The guy smiled. Apparently he was too smart to let himself be provoked in front of all these witnesses. He turned toward Michelle instead.
“I couldn’t give a damn what you do. But if you move out, you need to pay your share of the rent for February, March, April, and May, Michelle. Six thousand, that was what we agreed, do you understand me? Once you’ve paid, you can fuck off wherever you want, but not before, got it?”
Michelle said nothing, but her hand on Jazmine’s arm was shaking. How do you expect me to do that? her expression seemed to say.
Then Denise stood between them again. For a moment the big guy and she stood staring at each other. If they had been anywhere else it would have ended badly.
Denise pushed him in the chest fearlessly a couple of times. “You can get half now and that’s your lot,” she said. “Or you can just fuck off with nothing.”
She put her hand in her bag and pulled out three one-thousand-kroner notes.
—
“Don’t expect too much,” said Denise as she put the key in the lock. “My grandmother was just a stupid old bitch, so the furniture is ugly and the place stinks of cheap perfume.”
Jazmine nodded. Denise had said the same thing ten times on the way here, as if it bothered her how the apartment looked or smelled. As long as there was a bed to sleep on until she found something else, she was happy and could see that Michelle felt the same.
“Oh my God, there are photos of you over there and there, Denise. And is that your mother?” exclaimed Michelle excitedly. She pointed at a black-and-white photo of a beautiful, shapely woman who had been cut out from another photo and placed on a color photo background of a park.
Denise nodded. “Yes, but that’s from ages ago. She doesn’t exactly look like that now.”
“Why has the photo been cut out like that?”
“Because my dad was standing next to her and my grandparents didn’t waste any time erasing him from our lives.”
“Oh.” Michelle appeared to be really sad for having asked. “But where is he now? Do you see him?”
“He was an American and a former soldier. My grandmother couldn’t stand him, and my mother didn’t back him up, so he went back and joined the army again.”
“Then why do you have your mother’s name and not his? Weren’t they married?”
Denise snorted. “What do you think? Of course they were, and I do have my father’s surname. Denise Frank Zimmermann.”
“That’s weird—it’s a boy’s name. Can it also be a surname? I had no idea. Do you write to each other?” Michelle continued.
Denise smiled wryly. “A bit hard seeing as he was blown to smithereens by a roadside bomb in Afghanistan just before Christmas 2002. Great Christmas present, right?”
This information didn’t dull Michelle’s curiosity.
“He’s dead? Then in some way it was your grandmother’s fault,” said Jazmine.
Denise pointed accusingly at a faded photo of her. “That’s exactly what it was.”
Jazmine looked around the sitting room. Nice furniture if you liked oak tables and smooth brown leather. Personally, she preferred the modern Scandinavian style.
Not that she would ever be able to afford furniture like that, but at least she had taste.
The apartment had enough rooms for them each to have their own bedroom, she realized with satisfaction, and there was also a dining room and large sitting room with panoramic windows looking out over a broad canopied balcony, a lawn, and behind that another block of apartments like the one they were in. Far better conditions than what she was used to.
She walked through the hallway to the bathroom to inspect it—there was no more important a room in an apartment. It wasn’t terribly big, but it would do. Washing machine, tumble dryer, and a couple of bathroom cabinets that could be cleared of all the woman’s old junk, so that would be fine. The mirror was enormous. In fact it took up the whole recess where the sink stood, so they wouldn’t even need to use it one at a time.
“Was your grandmother disabled, Denise?” she asked when they were sitting back together in the sitting room.
“Why do you ask that?”
“There are grab rails on the wall and armrests on the toilet that go up and down. Did she have trouble walking?”
“Her?! No, she was always on the move when she had the chance. They are from the former owners, I suppose.”
“What about your granddad? He didn’t use them either?”
“He was already dead when she moved out here. It was a long time ago and he was a lot older than her.”
“Okay, but that doesn’t matter,” said Michelle. Was she thinking about the grab rails or the old man? It wasn’t always clear what she was thinking.
“Who pays for the apartment?” asked Jazmine.
Denise lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke in the air.
“The mortgage has been paid off already. All the other costs are simply deducted from her account. The probate court is taking care of the money, and there’s a lot of it. My grandfather had a shoe business with a monopoly selling some exclusive brands, but my grandmother sold most of the shit in one fell swoop when he died. I expect to inherit half when they’ve finalized her estate, and then we can find somewhere else to live. There’s no way I want to stay here. I hate this place.”
“What about food and stuff?” asked Jazmine. “Michelle isn’t earning anything and if I don’t take a job I’ll lose my benefits.” She bit her cheek and took a cigarette from the table. “I’m ovulating this week so I’m considering getting myself knocked up.”
Jazmine pulled out her smartphone, placed it on the table, opened her dating account, and pointed at a photo. “I’ve got a date with him tonight. At his place, actually. His wife is at a school reunion somewhere in darkest Jutland, so we’ve got the place to ourselves.”
“Him?” Michelle gawped, and Jazmine could only agree, because he certainly wasn’t handsome. But as the man’s wife was pregnant, there was nothing wrong with his sperm.
“I really don’t think you should do that.” For once, Michelle looked grown up. “What about in a year’s time?”
Denise also looked critical.
Jazmine looked at the smoke from her cigarette, but she never found an answer there. “What do you mean ‘in a year’s time’?” she asked.
Denise put her cigarette butt in a vase of withered tulips standing in the middle of the table. “Okay, Jazmine. If you insist on using your body to have kids, why not earn a bomb doing it? It’s pathetic that you’re willing to settle for benefits while you’re pregnant. Find a couple who can’t have children. The way you look, which is bloody good by the way, you could easily earn a hundred and fifty thousand kroner under the table as a surrogate. Haven’t you considered that?”
Jazmine nodded.
“Well, then! Isn’t that a better solution?”
“No, not for me. I don’t want to know anything about the kid. It’s just a piece of meat I hand over as far as I’m concerned, okay?”