What She Wanted to Ask

The confirmation arrived as Fenna sat on the floor between two boxes. The first time she heard her phone, she thought it was her mother asking whether she was on her way. She still had a stack of towels to put away and couldn't understand how a person could own so many and still always be missing one on race day.

She read the sender and sat up straight. Nordspor. Naja had already told her on Friday that the funds had been definitively allocated. This was her individual confirmation, with her name and the arrangements she'd spent weeks gathering information for. She read more slowly than necessary. It mustn't suddenly say something different just because she so badly wanted it to stay the same.

Six months. The furnished room, her own sprint group, the track work with Naja and the other three funded riders. The agreed personal allowance was still what she'd based her calculations on. Not a sum from which she somehow had to pay the room rent as well. She could live on it, eat, train and still choose for herself what to do with the rest.

She pressed her thumb against the edge of the phone. It was possible now. Not as in someone thinking it made a lovely story for later. She could load her things and go. For the first time that morning she stood without touching a box.

Naja called at the agreed time. They spoke English. Her voice sounded as though someone was walking back and forth in another room. She asked how Fenna's legs were after yesterday. Fenna answered honestly that she was hoping to avoid stairs for a bit.

Naja laughed. She'd seen the result and congratulated her. Then they discussed her arrival, her first meeting with the group and when she could get into the room. Fenna heard herself asking about parking. Her great opportunity abroad suddenly needed a parking space.

There would be ordinary appointments, training, people who hadn't known for years how she talked on a bad morning. Fenna found it frightening, and wanted to know as soon as possible what the hall smelt like. She asked what her first week would look like.

Naja explained when they would talk and where Fenna should go the first time. No full programme she had to try living in advance while still in the Netherlands. She needed to arrive, unpack and get to know her. Fenna asked two more questions she'd written down. Then she looked at the third and saw it had already been answered.

'I'm coming,' she said.

It wasn't an impressive English sentence. Naja said she was glad. She asked Fenna to send back her written confirmation and said she'd see her next week. When they hung up, Fenna stayed by the window with the phone in her hand.

She sent her reply. Then she called Gita. No answer straight away. Fenna wrote her the news and took a photograph of the empty space in her cupboard. It needed no explanation beneath it; both of them knew how long this departure had been talked about.

Marten had messaged that he'd accepted the job. She only read the words after her own reply had gone. She smiled and pictured him sitting with Koen, his large hand round a pen. She wanted to know what his face had looked like as he signed.

She wanted to call him. She looked at the time and the boxes. They'd arranged to meet. There was a whole afternoon in which she had something else to do first. She put her phone down and pulled a box shut.

Her mother came downstairs when she drew up. Fenna had told her she needn't help, without treating that as a prediction of what would actually happen. Her mother picked up the lightest box, held it at hip height and said that one clearly didn't contain books.

'You can't tell from outside.'

'I can tell from your face.'

They took the things to the room where they could stay for now. Fenna had cleared the space herself on an earlier visit. She added the last box of this trip and took stock of what was still in her flat. Not much. It was getting harder to go there without already looking for something else to take.

Her mother asked whether she wanted something to eat. Fenna said yes. That proved the right answer, since there was already a pan on. They sat at the kitchen table. A newspaper lay open at a half-finished puzzle. Fenna looked at a clue and supplied the answer. Her mother said that wasn't allowed, wrote in the word and tore off a piece of bread.

Fenna told her about Naja. Not all the terms her mother had heard three times already, but the voice, the first week, the name of the place she would soon see somewhere other than a screen. Ballerup. She said it again, because it didn't yet come naturally.

'And you're going to Marten's tonight?'

Fenna looked up. 'Yes.'

'Good.'

'You don't even know what we're going to do.'

'No. I don't need to know absolutely everything.'

She could have made a joke of that. She took a bite and noticed her relief that her mother hadn't immediately started on his job or the distance. There was a man she wanted to go to. She couldn't make more of it herself just now.

After eating, they walked to the door together. Her mother asked whether she'd get to see the medal before Fenna left. She'd seen a photograph, but it wasn't quite the same. Fenna promised to bring it on her next visit.

'The real one,' her mother said.

'I've only got one from yesterday.'

'I'm sure you can buy first place somewhere. Don't do that.'

Fenna kissed her and drove back. She was still laughing as she closed the window. Then the unease returned. She knew what she wanted to say. She also knew how easily she could turn it into something lighter once Marten looked at her.

At home she set aside what she'd need for the final clean. She called the landlord back about handing over on the agreed day. The conversation lasted four minutes. The keys would have to go back then too. She wouldn't keep a room here in reserve in case the first Danish evening disappointed her.

She stood in the living room for a while. The cupboard was almost empty. She'd lived here, argued, eaten far too late, laughed with Marten and slept with him. None of that was in the tenancy agreement now coming to an end.

Gita called back. She was pleased with the news. They arranged when Fenna would come over. Gita wanted to go through something else before she left; after that Fenna needn't keep thinking about what her old coach in the Netherlands would make of it.

'Naja will be working with you,' she said. 'You need to take your own questions to her.'

'I wasn't planning to call you every day.'

'You can call. I just won't provide every answer.'

Fenna grinned. They made their arrangement and hung up. She put the phone down and thought how often she'd worked with Gita without realising this might one day be the last block. She didn't have to say goodbye to everyone at once tonight.

She chose clothes she liked, rather than just clothes easy to travel in. She didn't know whether that was sensible. She thought she'd asked herself that often enough now. In the mirror she saw a woman who had deliberately changed for someone. She turned a little and kept looking at herself until she started laughing at how seriously she was doing it. Towards evening she messaged Marten that the Danish confirmation was final and she'd said yes. His reply came before she'd put her coat on. Great. See you later.

At Marten's she stood downstairs for a moment before ringing. She couldn't explain in advance that she wanted nothing from him. She did want something. Not for him to give up his new job or come with her to make leaving easier. She wanted to be with him, even when they lived in two countries after this week. She had to dare to ask that herself.

As he let her in, she felt how badly she wanted to kiss him and postpone everything else. He looked at her. She stayed close enough to touch him.

'Congratulations,' she said.

'You too.'

'We've actually done it.'

'Yes.'

She tried to laugh, but it didn't come out right. He asked whether she wanted to sit down. She could smell food. They went to the table and she sat in the chair she'd often used. His knee touched hers as he sat opposite. Neither moved away.

He said Koen had asked whether he would still race. Not whether he would finally start a real life now. Fenna laughed. She knew how badly Marten took that sort of question, however kindly intended.

'What did you say?'

'That I didn't know yet. Not entirely.'

'Useful sometimes. That answer leaves you plenty of options.'

'I've practised it for years.'

She could see how pleased he was about the shop, even while he still talked about it a little awkwardly. She could picture him there, listening to someone with a different story from the one he knew through racing. She hadn't seen clearly enough how much he wanted this work. She'd been so busy wanting to go further herself that she'd almost belittled him for it.

'I think you'll be lovely there,' she said.

'Only there?'

'I'm trying to say something nice.'

'I heard. That's why I'd like to know how long the offer lasts.'

She laughed. His knee was still against hers. She wanted to run her hand along his jaw, where she could see the stubble. She'd forgotten how sharply you could miss something once it was suddenly so close.

He got up to fetch the food and asked whether she was hungry. She said yes. He set a plate in front of her. She took a bite and realised she'd briefly forgotten that herself. He sat again. She tasted tomato and onion, something not designed to impress her and which she very much wanted to compliment all the same. She did. Marten looked pleased and began telling her about the first time he'd made it. Halfway through, he stopped his own story.

'I'm talking round it,' he said.

She put down her fork. 'Yes. Me too.'

'I've spent the whole afternoon trying to think of something clever,' she said.

'Sounds exhausting.'

'It wasn't much of a success.'

He smiled. She looked at his face and suddenly felt how bad she was at this when she tried to save the most important words for a little longer.

'I miss you,' she said. 'And I want you back. Not just for this week.'

His gaze stayed on her. She didn't need to hurry on and pretend she'd said less. But she wanted to go on, because something else had to come out, something she'd kept putting into actions as though they would speak more clearly by themselves.

'I love you, Marten. I'm going, and I love you. I don't want to keep waiting until those two things suddenly fit together easily.'

She felt his knee press more firmly against hers. He took a breath. She put her hand on the table, close to his, and at last let the final question come.

'Do you want us to be together again?'