What was she meant to do? If she got pregnant again she would without doubt be thrown out of the house, but what did that really matter? Social services would just have to step in if that was the case.
The thought made her smile. Then Anne-Line Svendsen could stick all her admonitions, plans, restrictions, and whatever else she could come up with right up her fat ass. Once she was pregnant and complained of back trouble, she’d be home free again. It wasn’t like they could make her have an abortion.
Jazmine had hardly noticed her last pregnancy even though she had told the doctor a different story. No morning sickness and no remorse when they came to collect the baby, so that was easy enough. All the same, this time it seemed shortsighted to do it again. Because when the next baby was handed over and she was again thrown into the benefits system, she would suddenly have turned thirty. Thirty! So even though she didn’t have any expectation of being saved by a knight in shining armor, she would suddenly have deflated the currency she had always cherished and which had always been her safest bet when it came to invoking the miracle: her youth.
Because who would want a woman of thirty who has had five children with God knows who and given them all up for adoption? Yeah, or four children, for that matter, she thought soberly.
She looked up at the other passengers. Was there anyone here who she would even care to have as her husband the way things had turned out for her? And was there anyone in here who would want her for that matter? Maybe the guy over in the corner, who looked thirty-five and was moving clumsily around in his seat as if he were smothered in Vaseline. But should she really waste her time and life on someone like him? That would be pointless.
Jazmine shook her head and opened the dating app that gave the quickest results. Victoria Milan was supposed to be for people in steady relationships looking for a bit on the side—and Jazmine wasn’t exactly in the target group—but why should she care? If she could arrange casual sex with a decent man who understood the importance of personal hygiene and didn’t cause her any trouble, and whom she might be able to extort some money out of by showing him her pregnant stomach, then the website was just what she needed. The site also had a panic button you could press if partners of the users suddenly came and looked over their shoulder. Perfect for Jazmine, especially because up until now she had been living in a tiny apartment where the dining table was the only space where you could surf the Internet. She had sometimes used the panic button when her mother came snooping. Pow! And no one could see that date.
She logged on to her brilliantly disguised profile and looked over the prospects. If she could choose for herself, she would find a man who was nothing special. It would make it much easier for her to give up the baby when it turned out not to be particularly beautiful. And besides, in her experience, ordinary men were just better lovers than the good-looking ones.
The thought made her smile. Those nerdy guys really did go the extra mile.
—
“So what did she say?” asked Michelle, impatiently tugging at Jazmine’s sleeve. Despite the abrasions and bandaging on the back of her head, she looked much better now that she was up and dressed in her own clothes.
“Wait,” said Denise, pointing to the duty nurse who was just popping her head around the corner.
“All the best, Michelle. Look after yourself,” the nurse said, handing her a bottle of tablets. “Take two of these a couple of times a day if you still get headaches, but come and see us if you feel at any time that something else is wrong, okay?” Michelle nodded, and the nurse shook her hand somewhat formally.
“Come on, then. Out with it, Jazmine,” said Michelle when the nurse had gone.
Jazmine nodded questioningly to the screen separating them from the other bed.
“The skunk who was lying there? No, she was discharged this morning.” Michelle wrinkled her nose, turning her attention back to Jazmine. “Did you get Anne-Line to reveal anything? What did you say to her?”
“In the middle of all the usual caseworker crap she always comes out with, I told her that you would be okay and then asked her if she had a preference for driving red cars.”
“God, you didn’t!” Michelle put her hand to her mouth.
Jazmine nodded. “Yup. Of course she reacted—we would have done the same—but I don’t think she seemed shaken.”
“You don’t think it was her I saw?”
Jazmine shrugged. “No, I don’t think so.”
Michelle seemed momentarily uneasy on hearing this but nodded anyway. She collected her belongings and went with the others out into the reception area that divided the ward’s four units, where there was an information desk, a waiting area, and elevators. From the panoramic windows looking out over a vast part of northern Copenhagen, the light was pouring in as if it was the middle of summer, and almost everyone in the waiting room was sitting facing the view of the city rooftops.
“God, there’s Patrick,” whispered Michelle worriedly, pointing over toward the sofa, where a big bundle of muscles was sitting sprawled out with his sleeves rolled up and looking like a body builder.
Jazmine looked over at him. He must have just arrived, because he hadn’t been there when she and Denise were sitting there.
Denise reacted quickly, standing in front of Michelle, but it was already too late. He obviously had an animal instinct and had sensed prey, standing up in the same split second he caught sight of them. Six steps later, he was standing next to them, staring at Michelle as if he was ready to give her another reason to stay on ward 32, or whatever it was called.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Michelle? Why couldn’t I visit you?”
Michelle grabbed Denise’s arm, hiding behind it. She was obviously scared of him, which Jazmine could easily understand.
“Who are these bitches?” he asked angrily.
“Denise and Jazmine, not that that’s any of your business,” she said quietly.
“What Michelle is trying to tell you is that she’s moved out,” Denise answered on her behalf. “She doesn’t want to live with you anymore.”
Two wrinkles appeared between his eyes. He wasn’t satisfied with that answer.
“Fuck you, bitch. Until Michelle has paid what she owes me, you should keep your nose out of our business,” he said, pushing Denise away from Michelle and up against the wall.
A few of the people in the waiting room shuffled in their seats at the commotion, and a nurse at the information desk looked up. Maybe that was why he lowered his arm.
“What does she owe you money for? For living with you and waiting on you hand and foot?” asked Denise without batting an eye. “Did you think it was free to have sex with a girl like Michelle?”
Michelle looked worried now, and Jazmine shared her worry. Maybe it would be wise if Denise toned it down a bit.
“You look big enough to understand the basic principles, buster, but maybe you haven’t had enough experience with women,” she continued.