Secret Joy

Part 9

My things arrived three weeks after I did. Mor was out at work, and, although I'd made some friends, we had no plans for the day. So I was home alone when the doorbell rang.

As I stepped tentatively down the stairs, I wished our front door had a frosted window, like our front door had had in London. But it was solid oak, and I couldn't see a thing through it. I had no clue what to expect.

I thought perhaps it would be the postman, delivering something that needed a signature, or that couldn't just be rammed through the letterbox, but...

It wasn't the postman.

It was Emily and Mum, standing on the doorstep, surrounded by cardboard boxes full of my belongings.

I shrieked and flung myself at Emily, half-crushing her with my hug. "What are you doing here?!" I exclaimed, "Aren't you meant to be in school?"

Emily shook her head, and beamed. "I've finished my exams," she said, "And I'm staying here until I get my results... and, all things being well with those, I'll be applying to the University of Copenhagen! But Mum..." She turned to Mum, and grinned. "Are you going to tell her, or shall I?"

Mum hugged me, and said. "The company I used to work for has offered me a job here." She drew back and smiled broadly. "I start next month, and I'll be living in a flat, just down the road, 'til I can find a house."

"You'll be living here?!" I exclaimed, "Here in Copenhagen?" I took deep breath after deep breath after deep breath. "Oh, my God... OK, wow... OK... um... Hold on, I'm going to call Mor at work. And tell her."

"It was Mor that picked us up from the airport," Mum said, smiling at me, "She knows." She turned around, and called, "Helga!"

Mor appeared at the gate, a huge cardboard box in her arms. She staggered up the path to the door, and said, "Do you like the surprise?"

I nodded, and the first tears spilled over my cheeks. "I do," I replied, voice cracking, "I like it a lot."

"Good!" Mor said, ushering Mum and Emily inside so that the boxes could be put down in the hallway. "It's not the only surprise. Your Mum found this box in the loft." Mor opened up the box she'd brought in. "Have a look."

I knelt on the hardwood floor and reached into the box. My fingers brushed something waxy and cool: brown paper, the unmistakeable string-bound skin of a parcel. I grabbed at it, and pulled it out.

A foreign-stamped parcel that hadn't fitted through the letterbox. It was addressed to me. And the postmark was from years ago. It had been stamped just before I'd turned six.

What was this now?

I blinked hard, and hurriedly opened up the cardboard box to get at the rest of the parcels. There were easily twenty-five, maybe even thirty.

One by one I opened them up.

A collection of Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tales. A packet of salt liquorice. A rag doll.

Birthday presents. Christmas presents.

All from Mor.

And letters, letters upon letters upon letters, all bundled together with elastic bands. Had my parents kept post from me all these years?

A tear dripped off my face onto one of the envelopes, smudging my name. "Mor, you tried to reach me," I whispered, "You tried so hard to reach me."

Mor nodded. "I couldn't stay away," she said, "How could I stay away from my little girl? How could I stay away from my secret joy?"