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 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.

If you would like to keep up to date please subscribe at the bottom of the page. WordPress will ask you to confirm your subscription in a follow up email.

Thank you for visiting and I hope you enjoy!

Instagram: luu_bodkins
X: @Lu_Bodkins
Facebook: facebook.com/LouiseSingletonWriter

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

The Boat Tour – Part One

Leonie, Daughter

I’m not sure how I ended up in this situation. I’m on a tourist boat tour. Voluntarily on a tourist boat tour. As if it wasn’t enough having mum pushing me to do touristy things.

There’s nothing wrong with them. This even looks like it could be interesting, it looks like it could be fun. But I’m not in the mood for interesting, I’m not in the mood for fun. Touristy just isn’t my thing. But here I am.

I put the blame solely with Luke. I was manipulated. I’m definitely not here of my own free will.

He told me that he does this boat tour every year with his childhood friend. His childhood friend who has moved.

So… he has no one to do it with this year.

Of course I had to invite him.

I’m an idiot. A soft idiot.

A soft idiot who makes mistakes. Like with mum. I have no idea what to do with yesterday. I still feel angry, and I have… no idea… what to do with it, where to put it. 

I just couldn’t look at her. I could feel her trying to engage me all day. Until I snapped at her. I had promised myself I wouldn’t snap at her, but I had snapped at her. It’s awful. And now I have to deal with it. The sadness, the anger, the everything swirling around my head.

While going on a boat tour.

He looks happy at least. He must have lived here for… how long? If he has a Copenhagen childhood friend it must be quite a few years. And he’s still doing these boat tours. And he’s still excited about doing these boat tours.

I guess as humans we like yearly familiarity, repetition, reliving the same holidays and traditions every year. I guess it’s not so different.

Until your life gets steam-rolled, crushed, squished and twisted, and you now have new yearly days to dread for the rest of your life. The yearly Christmas, the yearly birthday, now joined by dreaded anniversaries.

I can’t focus. I can hear the water around me but I can’t see it. Not properly see it. I don’t feel here.

There’s a childlike tug at my sleeve.

‘That’s the opera house, isn’t she cool?’ says the boy next to me. The boy with the goofy smile who likes to personify buildings.

I look to where he’s pointing and realise that a good chunk of the tour has already passed and I haven’t been paying any attention.

Where are we now? I think we’re in… Christianshavn? I think…

I think that’s what the tour guide’s saying. He has finished with English and has moved on to the next language. I’m not 100% sure what it is, but I can sense German undertones.

Oh…this is the place that mum was talking about yesterday. She wanted to visit here and mingle with people. Enjoy the sun, the water without a care in the world. Did she not know what day it was? Or did she not care?

Luke is on the seat at the edge of the boat. The best unobstructed view of the water, the sites. Makes the most sense, he’s the one who wants to see the water, the sites. The joy fills his face as we travel underneath lots of low bridges, reaching his arm up to see if he can touch them. He’s got a childlike joy in him that can’t be crushed, squished or twisted. No weight. No matter how much the tour guide tells us that we have to remain seated I can see that all he wants to do is jump up from his seat and hold his hands out Winslet-Titanic style.

I’m afraid I won’t be filling the role of DiCaprio.

I want to try and enjoy this day. Or at least make it seem like I’m enjoying it. For Luke. But… but…

‘So that building there, he’s the architecture building. Made to look like lots of Lego blocks all stacked up, but don’t tell anyone, it’s a secret’, he whispers to me.

‘And on your left you will see the design of this building made to look like Lego blocks stacked on top of each other. An appropriate design for the Danish Architecture Centre,’ the tour guide says.

Luke quietly chuckles at his own joke. This is definitely his thing. He loves the boat, he loves the water, he loves the sites. So happy.

All I had done was sit here and steam. Trying to contain this angry monster inside me that is itching to get out. I can feel the tingling in my skin. My muscles refusing to sit still.

But… I won’t ruin it for him.

‘Did you…erm…’ I start, trying to push it all down, ‘are you close to your usual boat tour friend?’

He looks at me, a little taken aback that I had started a conversation. I was struggling to believe it too.

But he seems happy about it.

‘Oh yeah, he was my first friend when I moved here. Well, he still is, I hope!’ An awkward laugh emitted from his face. I couldn’t bring myself to meet or greet it. He continued. ‘We met when I first started school. Took me under his wing. Mother bird style. I think he pitied me a bit to be honest. Billy no mates.’ I feel my stomach churn. ‘So…I do miss him. But then after he moved away you started. Very good timing, so…huzzah!’ He smiles and lifts his hands to the sky, immediately having to lower them, realising that he’s ruined the photograph being taken by the person behind us.

My teeth start to grit. I can feel something bubbling inside me and I know that I shouldn’t say anything…

‘Billy no mates. Pity. Pity the new person. That’s how it was with me when I started I guess? Did you pity me?’

He looks very confused, and to be honest, so am I. I don’t know where this is coming from, I’m just… so…

I can feel the nails digging into the palm of my clenched fist.

‘You pitied me! That was it wasn’t it?’ I don’t shout. I don’t want the attention. But my words are sharp.

I can see his face starting to drop, and it hurts, but I can’t stop.

‘Maybe I didn’t want someone forced on me, being pestered all the time. And it’s all just out of pity. I don’t need it. I don’t want it.’ I refuse to look at him.

I just want to kick a hole in the bottom of the boat. Want to shout at everyone in it. What were we all doing? How could they just be so carefree…

I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want to. I shouldn’t look at him.

He looks so sad. Shocked and upset. What is wrong with me?

What had he said? Why had it upset me so much? He hadn’t even been talking about me.

I tighten my fist tighter so the nails dig in deeper. I can feel the marks they’ll leave.

This is why I stay alone.

And that’s when it happens.

Just as we’re going underneath one of Luke’s beloved bridges, in my mum’s beloved Christianhavn, I can see a random guy waiting on the bridge, his friends looking and cheering him on.

And then…

Splash. Big splash.

He jumps in the water, right next to the boat.

The wave from the splash comes over the edge. Not at the row in front of us, or at the one behind. Smack bang on our row. And those sat right by the edge get soaked. Soakingly soaked.

Luke quickly turns to me, he is dripping. I can see it running down his face, from his hair, a little droplet marking a prominent place on the end of his nose.

‘Ah! Your shoulder’s wet!’ he shouts.

I can’t take in what he’s saying. I’m not wet. He has shielded me, intentionally or not. Except for… wait… the smallest wet patch on my shoulder. Yes, there it is. And here he is, dripping.

What an idiot.

My mouth turns upwards and I let out a very short laugh. A weird feeling laugh. The pain is still there, the anger is still there, it’s confusing. I don’t want to laugh, but it just comes out, and then the fact that I know I don’t want to laugh and yet it’s happening. I’m so confused. And I hurt.

And I cry.

In front of someone.

‘Oh! Wait, I can dry you!’ Luke reaches into his bag and pulls out a towel. Clearly this is not the first time he has been splashed on a boat tour.

He puts the towel around me and starts to rub my shoulders, ironically dripping on me and creating more wet patches as he does, but I don’t notice. My face is already wet enough with tears.

I’m so confused. My insides arguing and churning as I both smile and cry against my will.

And for the first time he asks me the question that I have the feeling he’s been wanting to ask me for a while.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

And for some reason, I did.

I could.

Just a little.

As we pull back into Nyhavn harbour, I can sense the coloured buildings on either side that he had been so excited to see as we left.

Not now. Now he doesn’t give them a second look. But I can see them out of the corner of my eye.

And I know my vision is blurred from crying, but…

I could have sworn that I saw mum.