Secret Joy

Part 8

My first day of school came far too soon. Two weeks flew by like nothing, and, even though Mor had tried to teach me as much Danish as possible, I still struggled to understand her, and I still couldn't string a sentence together.

Over my breakfast that morning, I practiced saying, "My name is Laura Butcher. My Danish is not good yet," in Danish, until Mor grabbed my hands, and shook her head at me.

"No, Laura," she said, "Don't say things like that. Your Danish is fine. And your interpreter will help you, help you settle in, help you make friends, help you through your lessons. It's all going to be all right. Eat your cereal. Drink your coffee. Take deep breaths. It will be all right."

I nodded, but I couldn't finish my coffee without adding milk. Mor watched me drink it, with half a smile on her face.

* * * *

I took deep breaths. It wasn't "all right". It wasn't "all right" at all.

By lunchtime I'd grown sick of having my interpreter talk over me. Sorry. By lunchtime I'd grown sick of having my interpreter talk for me. Her English wasn't as good as Mor's (but Mor had to work), and I found myself suspecting that she was just some woman that my new school had dragged in off the street because she'd been to England on holiday once. She hardly shut up about that holiday.

"Oh, you're from London? Yes, I was there! Buckingham Palace is very nice, yes? Were you there before? Or maybe you had seen Tower Bridge." It was like this all day: merciless banging on about how much she loved London when she'd seen all of two buildings from the top of a bus.

So, as soon as the bell rang, I said I needed the toilet, and then bolted to the lunch hall, leaving my interpreter in the echoing wake of my clattering footsteps.

At least Denmark had one thing in common with Britain: an obsession with queuing. For once, I was actually grateful for my pale hair and pale eyes; I looked Danish. So Danish, that, in the queue for lunch, I blended in with everyone else, out of sight of my interpreter.

I fit!

For lunch there was herring and more black coffee. I asked if I'd be able to add milk, but - and I wasn't sure if it was my terrible Danish or my request - the dinner lady just laughed. In the end I passed my coffee to someone else at my table, and headed for the water fountain once I'd finished my food.

It was the worst thing I could have done. My interpreter found me immediately. "Here you are!" she said, "You can't only wander away! You don't know the school. No, stay with my side and you will are all right, yes?" She gripped my sleeve and walked me to the library.

"You will like some stories," she said, picking brightly-coloured books off the shelves and handing them to me. "The Danish isn't so hard."

I didn't know how to say, "I'm fifteen; I don't want kids' books," in Danish, so I said nothing. At the end of the day, I escaped her again and made my way back to the library so that I could hand them back in.

After that, I had my first Danish lesson at the community centre down the road. My classmates were nice, but they were all English or American or French. Not recently-discovered-to-be-half-Danish like I was. I couldn't help thinking that I should have been speaking Danish fluently by now, that I should have lived in Denmark my whole life, that I should have been bilingual. Instead I had a choice: take up the gruelling task of learning Danish as a second language, or have an interpreter hanging off my neck like an albatross.

It was no choice at all.

When Mor came to pick me up from Beginners' Danish, I said, as levelly as I could manage to, considering that I was talking about the worst interpreter in Denmark, that I'd be taking my chances in Danish tomorrow. "My interpreter doesn't help at all," I said, "Even I can tell she misses things. And she won't let me get on with my work. Honestly, I'll be better off, Mor."

Mor nodded. "All right."

That night, and every night for the next two weeks, I cried down the phone, talking to Emily and Mum. But, after each call, Mor hugged me and said, "You'll feel better soon."

And, each time, I started to believe her a little more.