CAPTAIN COPENHAGEN

Captain Copenhagen tells the story of Helen and her daughter Leonie. After Leonie is diagnosed with depression at 14 years old, Helen decides that they need to move to the country that has been attributed as one of the happiest countries in the world, Denmark. Her hope is that she can use the country, culture and everything Danish to “cure” her daughter and make her happy again. Unfortunately, it’s not that simple.

This blog is a work of fiction. It includes comedic episodes from Helen’s perspective as she tries to navigate Danish life, and more subdued episodes from Leonie’s perspective as she tries to navigate her mother.

All episodes can be found at www.captaincopenhagen.co.uk.

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TRIGGER WARNING: Captain Copenhagen explores the topic of mental health.

The Bike Epiphany

Helen, Mother

Bikes. They’re a big thing in Denmark. Cycling was a way to get around and a way to keep fit. I wondered if there might be something to it, something that the Danes knew that we didn’t about this two-wheeled man-powered basket-inspiring transport.

I knew that exercise was good for helping with depression, I’d always known. It was one of those things that I just randomly knew with no idea where it came from. Like when you don’t like someone but you just can’t put your finger on why.

Back in England, I found that any exercise suggestions I made were greeted by a simple groan from Leonie. Tennis was too tiring. Baseball was too boring. I didn’t know if she was lacking in motivation or just keen on alliteration. 

However, I put it to you that the problem was this: those forms of exercise weren’t Danish enough.

And so, I bought bikes.

They began outside, but they were forgotten outside. Abandoned. They pleaded with me every time I walked past. They just wanted to be loved. I did eventually succumb and brought them in, just like I had done with everything in my life that had pleaded with me. They would be loved and we would be motivated to ride them, they just needed to be more present in our lives.

At first they stood in the middle of our living room. It was true that we couldn’t watch any TV or use the coffee table anymore, but we certainly couldn’t miss them.

However, Leonie didn’t have quite the same enthusiasm. If anything I think it was putting her off them. I tried to think what part of our small flat would work best…

We had promised ourselves that we would move them in and out of the shower before we washed. We might even be encouraged to take them all the way outside and use them. They wouldn’t be in the way, and it wouldn’t be much effort. It was worth it to live the Danish life.

But we still don’t use them. They are in the way. It is a lot of effort.

And so now I shower with bikes.

…..

The water was warm. The kind of warm that is all at once comforting, soothing and makes you need to pee. I stared at the bikes. They really had been a bit of a flop. Leonie hadn’t shown any interest in riding them, despite their Danish appeal. Her motivation was still lacking, she just didn’t want to do anything

I continued to shower, and I began to muse.

Had Leonie really made any progress since we’d been here? Was she starting to feel better? I really didn’t know. 

A handlebar hit me in the head.

The bikes were positioned upright against the wall. We had a small wet room, so there was just about enough room for both the bikes and us. I had made a makeshift bracket in which to attach them to the wall, and it had slightly dislodged itself. It’s amazing what you can do with some coat hangers and Gaffa tape if you just believe hard enough. I covered the bikes with a bedsheet to try and prevent rusting, however the fact that the bedsheet itself got soaking wet meant it didn’t really help. I returned the makeshift bracket to its original position and believed that it would stay there.

I continued to shower. I continued to muse.

What had caused this to happen to Leonie in the first place? I… I didn’t even know.

Was there something I could have done?

Could Denmark really help, or…?

I thought back on all the things that had happened since we moved here and I began to feel just a little… uncertain. 

I leant down to pick up some soap and a foot pedal went in my face. I didn’t hit it with enough force to cause pain, just enough to send everything spinning. The kind of spinning that might make you jump, that might make you cover your face with your hands, that might make you forget that those hands are covered with newly acquired soap and the previous occupant that was shampoo.

My eyes stung.

The small wet room had become so steamy, and with both my eyes being thoroughly cleaned by acidic products that weren’t meant to be there, I really couldn’t see.

I groped around for the door that was just on my right and opened it slightly to try and let some of the steam out. As I opened the door I felt something underneath my foot. Had the sheet fallen off the bikes? It would explain the naked pedal in my naked face. 

I slipped.

It all happened so quickly, not a graceful fall like my mother had taught me. She had called them “lady falls”. I vividly remember the day my younger self realised that there was no such thing as “lady falls”. Everyone faceplants just like everyone else, it’s called equality. I grabbed the first thing I could reach to try and steady myself and felt a give.

When I opened my eyes, I saw a figure in front of me. Leonie. She sat on her knees, propping up her fallen bike as she looked directly into my eyes. I realised that this was the first time she had actually touched said bike, and her face… I hadn’t seen this much expression in such a long time.

Her eyes and mouth were wide open. A shock had hit her. I knew exactly what it was: the touch had sent a feeling tingling through her, excitement. Excitement at the prospect of cycling, of healing exercise, of embracing this part of Danish culture. This hope, this new opportunity. It was a new motivation being born within her. I was sure of it.

It wasn’t the image of her mother, naked on the floor, her body twisted in a damp bed sheet, hair tangled around the tyre of the second bike that lay on top of her.

Definitely not.

This was a sign. A sign not to give up. Not yet.

It gave me a good feeling about this Danish plan going forward. A new hope.

I will make my daughter feel better. I will do whatever it takes.

But I might put the bikes back outside.