Nicke, who leans back in his chair and looks at him with a condescending smirk. Vanessa hates him for it, but says nothing. With this dinner she’s going to prove she’s an adult, no matter what her mother and Nicke think.
Her mother rummages in the cupboard for a suitable vase. She fills it with water and puts the flowers into it. They’re gerberas, Vanessa’s favourite. They look like the flowers you see in cartoons. ‘They’re very nice,’ her mother says, and puts the vase on the table, which Vanessa has laid for dinner.
‘I’m glad you like them,’ Wille answers.
There is an awkward silence and Vanessa is glad to have something to do. She pulls on a pair of oven gloves. Hot air hits her face when she opens the oven door. The lasagne dish is so hot that it almost burns through the gloves. She bites her lip to stop herself letting out a string of swear words and sets the dish on the stove with a little bang.
‘Smells great,’ Wille says.
‘Vanessa’s been in the kitchen all day,’ her mother says, ‘and the girls were here to help earlier.’
‘I didn’t know you could cook,’ says Wille to Vanessa.
‘Me neither,’ she says, as she cuts the lasagne into individual sections.
It is bubbling and sizzling at the edges, and the cheese on top is dark brown, but the knife meets with unexpected resistance. She hopes it’s just that it’s blunt. The lasagne has been in the oven for a very long time.
She takes the salad servers out of the drawer and sticks them into the salad.
‘You have a lovely apartment,’ Wille says.
It’s such a typically grown-up thing to say. Vanessa is moved by his attempt to start up a conversation, but her mother and Nicke don’t try to help him.
‘Well, at least we have a roof over our heads,’ is all her mother says.
‘But it’s really nice. Beautiful wallpaper …’ His voice peters out.
Luckily Melvin starts whining that he’s hungry. Vanessa’s mother lifts him into the high chair and tells him that dinner’s ready. He claps his hands and everyone laughs, a little stiffly.
At last, the lasagne is steaming in the middle of the table. Salad, bread and butter are within reach of everyone. Vanessa takes her seat. She serves the first piece to Wille. He’s the guest, after all.
‘It looks delicious,’ her mother says, when Vanessa hands her a plateful.
‘Aren’t you on a diet, Jannike?’ Nicke says, and Vanessa suppresses another impulse to shout at him.
She looks at Wille nervously as he forks some lasagne into his mouth. To her horror, she thinks she hears a crunch as he chews. He makes a strange face and Vanessa can’t work out whether it’s because the food is too hot or disgusting. ‘I thought we could drink a toast to Wille’s and my engagement,’ she says. ‘I know everyone here isn’t as happy about it as Wille and I are, but I hope you’ll come round.’
Her mother raises her glass. She smiles quickly, as if she wants to get it over and done with. ‘Cheers,’ she says.
Nicke gives his beer a quick wave in the air, takes a big gulp and suppresses a burp, which he instead releases silently through his pursed lips.
Wille is drinking cola, like Vanessa, everything to emphasise that he’s a well-behaved young man. She takes a sip and meets his gaze across the table. He chews carefully and smiles at her. The atmosphere is more tense than ever. Even Melvin seems to notice. He’s poking at his food with his little fork.
Nicke and Vanessa’s mother are eating, staring at their plates as if there was something incrredibly interesting on them, like a spyhole leading all the way to China. The clinking of the cutlery seems unnaturally loud. Clink. Scrape. Squeak. Clink. Scrape. Squeak. Scrape. Clink.
Vanessa doesn’t have much appetite, but cuts a little piece of lasagne and puts it into her mouth. It’s hard and tough and has absolutely no taste. It’s the gustatory equivalent of grey. Or beige. ‘This is inedible,’ she says and pushes away her plate.
‘What are you talking about? It’s great,’ Wille says.
‘M-hm,’ her mother says, with her mouth full.
‘I’ll want seconds,’ Wille says.
Nicke walks over to the refrigerator and returns with a bottle of ketchup, which he almost empties on to his plate.
‘So,’ he says, ‘where are you working, these days, Wille?’
Wille glances at Vanessa. Nicke knows he doesn’t have a job. ‘It’s difficult to find anything in this town.’
‘Yeah, I can imagine. You