The Little Café in Copenhagen. Julie Caplin
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coffee as she delivered pewter mini buckets of flowers to each table along with handwritten menus displayed in little A5 photo frames.
‘Those are cute,’ I touched the delicate glass photo frame on my table.
‘Flea markets again in England. People there throw so many things away.’ She held out another pretty etched silver photo frame. ‘In Denmark, we don’t buy as many things but we keep them for a very long time. And we like to buy very good design and high quality.’ She pointed upwards.
‘Lights are a big thing in Denmark.’ Above us were three large waterfalls of glass but around the edges of the room were lamps of varying height. ‘You will find that a student might buy a very expensive Paul Henningsen lamp for thousands of Kroner because it is important to have nice things in our homes but not lots of nice things.’
The couple beckoned her over, asking to pay their bill and I took advantage of Eva’s absence to pull out my phone to check my emails which were still flooding in as usual. Despite being out of the office for a full week, there was no chance of putting an out of office message on my email. I was still expected to be on call for my other clients and any press enquiries as usual. So much for relaxing.
I answered a few before Eva came back. ‘Tell me a little about yourself.’
My mind went blank. What did you tell a complete stranger? I had no idea where to start.
‘Well, I live in London. I work for a PR agency and Lars has asked us to help launch his department store.’ I ground to a halt and shrugged as she waited expectantly, gentle eyes watching me.
‘Not married. No children?’
‘No.’
‘A boyfriend, perhaps.’
I shuddered, thinking of Josh. ‘No. Not at the moment.’
‘Ah, there was one.’
‘Yes but … well I don’t really have time for one.’ And the most recent had been a gobshite. I didn’t think that would translate. ‘Work is … well my main focus at the moment.’
She stroked the petals on the flowers on the table. ‘Yes, but there is more to life than work. For a pretty young woman like you. Friends, family.’ Her eyes twinkled as she pulled at a few dead leaves, her head cocked like a cheeky robin.
‘My family live just outside London. I see them, of course. I have two brothers.’ And what would they make of Copenhagen? John went on lads’ holidays, the gruesome details of which seemed to involve copious quantities of cheap lager, clubbing until dawn and sleeping indiscriminately with available women. Brandon had been saving forever to go to a Star Wars convention in California, although him ever getting there was about as likely as a trip to the moon and Dad, well, he hadn’t been on holiday since Mum had died.
‘My mum died when I was fourteen,’ I blurted out. I rarely told people that and surprised myself by telling Eva. There was just something about her though. She was so warm and friendly.
‘That’s very sad.’
‘Yes, well it was a long time ago,’ I said reaching for my phone but when I picked it up I was reluctant to look at the screen under Eva’s careful scrutiny.
‘That’s hard for a young girl.’
I chased down a few flakes of pastry with the tip of my finger and nibbled at them to avoid looking at her.
‘The café is lovely. How long have you been running it?’
Eva smiled. ‘For six years. I started it not long after I split up from Lars’ father.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry … I didn’t know.’
‘Like you say it was a long time ago and I’m much happier.’ Her mouth twisted ruefully. ‘Anders is not Danish, well, he is but he spent too long in the US and London. He’s a workaholic.’
I frowned not quite understanding.
‘That’s not the Danish way. We do not live to work. I hoped when the children left that he would want to stop working so hard. We lived in London for many years and then when we came back to Copenhagen, I thought that he would slow down. That we would do more things together but he couldn’t let go. We had everything. A lovely house. Our children had grown up. It was time for us to be a couple but he is still in his office working and working and working. Life is short. Now I spend time with my friends.’ She rested her chin in her hands, exuding serenity and a confident sense of calm. She didn’t sound unhappy or regretful. ‘I have made a life here. Many of my customers have become friends. I have made something of my own but that I can share.’ Her face brightened. ‘I love to cook. Feed people. Look after them. I am very privileged to do this for the people of Copenhagen.’
I nodded. Each to their own. As far as I was concerned cooking was one massive chore, a necessary evil that entailed washing up and cleaning up and far too much of a waste of time. Thank God for the express supermarkets which made it much easier to do smash and grab style grocery shopping and buy ready-meals.
‘What sort of things do you like to cook?’ she asked.
Oops she’d taken the nodding as agreement. I froze and picked up my coffee gazing into it for inspiration.
‘Erm, well you know …’
She pinned me with a ‘gotcha’ grin which left me nowhere to go but fess up.
‘There’s never enough time. I work late and me and my flatmate are in at different times. There’s not much point in cooking for one.’
It was difficult to take offence at the amused disapproval in the quick shake of her head.
‘I think this trip to Copenhagen is just what you need, Katie.’
‘It’s Ka …’ I paused and changed my mind. The warmth in her voice softened my name reminding me of my mum. Suddenly there seemed a world of difference between a Kate and Katie.
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