The Exception by Christian Jungersen Read Free Book Online Page A

it is a specially designed post of only twenty hours per week, personally devised for Charlotte. As Charlotte speaks, Malene feels that she has heard this before, probably in one of their phone calls. As likely as not she has simply forgotten about it, the bad news being outdone by all the good, cheerful stories from Charlotte’s life.
    The conversation moves on. They talk about a series of documentary programmes on the radio and the best way of chopping almonds when your hands hurt and how good it would be to have wellington boots designed for arthritic feet.
    It is cringingly awful. Why, Malene asks herself, do I know so little about this woman? – especially since I imagined that we share so much. I must’ve been chatting away on the phone without asking the right questions, without listening properly.
    Charlotte sniggers when she admits that she can take time off work without any questions being asked. Like today. Meanwhile Malene has taken in other little things about this room that looks as if it is shared by a young woman and her grandmother. Woollen joint bandages lie neatly rolled up within reach, as does a collection of pop CDs. Charlotte is a couple of years younger than Malene, but has suffered from arthritis for eight years compared with Malene’s six.
    Still speaking vivaciously as ever, Charlotte is describing AYAP’s social calendar – the parties and seminars. The membership has such a great time together on their weekend jaunts, when they make their aching bodies play about in hotel gardens during light summer nights. Then she asks about Rasmus and Malene wonders how much she should tell.
    At this point Charlotte speaks more flatly in tone, clearly self-conscious about not having a lover. They have talked about it on the phone, but Malene has always assumed that it’s just a matterof time before Charlotte finds someone. Surely it’s no more serious than that? Now, watching her, Malene can see how ill she is. Maybe Charlotte will never find anyone.
    Malene realises that she has just come out with some tired old cliché to the effect that there is a Mr or Miss Right for everyone.
    Charlotte puts on a happy face and straightens up. ‘That’s true, I know. And while I’m on the look-out, I won’t waste my time moaning.’ She dunks a cake delicately in her coffee.
    Thoughts fly into Malene’s head. How do they manage, the ones who are seriously disabled? How do they endure it all without jumping off a bridge? Charlotte will never get a man and she knows it. She’ll never escape this social housing hell-hole. And how would I cope? I could never be so happy with so little.
    Charlotte in the flesh is no different from the person who wrote the emails. It’s just that finding her here, among her cushions and special aids, changes Malene’s perception of her. For Malene, this realisation is all the harder to take because of the worsening situation between her and Rasmus. As they put it in Seinfeld : ‘Breaking up is like knocking over a Coke machine. You can’t do it in one push, you’ve got to rock it back and forth a few times.’ Malene has noticed that Rasmus is definitely rocking. Soon it will be my turn, she thinks. I will smile mechanically as I tell people that Rasmus and I aren’t together any more. Never mind, I’ll say, there are so many fun things to do when you’re single.
    She gets up, excuses herself, and goes to the toilet. Inside, she weeps noiselessly among all the special bath-aids and handles that Charlotte requires in order to be able to wash on her own. Or does someone come in to help her? Will Malene’s own bathroom look like this in a few years?
    Malene takes her time. She pinches some of Charlotte’s foundation to pat into the skin under her eyes. Better that than have to explain to Charlotte that just being with her makes Malene want to cry.
    She takes a few deep breaths and opens the door. Baffled,she recognises the smell even before she sees Charlotte. This sweetish,