‘Can we play the snake game? Please, please, pleeeeease!’
Thorleif Brenden hears his daughter’s voice from the bedroom while he takes out plates from the kitchen cupboard. Glasses and cutlery are waiting on the table with cold cuts, cheese, orange juice and milk. The oven is on. A saucepan with water and eggs splutters on the cooker, but the sounds from the bedroom drown out even the dulcet tones of Norwegian songbird Marit Larsen from the Tivoli radio on the windowsill.
The snake game, Thorleif thinks, and smiles. The kids never get bored with it, even though Elisabeth has been playing it with them for years. First with Pal, then with Julie. And now with both of them. Thorleif hears a hissing sound, and the expectant squeals from the children who are hoping — or dreading — being bitten by their mother’s hand snaking towards them under the duvet. The game usually ends in tears, either when Julie is kneed in the stomach or her eye is poked by a stray finger. Even so, the tears are always forgotten by the next time.
Thorleif bends down and sees that the bread rolls are golden brown on top. He turns off the oven and takes them out. His stomach rumbles with hunger. The eggs are almost done so he goes through the living room and into the bedroom. Hissssss. He can hear suppressed giggling that could erupt at any minute.
‘Breakfast is nearly ready,’ Thorleif says just as the snake strikes. The room is filled with panicky squeals of laughter.
‘Just a bit more!’ Pal pleads.
‘The eggs will go cold.’
‘Just two more minutes! Please!’
Thorleif smiles and shakes his head while he looks, unsuccessfully, for Elisabeth’s eyes somewhere in the sea of bed linen.
Hisssss.
The room explodes in new shouts of glee.
Marit Larsen has long since finished singing when Thorleif cuts the bread rolls in half and puts them in a brown wicker basket.
‘Smell my hands, Daddy. I’ve washed them.’
Julie toddles into the kitchen, climbs up on her Tripp Trapp chair and holds out her hands to him. The tears from the snake game are still fresh on her cheeks. He puts the basket on the table and sniffs them. ‘What a good girl you are.’
Her face broadens into a smile. Across the table Pal’s eyes take on a wounded expression. ‘You never tell me I’m a good boy when I wash my hands.’
‘That’s because you’re eight years old, Pal. You learned to wash your hands a long time ago. By the way, have you washed them this morning?’
Pal doesn’t reply, but his sulky face gradually changes into a mischievous smile.
‘Then you go and do it straight away.’
Pal gets up and runs to the bathroom. He bumps into Elisabeth who is coming from the opposite direction.
‘Remember to dry your hands properly!’ Thorleif calls out after him. ‘And hang up the towel when you’re done, please.’
He looks at Elisabeth. The night still lives in her eyes, but her face instantly lights up when she sees the breakfast table.
‘Oh, how lovely,’ she beams as she admires the food. ‘Candles and everything.’
Thorleif smiles.
‘What would you like to drink, Julie?’ he asks his daughter.
Pal runs back in and sits down. The water is still dripping from his hands.
‘Milk, please.’
Thorleif takes a glass and is about to fill it.
‘No, juice,’ she says. ‘I want juice.’
‘Sure?’
Julie nods adamantly. Pal leans across the table and helps himself to half a bread roll before he grabs his knife and tries to slice off the top of his egg. ‘Who boiled the eggs?’
‘Daddy,’ Julie replies.
Pal groans. ‘Mum is better at boiling eggs.’
‘Absolutely,’ Thorleif replies. ‘Mum is better at everything.’
‘Not at spotting roe deer,’ Julie points out.
‘No, definitely not when it comes to spotting roe deer,’ Elisabeth joins in. ‘Once we saw twenty-five of them along the road when we drove home from Copenhagen. Twenty-five!’
‘Is that true?’
‘Absolutely! Daddy was the first to spot nearly all of them.’
‘Is that true, Daddy?’
Thorleif nods and smiles proudly as he removes the top of his egg.
‘And not just roe deer. Cows and sheep too.’
‘And wind turbines,’ Elisabeth interjects. Thorleif smiles and sprinkles a little salt on the scalped egg. Around the table the rest of the family help themselves to rolls, butter, cheese, jam and cold cuts.
‘So,’ Thorleif begins. ‘What are we going to do today? Any suggestions?’
‘Can we go to the cinema?’ Pal asks.
‘I want to go swimming,’ Julie counters.
‘We’ve been doing that all summer. Can’t we go to the cinema? It’s been so long! Please.’
‘Going to the cinema is expensive,’ Elisabeth says. ‘Or it is if we all go.’
‘Mum is right,’ Thorleif says. ‘What would you like to do today, Mum?’
‘Bogstad Farm is open to visitors. I saw it in the paper. Perhaps-’
‘Is it?’ the children shout in unison. ‘Can we go there? Please? Can we? Can we?’
Elisabeth studies the children for a little while before her eyes find Thorleif’s.
‘Do you really think Bogstad Farm is cheaper than going to the cinema?’ he smiles.
‘No, but we can’t spend the whole day indoors when the weather is so nice.’
‘We want to visit the farm, Daddy. Please. Pleeease.’
Thorleif looks at his children in turn. ‘Okay,’ he says. The children whoop and start jumping up and down on their chairs immediately. ‘But then you need to eat a big breakfast first. One bread roll each, at least. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Daddy!’
Thorleif takes a bite of his bread roll and feels the crust between his teeth while he looks at Elisabeth, at all of them, one after the other. It’s Sunday morning. Everyone is happy.
Can life get any better?