in irritation.

“Dad,” Anna said quietly. “Have you ever asked Cecilie about those two months? When I lost weight, when I grew nonresponsive?” She twisted the knife deliberately. Jens looked at her for a long time. He shifted in his armchair.

“No,” he gulped, eventually. “I’ve never asked her.” He slumped back in his chair like a fallen king. Anna could see he was bracing himself for the worst, but she felt calm inside.