‘This is a great spot,’ said Dave, Avril’s production manager, opening up a big black box on the middle tier balcony hanging over the main atrium of Hjem, one of a series of five on either side of the store. ‘From here people can see us doing interviews and we can get bird’s eye shots. It’ll look great on camera … not that this place could fail to do otherwise. Thanks for the coffee and Danish.’
‘No problem,’ I said. He’d been my last delivery of the morning and I needed to get back to help Eva. Tonight was the official opening of Hjem and there was still a lot to do. Sophie, Eva and I had started at six this morning and we’d made a good start.
Since Ben’s visit seven days ago, I’d felt bruised by the encounter and I didn’t seem to be able to shake off the overwhelming sense of sadness even though in the last few weeks I’d enjoyed myself more than I’d ever done in my working life. When I was busy I was OK but every night I lay wide-eyed, sleepless, staring into the dark replaying his words. Because that’s the sort of man I am.
During the day I could take my mind off him focusing on seeing Hjem taking shape as all sorts of gorgeous products filled the shelves. There was a light, bright atmosphere in the store echoed in the colourful polo shirts the staff all wore after Lars agreed that perhaps some things had to stay British. He’d compromised by outfitting them all in egalitarian Hjem branded polo shirts in lovely shades of blues, greens and purples from, cobalt, teal, kingfisher blues through to mint, sage, pea and lime greens and lilac, deep and pale purples. The effect was stylish and thoroughly Danish.
Tomorrow the first of Avril’s broadcasts would take place and the place buzzed with the seemingly huge crew required to make it happen.
‘Anything else you need?’ I asked as Dave shook his head, already busy with grey gaffer tape and various bits of electrical kit.
I left him to it picking my way carefully back through the trail of electrical cables that snaked their way across the floor and wandered down through the store, past the home department, already full of lots of gorgeous things, pretty china, stylish kitchen accessories and even designer tea towels, as well as an area set up for cookery demonstrations in readiness for Sophie.
She’d been in several times to see Eva, practising and perfecting her pastry skills. Like an excited magpie, she’d run around the store cherry picking bowls, spoons, rolling pins and plates from the shelves to make her TV cookery set look beautiful.
Fiona had come in last week and she’d photographed every last inch of the place and I’d helped Lars use her pictures to run a teaser campaign on Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest and Facebook, which was creating a definite buzz across social media.
In fact, the campaign was going better than I could have imagined, yah boo sucks to Josh’s guerrilla balloon idea, although he was officially in charge of tonight’s event, but much of the publicity had been as a result of my work and Lars knew where the credit was due. David’s piece was due out today announcing tomorrow’s official opening and special gifts for the first hundred readers through the door.
‘Kate,’ Avril waved her hand in front of my face, when I came face to face with her at the bottom of the main escalator, ‘anyone in there?’
‘Sorry, miles away.’
‘I was asking about the dress code this evening.’
‘Smart. Don’t worry; you’ll still look more glamorous than anyone else here.’
‘I’m not worried about me, I was worried about you. It’s still your big night, even if that prat Joseph thinks it’s his, I hope you’re going to do yourself justice.’
‘Won’t this do,’ I glanced down at the sleeveless shift dress.
‘I think you should wear one of the Danish designers from the fourth floor,’ she announced and I realised that she’d already started propelling me that way.
‘I’m working,’ I protested.
‘No, your work will be done by then. Eva told me you’ve got a team of waitresses to serve and that the canapes will all be finished by six. So, it’s only right you should wear something from the Hjem collection. I’ve cleared it with Lars and he agrees. You need to represent the place properly. Not some M&S number.’
‘It’s Reiss,’ I said outraged and then realised I’d been had; Avril knew full well what the label in the back of my dress read.
‘I’ve seen exactly the outfit for you,’ said Avril with smug determination. ‘It could have been made for you.’
Part of me wanted to look my best tonight. Megan and Josh would be there and of course, Ben. Not that I wanted to look good for him. I wanted to look indifferent and so over him. I’d worked out exactly how I’d greet him. This time I’d be prepared. Friendly, impersonal and a bit too busy to speak to him.
Hi Ben, good to see you. Sorry, excuse me, must go and sort something out.
I’d even rehearsed it several times in the mirror in the bathroom at home, just to make sure that the words tripped off my tongue, with minor variations. My favourites so far were the slightly surprised, Hi Ben fancy seeing you here approach, the Hi Ben, the totally who are you again tone and the Hi Ben, totally sycophantic, false, groupie dismissal.
Before I knew it, Avril had steered me into the empty changing rooms with a pile of clothes that I never would have chosen for myself in a million years.
‘I thought you said you’d seen exactly the thing for me,’ I protested as she shoved me into one of the cubicles hanging up numerous outfits on the handy pegs inside.
‘I lied,’ she said blithely. ‘I knew you’d come up with a load of excuses.’
When I came out in the first thing, I found Eva sitting expectantly on a small chair she’d stolen from one of the displays. I raised a questioning eyebrow at her.
‘It’s fine. Sophie’s got everything under control. I’m taking a break.’
She and Avril each had a coffee and were clearly waiting for a modelling session.
‘No, not you at all,’ said Avril.
‘It’s not that bad,’ said Eva.
‘Yes, the length’s all wrong. Cuts her legs off and she’s got good legs.’
‘Ah, yes I see now. You’re right,’ agreed Eva before adding, ‘And the colour, drains away her natural complexion.’
‘I am here, you know.’ I attempted a petulant pout but with both of them sitting there like a pair of biased grannies, beaming benevolently, it was difficult to be irritated, even when they kept whispering together. They only wanted the best for me.
Eva smiled. ‘Go and put the next thing on. I brought you a coffee. It’s been a while.’ She winked.
I’d been running on coffee for the last few days and she kept nagging me to eat properly. Since Ben’s visit it had been hard work choking down an open sandwich each day.
I tried on another two outfits, a black trouser suit which made me look like a pall bearer - a unanimous no - and a beige asymmetric dress, although Avril insisted it was dusky pink. Luckily it hung off me, I’d dropped a few pounds, but I was grateful because I didn’t feel like me in it at all.
As soon as I slipped on the pale blue silky jump suit, I knew it was the one, the palazzo pants floated gracefully around my legs making them look an extra few inches longer and the top had a v neck at the front and the back with a little silver necklet. Pretty and feminine, it fitted perfectly and I loved it.
‘Yes. Yes. Yes,’ said Avril jumping up and circling me. ‘That is the one.’
‘You look lovely.’ Eva nodded, a gentle thoughtful smile on her face. ‘You’re going to be the belle of the ball.’
‘I don’t want to be the belle … Hjem is the focus. Everyone should be looking at the shop.’
Avril raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘You do know Ben is coming tonight.’
I glared at her and slammed the cubicle door of the changing room shut.
After the lunch time rush we put a closed sign on the door and got down to serious work. I’d been allotted the task of cutting out rounds of dark moist sourdough rye bread with a pastry cutter, while Sophie spooned out a mixture of herring, red onion and dill onto them. Eva sliced smoked salmon and cut tiny wedges of lemon to arrange on onion bread and the smell of cooking wafted from the oven where tiny red peppers stuffed with Jarlsberg were being baked. Slices of pumpernickel bread were lined up on a tray awaiting a topping of ham and tart mustard and a dish of sliced cucumber had been pre-prepared for a topping of crab meat, mayonnaise, chives and lemon juice.
I was absorbed in the job when I heard imperious rapping at the closed door. We all looked up. Ben was outside. Both Sophie and Eva looked at me.
‘What?’ I asked. Neither of them stopped what they were doing and both ducked their heads.
I huffed out a sigh and marched over to the door and yanked it open.
‘This is the article I wrote and submitted to the paper.’ The weary tone in his voice echoed the disappointment in his eyes as he shoved two pieces of paper towards me.
Before I could say a word, he marched off.
I slammed the door. Men. What the hell was he playing at now?
I glanced down at the paper.
Hygge or Hype? – Happiness or Hokum.
When I was invited on a press trip to Copenhagen to find out more about the Danish concept of hygge and what makes the country one of the happiest in the world, I freely admit that I was deeply sceptical. As far as I was concerned it was all about candles and cashmere blankets, and most likely a cynical attempt by marketers to emulate a deep seated cultural psyche that simply doesn’t translate to the British way of life. A cultural chasm that can’t be bridged with cosy and convivial.
Instead what I found was a way of life that embraces the cosy, a society where the concept of social homogeneity is culturally ingrained, making its citizens feel equal with everyone and for that reason happy to pay the higher taxes to support everyone in education and for their health.
I saw a society where people take simple enjoyment in coming together to share and not judge, with an unconscious focus on taking special time to celebrate simple things. I discovered hygge, where making a celebration of a rainy day, prioritising to be with your special people and emphasising on togetherness, all add up to a happier way of life.
And yes candles and cashmere blankets have their place, which is why the new Danish department store, Hjem, Danish for home, might just be something to celebrate …
My eyes blurred and I couldn’t read any more. I looked down the street as my breath hitched in an involuntary half-sob but Ben was long gone. I closed my eyes, a tear seeping out as the bottom dropped out of my stomach. Nausea, disgust and shame rose up. I’d never even given him a chance to explain. No wonder he felt used. No wonder he was angry.
Slumping against the door, I slid down the glass to the floor and clasped my knees tight to myself as if I might contain the painful explosion of regret that overwhelmed me, raining down in waves of despair. When Eva put her arms around me I let the sobs break free, tears pouring down my face, inhaling her subtle floral perfume and collapsing into her soft hug.