Where She Rode Now

The room was brighter than in the photographs. That was the first thing Fenna saw as she put her bag down. The window took up almost the whole wall. The bed was clear and made up. She took off her coat and stayed in the middle of the floor.

Downstairs she heard someone laugh. Her landlady had shown her the kitchen, the place for her car, the rack where she could keep her shoes. She'd asked whether the journey had gone well, then given her time to unpack.

She unpacked. She put her training kit in the wardrobe, her ordinary shoes beside the bed, and plugged in her phone. She'd already let people know she was there on the way in. Now she sent Marten a photograph of the window and wrote that she couldn't tell whether she was allowed to swear at the weather here too.

His reply came while she looked for her toothbrush. You could do that anywhere. It was one of the few international agreements he was certain about.

She called him. He answered with his face too large in the picture. She said he didn't need to inspect her quite so close up.

'I'm trying to see whether you're still there.'

'The window's enormous. I'm hiding behind it.'

They didn't talk long. She needed to eat, and he still had things to do at home. Hanging up was harder than she'd expected, precisely because they'd talked only about her room and the journey. She wanted to be able to see him out of the door and know he'd be back later. Instead she ended the call and put her phone down.

The next morning she drove to the hall where she was to meet Naja. Ballerup was still a collection of turnings and places her satnav knew better than she did. She found the car park and sat for a moment. She'd worked towards this for so long she'd almost forgotten how it felt to arrive somewhere for the first time.

Naja was inside with a woman who looked a few years younger than Fenna. Signe, she said. A sprinter too, in the group. They spoke English. Signe shook her hand and asked whether she wanted coffee. Fenna said yes. It was good that the first question wasn't about her latest two hundred metres.

They talked briefly about the journey. Signe didn't live in the same house and had some family thing that afternoon. She described it with a face Fenna would have recognised anywhere: it would be lovely, and she already wanted to leave on time. Naja listened while gathering her own kit.

When she saw the track, Fenna felt a little release. Wood, lines, the curve her body knew. A new hall, but a track on which she could immediately imagine how riding would feel.

Naja took time to see what Fenna did. She said less than Fenna expected. In their first conversation Fenna wanted to explain too much about Gita's opinion. She heard it herself as she mentioned her old coach for the third time.

'And what did you feel?' Naja asked.

Fenna looked at the track. A name from the Netherlands wouldn't get her out of this. She described it, too fast at first, then better. Naja asked another question. It became a conversation she'd come here for, with someone who couldn't yet understand her from half a sentence.

After the session she was tired in more than her legs. Signe asked whether she wanted to eat with her. Fenna had been about to say she had something to sort out first, though she didn't know what. She heard herself say yes.

Later they sat opposite each other with plates that barely fitted the narrow table. Signe wanted to know what Fenna would miss most. For a moment Fenna considered an orderly answer about friends and home.

'My boyfriend,' she said.

'That's difficult.'

'He said he'll come here.'

'Then you'll have to show him good things. Not just our changing room.'

Fenna laughed. She asked whether Signe had someone. No, she said, but her mother sometimes treated that as a temporary fault that could be put right with a few suitable names. Fenna told her about Madelon, who would probably have cured her of that sort of interference in an afternoon. Signe wondered whether she could borrow her.

The days found a shape without Fenna having to ask for it again every morning. She rode, rested, made food and learnt where the supermarket kept the bread she liked. She messaged Gita about the first session. She asked Naja about the next. The programme wasn't a plan for some other time any more.

Marten started with Koen. The first evening he called her after work. He told her about a customer who'd discussed a road bike for twenty minutes and finally wanted to know whether a child seat would fit it. Fenna started laughing before she knew whether he'd found it funny himself.

'I took it very seriously,' he said.

'I can tell.'

'Then I got Koen. I'd already said a lot of sensible things I had to take back.'

She wanted to hear his whole day, and halfway through realised she was no longer listening properly. She was too tired. She said so. He didn't finish the story just to reach the good joke. He asked when she would call again and told her the ending next time, when she asked about the customer herself.

Towards the end of her third week she knew he really was coming. Koen had arranged the Saturday with him and the journey was booked. Marten had sent her the times. She'd written them down, although she'd opened the message so often there was no need.

On Friday evening she thought the room didn't feel enough like hers to have him over. She'd unpacked, but everything was still exactly where she'd chosen to put it on the first evening. She moved nothing. She only put the book she was reading beside the bed. He didn't need to visit a neat, temporary version of her.

On Saturday she worked with Naja and the group before collecting him. She had to bring her attention back a few times. Signe noticed and asked when her train left.

'Not mine.'

'I know.'

Fenna grinned and got back to work. She'd long since lost any wish to pretend he mattered less so someone else would take her sport more seriously. Naja simply had her ride, then called her back for a brief discussion of the session. Fenna listened. There was still time.

Outside the station she stood with her coat fastened and her hands warm from the steering wheel. She was early. She knew it. The people passing had reasons for being here that had nothing to do with him. She didn't want to stare across the square, and did.

She saw him before he saw her. He walked with a small bag over his shoulder, looking the wrong way. She called his name. He turned and began to smile.

She walked towards him without first deciding whether she was moving calmly enough. He put down his bag and caught her in his arms. She put her arms round his neck, kissed him and felt him bend towards her. At last he wasn't the size of the screen in her hand.

'Hi,' he said against her mouth.

'You're here.'

'That was the plan.'

'I like the plan.'

She took his hand and led him to the car. He looked at her, then the street, as though he wanted to see what she'd been seeing these past weeks. She began telling him before he asked. At the turning for her room he laughed as she abruptly broke off her story to concentrate.

'I don't know it all yet.'

'I haven't noticed a thing.'

She showed him her room, the kitchen, the place where she ate in the mornings if she was on time. She'd agreed his visit with her landlady in advance. Downstairs the woman wished them a good weekend and went on with what she was doing. Fenna took Marten upstairs and closed the door behind them.

He looked round. His bag stayed on the floor. She felt nerves return, the brief, foolish suspicion he might still find her strange here. He stepped towards her and put his hands on her hips.

'I've missed you.'

'I've missed you too.'

She kissed him. This time she didn't have to hang up after a minute. She slid his coat off his shoulders and he drew her against him. The room had a door, a large window and a bed with room for more than just her. For a while that was all she needed to know about it.

Later they ate somewhere nearby. She chose a place she knew and let him try something she liked. He talked about his first weeks in the shop and how heavy his feet sometimes felt after a day when he'd barely ridden. She asked whether he'd ever thought about her warehouse shifts.

'That suddenly occurred to me in the first week,' he said.

'Now you know why I sometimes wanted to go straight to the sofa.'

He nodded, took a bite and asked how Naja worked. Fenna told him more than she had on the phone. She wanted to show him what it was like here, not just explain she was enjoying it. He listened. At one point she stopped because she saw him looking at her.

'What?'

'You talk differently when you're actually sitting opposite me.'

'Longer?'

'That too.'

She nudged his shoe gently under the table. He took her hand and lifted it to his mouth.

On Sunday they walked unhurriedly round the area. Fenna didn't know the prettiest route. At a junction they chose what looked pleasant, passed a garden where someone was expecting green things much too early, and sat on a bench for a while. There was nothing they had to have seen before three o'clock to make the visit count.

They talked about her first return to the Netherlands. She could come for a few days at the end of March as part of her normal time off. They'd coordinated it with her programme and his work. The trip was already fixed. She wanted to see Madelon, her mother and, above all, the chair beside him at the table.

'Your mother first,' he said.

'I haven't decided that yet.'

The next morning she had training. Marten came to the hall and watched from the visitors' area. She saw him before her session began. Then it was her own riding she had to work on with Naja. Now and then, when she came back, she saw where he sat.

Afterwards she went over to him, her legs warm, her hair flattened by her helmet. She'd worked well. She said so before he could ask. He held out his hands and she went to stand beside him.

'Good,' he said.

'You'll hear more about it later.'

'I'm counting on it.'

She looked at his face and began to grin. They still had the whole afternoon before he had to go back. She asked whether he wanted to eat with her, took her bag and went outside with him.