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 Visit from the Sister

Helen, Mother

Mirva Sterling: Leonie’s Aunt, my sister and professional soul crusher. She has lived in Denmark for the past four years.

I knew she was here, there was no way I couldn’t have known she was here. I can’t deny that the things she told me about Denmark influenced my decision to move here, to carry out this plan, this rescue mission, but I would never tell her that.

She lives in Aarhus, is engaged to a man from Aarhus, is completing a PHD at Aarhus University, in Aarhus.

I chose to live in Copenhagen, the furthest point from Aarhus, on a separate island, with a vast amount of water between the two. Purely by coincidence.

The goal was not to completely avoid her, just to keep as much distance as possible with the goal of not seeing her.

But I had let my guard down.

When we first moved here I had dodged a welcome visit by agreeing to her sending me a welcome card instead, so I gave her my address. I repeat, I gave her my address. A mistake that I hoped would not come back to haunt me.

But now, as she stood in front of me, in my open doorway, in one hand a bunch of flowers far bigger and more elaborate than any vase I owned, in the other an overflowing basket of Kanelsnegle (cinnamon buns), and a smile on her face that I knew meant that she was feeling proud of herself, it had well and truly come back to haunt me.

Before I go on, I feel I should let you in on the problem with my sister. She does not skirt around things. She says exactly what she thinks. Which some might suggest is endearing, which I think it can be. However, intentionally or not, with very little effort she is able to make you feel incredibly bad about yourself. Now, I don’t care if she does that to me, I brush her off and move on with my life, but there was no way I was going to let her anywhere near Leonie.

It was for this reason that I said nothing when I saw her framed in my entrance way. I simply closed the door. Maybe I was wrong? Just a little visual mistake? Maybe she wasn’t here at all? If I closed the door maybe I could make my problem go away with blissful naivety.

But there was knocking. Knocking that wouldn’t go away. I was neither blissful nor naive.

I peeked into Leonie’s room. She was in bed. Tired, resting, awash in a sea of dreams: ‘undisturbable’. I poked her. 

She didn’t stir. Maybe I could get away with this. A conflicting feeling brewed as I felt terrible that we would have another sad day like this, and yet saw it as the perfect opportunity to get the required visit from Mirva out the way without her seeing Leonie.

Does this make me a bad parent? Was I using my daughter’s sleepy depression to my advantage? It was probably a bit of a grey area. But if you knew Mirva, you would one hundred percent agree with keeping these two apart for the greater good, and for Leonie’s long term mental health. I would take a parenting hit in the short term to protect the long term. At least that’s how I saw it. That’s what I decided.

Justified? Maybe.

I opened the front door and before Mirva could say anything I dragged her past Leonie’s room and into the living room, quietly-quickly-quietly-quickly closing the door behind us. I was a master of stealth.

I seated her on the sofa and subtly shoved cushions and various bits of my bedding around the gaps in the door frame in a good ol’ fashioned DIY soundproofing mission. We would not be able to get out of here quickly if there was a fire.

‘You sleep on the sofa?’ she asked. I was not going to answer that. Does she think I’m made of Two-Bedroom Copenhagen Apartment money?

‘It will just be the two of us today, Leonie’s… not around. She’s… napping. Just a brief nap’.

‘Oh, well that’s nonsense. Surely, I can see her just for a bit?’ Mirva was a very loud person. ‘Where is she?’ she bellowed in her louder-than-normal-for-no-reason voice. 

Just as she opened her mouth to call out for her niece I shoved a cinnamon bun into it. The gesture that she had brought was now to be used as my self-defence weapon.

‘All this excitement of being in a new place, all these new and wonderfully exciting things to experience. It’s just wearing her out. She wants to make sure she’s well rested so we can pick things up and carry on’.

Crisis averted.

‘So…how’s it going?’ she asked, bun now removed from bunhole.

‘It’s going…’ I started but didn’t know how to finish.

How was it going? Really?

‘So-’

‘It’s going really well’, I interrupted. I decided to be positive. I decided that the soul crusher was not going to crush me today.

‘I was right. Coming to Denmark was the right thing to do, and it’s having a profound effect on Leonie. The happiness is just spreading through her and she’s doing better and better every day’.

I decided to lie.

‘Oh’, my sister said, followed by what I’m sure was a long, slow, judging slurp of the tea that I had just served her. A slurp disguised as the most ladylike of lady-sips, just like our mother taught us of course. I personally prefer just to slorp it all up. You read that right, not a slurp, a good old propre slorp.

‘I’m glad it’s going well’, she looked up from her cup and buried her eyes directly into my soul, ‘for Leonie’s sake’.

She put her cup down.

‘I thought that this idea of yours was a bit… oh… I can’t find a way to phrase it…’

She’ll find a way.

‘To be honest I thought it was a bit silly.’

She found a way.

‘Sorry, I can’t think of another word that truly expresses how I feel’.

I really wanted to squish her face into another cinnamon bun, but it would be a waste of a perfectly good pastry. I apologised to the memory of the last one that I had sacrificed. It had died in the line of duty. The martyr of our day.

‘I honestly didn’t think you’d pull it off. I mean, it’s not as if living here would provide you with some kind of secret miracle cure’.

I was starting to wonder if it would be rude to ask her to leave? Considering that what I really wanted to do was throw her out the door leaving her to faceplant on the floor outside, it really didn’t seem that rude.

‘Well, never mind.’ She raised her empty cup in a strange empty cup toast, ‘if it’s going well, then good for you’.

She put it back down without pretending to drink from it. If you’re going to do a fake toast, I feel like you should really commit to the whole fake thing.

And to top it off, despite my defences, she’d succeeded in making me feel, not as much as crushed, but a little squashed. Should I admit to her that it actually wasn’t going that great. I was trying to keep hopeful, but there had been a number of occasions now where I just found myself doubting my plans, doubting everything.

‘Erm… Mirva…’

She stood up and started to head towards the kitchen. I’m guessing to top up her drink. Maybe another tea toast was on the horizon. I quickly tried to remember if I had hid the expensive tea bags. She put her arm on my shoulder as she passed.

‘Looks like you might have finally broken your curse’.

Ah, of course, my “curse”. I think she finds it highly amusing. My family ingeniously called it ‘Helening’. Helening means messing everything up and making mistakes. A family filled with both kindness and wit. Not long after I was able to think, it seems that I was destined to…

…destined to mess things up…

…wait…

‘I’m really glad things are going well for you. I had thought this idea too simplistic, looking for some secret answer to happiness, but that’s just the Helen way of doing things. Keeping it simple. If it’s working, then I’m glad.’

…wait…

‘I didn’t want to say anything, but I have been quite worried about you both.’

Wait a damn minute!

‘Anyway, I’m glad Leonie is feeling better. She’s the important-’

I leapt to my feet.

‘I’m Helening it!!’ I called out.

Of course.

I had been cocking things up.

The reason Leonie wasn’t getting better was because I was messing things up! I was getting in the way! It was me! I was the problem!

Hygge: I messed it up. Danish Christmas: I messed it up. Trying to arrange for her to be matched up with the perfect Danish school friend: I messed it up. Everything I’ve tried. Messed it up. Messed it up. Messed it up. Even getting matching tattoos of the first line of the national anthem which you shall not ask me about and I shall never tell you about. It wasn’t Denmark that was failing, it was me!

‘It’s… it’s not working…’

I was frozen in place. Buffering and in serious need of rebooting.

‘Ah, there we are. Thank you for being truthful with me. No, my dear, of course it’s not working. It wouldn’t’. Mirva came back from the kitchen and, to my surprise, hugged me. Actually hugged me. My brain was so babababoozled with everything and now this! What on earth was happening?

I was so confused. Mirva was saying something but it was all just white noise.

‘I’m sorry’ she said, ‘I know that you’ve been having a tough time and if you need help, I will help you’. What was she saying? Was she being…nice? Nice? No, surely not, my sister is not nice. 

‘It’s not working… it’s not working because…’ I was starting to mumble.

‘I know, it’s because what Leonie really needs is-’

‘I’ve been messing it up!’ I shout-whispered, as I stood to my feet and announced to the country, to the world, to my sister.

That was it.

‘Helen, listen to me, what Leonie needs is-’

‘Shut up a minute’, I put every hand that I had over her face. I think I grew a couple just for the occasion. I just had to make her stop for a minute. I needed to think.

I could physically feel her sigh from underneath my hands.

I wasn’t going to let her say anything. I wasn’t going to let her cloud my mind that was becoming so clear.

This made so much sense. And it meant there was still a chance.

‘There’s still hope. This plan can still help her!’ I shouted. Not shout-whispered this time. Shouted shouted. At the top of my lungs. And immediately realised what I had done.

I heard movement, there was movement in the flat.

She was awake.

If I wanted us to have a positive outlook going forward, make a change going forward, it was more important than ever that I couldn’t let Leonie anywhere near Mirva. I couldn’t have her tainting her thoughts.

‘Time to go!’ I rushed towards the living room door forcing it open with all my strength. Bedding and pillows were no match for me.

I saw a shadowy figure lurking in the hallway. Like all good horror situations I quickly closed the door and pretended there was nothing there. I began returning the pillows and bedding to their position, this time in a more of a blocking than soundproof situation.

‘Would you like another tea? Expensive special tea?’ I whispered as quietly as I could and pushed Mirva back down onto the sofa from which I had uprooted her.

Leonie had emerged from her cocoon. I had waited for days for her to emerge from her cocoon. She had been off from school, she hadn’t been eating much, I had wanted this more than anything. And now is the time when she does so.

I was so glad… but… couldn’t she have had better timing.

My barrier did not work.

Shockingly.

The door slowly opened and a figure came into view.

I tried to dive towards Mirva’s mouth with another mouth bun, another hand, anything to keep her from talking.

I did not reach her in time. 

‘Oh Leonie,’ she exclaimed, stood up and slowly started walking towards my precious girl. Maybe this would be ok, I had told her that Leonie was just sleepy, and deep down she did love her niece, and she had actually started to be a little nice to me just a moment ago. I think. I don’t think I imagined it. Maybe she had changed? Maybe she would be kind? Maybe she would be thoughtful? Maybe she wouldn’t completely ruin everything? Maybe? Maybe!?

‘You look awful!’ she exclaimed in a shout that most definitely was not a shout-whisper, ‘what is this move doing to you my lovely!?’

I had tried to stop her. I couldn’t stop her.

I picked up another cinnamon bun and put it in my own face. Not for sound reduction, nor barrier purposes, just because I could.

But I took a moment, a deep breath, and told myself that I would fix it.

Everything would be ok.

I would make everything ok.

Captain Copenhagen would not be defeated that easily.

There was a new plan.