IT WAS, WITHOUT a doubt, one of the finest albums ever made. Kate Bush’s Hounds of Love. On his list of personal favourites, it was up there with Abbey Road, Computer World, Nevermind, Hunky Dory and a few more.
‘Running Up That Hill’ was not only one of the best songs in the world, it was an epic masterpiece clocking in at just under five minutes, and every time he heard her sing Tell me, we both matter, don’t we? in a voice as fragile as a butterfly’s wing, he welled up. He couldn’t explain why; for some reason the line just got to him.
But that wasn’t the song he picked now; he went straight to the second-to-last song on the album, ‘Hello Earth’. It was Sonja’s favourite, and when he turned up the volume, her reaction was instantaneous in the form of a smile from the kitchen where she was putting together a simple dinner.
‘How about a glass of wine?’ she said, holding up a bottle of red.
He nodded and she immediately set to opening it and getting glasses out. She couldn’t have been more right about her performance at Dunkers earlier that evening. Once the audience had left the venue and the staff had let the box back down and opened it, a new Sonja had climbed out and walked over to him.
Gone was the insecurity and the introverted darkness. The coldness. Instead, there was a strength in her now that reminded him of their first few years together. Before the children, when it was just the two of them. When life was an open door and nothing was impossible.
She filled both glasses and he wheeled himself over to the kitchen island, took one and raised it in a toast. She picked up the other, clinked it against his and kissed him. Gently, so as not to inflict any more pain on his battered face.
It still hurt. But he didn’t care. The intimacy was back and that was all that mattered. The intimacy and tenderness that said so clearly that if there had ever been any doubt about it being the two of them, it was now banished forever.
At the same time, the anaesthesia from his surgery at Copenhagen’s main hospital was wearing off, and he could feel the pain from the gunshot wound in his thigh returning. But it was nothing compared to what his body had endured earlier in the day, and since no vital organs had been damaged, the doctor had reluctantly agreed not to keep him in overnight for observation and had instead arranged for him to be transported to the Dunkers Culture Centre in Helsingborg.
Now they were finally home, and Fabian didn’t want to be anywhere else, and even though they both had so many things to tell each other and so many questions, the past hour had been virtually silent. They had all the time in the world, and right now, all the questions, answers and explanations felt like unnecessary ballast they’d do best to jettison.
‘Dad…’
Fabian turned and saw Matilda looking at him from the hallway. ‘Hi, Matilda,’ he said and smiled, even though it hurt.
For the first time in weeks, he recognized her, his own daughter. It really was Matilda, standing there staring at him, his Matilda. True, her eyes were wide with shock and concern, but they were her eyes. Hers and no one else’s.
‘Dad, what happened?’ She hurried over to him. ‘What did they do to you? You look… awful.’
‘Matilda, I promise I will tell you. I promise I’ll tell you all about it. But not right now. Right now, I just want to have a nice dinner and enjoy us being together. Okay?’
Matilda nodded, bent down and hugged him as gently as she could. He hugged her back and Sonja joined in as well. Only Theodor was missing.