The Exception (31 page)

Anne-Lise casts a sidelong glance at Henrik. His only reaction is to stay perched on his flimsy chair, smiling and waiting, curious to hear why the doctor thinks that he’s wrong.

Anne-Lise wants to have her say. ‘I’ve installed a program on my office computer that deletes any evidence of Internet searches. Now I can spend time at work checking jobseekers’ sites and sending off applications.’

Yngve smiles at her. ‘Good idea. Have you applied to anywhere yet?’

‘During the last six months I’ve applied twenty-two times, but I wasn’t called for interview even once. I’ve followed up each one and I phoned to ask what was wrong, as you should. But they get so many applications and always pick someone younger.’

Henrik adds, ‘Which is why we’ve stopped applying for a bit.’

‘Yes. Just for a bit. I needed a break. For now.’

Yngve puts his hands together. ‘Anne-Lise, you have three options. One, you allow yourself to be pushed out of your job
and, the way the market operates now, you might never work again. Two, you stay and let the others carry on bullying you. But you have a third option: stay on and make the others stop persecuting you.’

Henrik is surprised. ‘I thought that the experts agreed that when you’re being bullied, the best thing to do is get out as quickly as possible? Because it’s a battle you can’t win?’

‘That’s what they say.’

Conventional wisdom doesn’t influence Yngve. As he speaks, it’s clear that he is indifferent to ‘the experts’. His calm, brown eyes rest first on Anne-Lise, then on Henrik.

‘Anne-Lise, if you resign, you will spend the rest of your life thinking of yourself as a loser, and of the world as an evil place. It’s destructive. But if you let them work you over, they will destroy you. My advice is to confront them. Can you do that?’

At first Anne-Lise couldn’t see the point of Henrik’s insistence on seeing their doctor. Now she feels it was a very good idea.

‘Yes.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Excellent. I’m glad to hear you say that. Having got to know you over all these years, I’m sure you can. And I’m convinced you’ll be able to change your working conditions.’

There is something about the doctor’s manner, the way he speaks in his deep voice, that makes Anne-Lise trust him implicitly. Now he’s smiling at her.

‘Do you believe me when I say you can change things at work?’

‘Yes … yes, I do.’

‘Good.’

Anne-Lise observes Yngve’s large hands. He is leaning forward in his chair, poised to go on to the next item on the agenda.

‘I want you to know that no one has been able to demonstrate any common personality traits in people who have been subjected to bullying at work. It has been studied, of course. The usual theory is that bullies go for people who are socially
maladjusted in some way – introverts or slackers or incompetents or whatever. None of this turns out to be true. On the contrary, it’s often the more able members of staff who are picked on. But there does seem to be one recurring aspect in the victim’s personality, which is that they, to a greater extent than their colleagues, dislike being confrontational. They are rather passive, hoping that their tormentors will stop. Which doesn’t happen, of course. So, there you are, Anne-Lise. Are you afraid of standing up to your colleagues?’

Anne-Lise thinks about what a special person the doctor is. Coming from someone else, his paternal tone would be almost offensive, but from Yngve it seems completely desirable and convincing.

‘I wasn’t scared in my previous job. But what is important to me right now is being included in their group, so naturally I avoid making waves. There’s something else: I always feel that something dreadful will happen if I do express my opinion about anything at all.’

There’s a crash outside the office – a tray or something – but Yngve’s face doesn’t register a thing.

‘Yes, I see. It makes it easier to push you around. Listen.’

‘Yes?’

‘These characters will become more and more aggressive as time goes by. The essential thing is to make them realise there are limits. This far and no farther.’

Yngve seems more pensive than usual. Could it be that he was once bullied too, perhaps long ago? She cannot ask him.

‘Bullying is very common among children, both at school and in after-school clubs and so forth. Teachers spend hours telling the kids not to be bullies and devising punishments for them if they are found out. Political initiatives are aimed solely at putting an end to bullying, all doomed to fail, or so it seems. Now and then bullied children have been brought to see me. Almost invariably they suffer from serious illnesses or psychological trauma, rooted in their victimisation.’

He picks up a biro, balances it on the palm of his hand and stares at it for a moment. Then he looks up at them. ‘Adult bullying is less well recognised, but it is also common. Maybe you think I’m being melodramatic, but I take bullying as seriously as heart disease or cancer. I do and I should.’

Anne-Lise wonders whether Yngve has a lover. If he really is gay, that is.

‘The fact is, people kill each other. Regardless of whatever action is taken and whatever we are taught, victimising others is part of human nature.’

What Yngve says is quite different from the views of the genocide researchers Anne-Lise is familiar with. At DCGI she has read articles about ordinary people killing other ordinary people, but the investigators always argue that the circumstances were exceptional, and start with the premise that, for human beings, co-operation and kindness are the norm. None of these research papers has ever said that murder is an unavoidable outcome of ‘human nature’, yet Yngve’s view has resonance.

‘We eat, we reproduce, we protect those closest to us. And we reject those who are different from us and kill our rivals. Human beings try, more or less effectively, to exert control over our instincts. We are different from animals in that we have exceptional will power. For instance, in no other species is there an entire community where no one has sex. Just think of the Vatican.

‘But most people give in to temptation at some point. Your concentration slips for just a moment and there you are: being unfaithful, eating fattening foods, or slowly torturing a colleague to death. The latter, of course, is forbidden, so a person may prefer not to be conscious of what they’re doing – like a form of self-deception.

‘Consider your colleagues’ states of mind, Anne-Lise. They feel a little like you would, if you were alone one evening, watching television and feeling peckish with a large bowl of crisps sitting in front of you. You’re determined not to eat them and stick to your resolve, but if the programme captures your
attention, you forget and start reaching for the crisps. Before you realise it, they’re gone. You may not even be able to recall having eaten them.

‘That’s what you are to your colleagues: a temptation. At the outset they may well have decided to be pleasant towards you. Or maybe they never did. Either way, they still see you as a rival and, without planning to, there will be times when they can’t resist going after you. The reaction is so instinctive that, afterwards, they’ll hardly remember.’

Yngve is very persuasive, but his arguments upset Anne-Lise. Still, something about the man makes her sit calmly and listen. Henrik has also been very quiet. She can hear Yngve’s receptionist rummaging about on the other side of the door, no doubt cleaning up whatever was spilled. Anne-Lise considers how she has always thought of Yngve as being lonely, even though she knows absolutely nothing about his private life. Does it have something to do with his intelligence, or was she responding intuitively to the faintly depressed tone that never quite leaves his voice?

They agree that Anne-Lise shouldn’t accuse the others of having rigged the blood trap. Without proof, she would be fighting a losing battle and it would expose her even more to her colleagues’ anger.

‘Anne-Lise, can you think of something they’ve done that was clearly wrong? Or an argument you’re certain to win if there’s a confrontation?’

‘I’m not sure. I make wrong decisions all the time and I do stupid things. My head is bursting with how horrible it all is. I’m not my normal self.’

‘Of course, that’s understandable. But things will change. Look forward to that, even though it’s hard for you now.’

The receptionist comes in to say the next patient is waiting. She speaks quickly as if she is scared of Yngve. He answers pleasantly enough and turns back to Anne-Lise.

‘Haven’t you witnessed anything they’ve done that goes against the Centre’s interests?’

Anne-Lise reflects carefully. ‘One of the users, a man called Erik Prins, told me that Malene had given him false information about library searches, just to keep him away from me. That could be—’

‘Would you have put up with that in your previous job?’

‘Not for a moment.’

‘There you are! Be confident. It’s unacceptable now as well.’ He flattens his hands on the table top again. ‘This is a battle you can win, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you really believe that?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Excellent.’ He gets up and shakes their hands, first Henrik’s and then Anne-Lise’s. ‘I want to see you again. It’s my job to deal with any issue that’s seriously threatening your well-being, whether it be physical or psychological. You are not going to let your colleagues push you into unemployment. You will fight them.’

‘Yes. Yes, I will.’

‘Very good. Now, let’s decide when you should come back and tell me how things have progressed. Maybe in about three weeks’ time?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Just ask for an appointment at reception.’

When Anne-Lise and Henrik step outside, they’re both surprised that it is still bright. It feels as if it should be evening by now, but the incident at DCGI was only a few hours ago. They have several hours before they need to collect the children.

Anne-Lise keeps her promise to Yngve, but afterwards her life at work doesn’t get any better. It has done her no good to confront Malene about Erik Prins. Malene simply shifts the blame and
demands to know who the user is. Anne-Lise is more at fault than ever.

The Winter Garden seems quieter now that the door is always open. They speak in low voices, or email each other, or wander off to talk in the kitchen or the meeting rooms. A few times Anne-Lise has surprised them using a made-up sign language and giggling a lot.

During lunch Iben gives her little lectures, often based on the books she reads when she can’t sleep. These days she seems to be sticking to psychiatry textbooks. While Iben goes on about mental health problems, she watches Anne-Lise. It’s plain for all to see that Iben thinks Anne-Lise must be suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder.

One evening after yet another hostile day of pointed remarks and hints that she’s somehow deranged, Anne-Lise is reading
Little House in the Big Woods
to her children. Ulrik and Clara are both in Ulrik’s room. Clara is lying on her back in the lower bunk, balancing her Barbie doll on her tummy. Sometimes her lips form soundless words; sometimes she mumbles. She seems not to be listening, but the next day she will remember everything that happened in the story.

Ulrik is in the upper bunk. He has pushed the duvet away and rests his head on the edge of the bed.

Clara’s mumbling is getting louder.

Ulrik leans forward. ‘Shut up! Stop making that noise!’

Clara carries on playing with her doll but lowers her voice.

The bedroom air is warm and smells slightly of toothpaste. Anne-Lise can pick up sounds from Henrik’s study. He is trying to do something new with his two computers.

Clara’s mumbling is growing louder again.

Ulrik shouts at her more crossly than before. ‘Shut up! Shut up!’

Anne-Lise reads on about Laura’s father, who is walking in the forest and sees a doe with its fawn. Clara’s voice fades and becomes inaudible again. Without warning, tears well up in
Anne-Lise’s eyes. The fawn doesn’t run away. It stands quite still, looking wide-eyed at Laura’s father. The tears are running quietly down Anne-Lise’s cheeks. They keep coming even though there is nothing sad about the story.

After a while, Ulrik notices. ‘Mummy? What’s the matter?’

Laura’s father promises that he won’t go hunting until the baby animals have grown up. Now Anne-Lise has to look up at her son. She smiles. She has no idea what is happening to her. ‘I must have caught a cold.’

Clara puts away her doll. ‘Are you crying?’

‘No, no. It’s just a cold.’

‘Does it hurt?’

‘No. Not a bit.’

‘Why are you crying then?’

Ulrik shouts at his sister, ‘Mummy’s not crying! She’s got a cold.’

Anne-Lise realises that she is on the verge of falling apart. Her children must not witness this. She has to get away.

Panic grips her. ‘There. That’s it for tonight.’

‘No-oo!’

Anne-Lise fights to suppress her sobbing. ‘Yes, it’s time to go to sleep. No more reading tonight.’

‘No-oo. Please. Read some more. Just a little.’

‘HENRIK! HENRIK! Please come here!’

She runs out. Henrik comes towards her. Her sobbing is out of control.

‘Go to the children. Read them a story.’

She stumbles into their bedroom, shuts the door, and throws herself on their bed, covering her head with a pillow to muffle the sounds she is making.

Once the children are asleep, Henrik returns to Anne-Lise, walks quietly over to the bed and sits down close to her. She doesn’t open her eyes, but senses his body weighing down the mattress next to her head. She is glad that he is there and blindly
reaches out her hand to him. He takes it and strokes her temple with his other hand. They do not speak.

Crying has left Anne-Lise feeling hot and completely empty. The sensation of her body dissolving washes over her. She feels as if she is seeping away, through the mattress, draining down through the boards and beams of the house, through the spaces of brick and cement.

Henrik is asking her to please tell him what’s the matter. She mutters in response, pressing her nose in between his thigh and the mattress. It’s good to feel the warmth of him; her hand comes to rest between his legs. He asks her again. She doesn’t answer, only begins to move her hand.