‘Oh, thanks.’ Why does it feel as though he is flirting with me when he has a beautiful partner? Do Dutch guys flirt, or do they just come out with what they want to say? I desperately try to think of something else to talk about.
‘So, umm, do you have any photos of the younger version of yourself? Did you always have the ponytail?’
‘No way. I’d never have got away with my ponytail at work. That’s why I’ll never cut my hair. It’s a statement. I’ll get you a photo. You can see if you recognise me.’
Abe clears away the plates and enters his bedroom. A few moments later he returns with some photographs. We sit on the sofa together to go through them.
‘Here, this is me in my suit.’
I look at the man in an expensive suit. His skin is less lined than it is today, his hair is short and neat, but his eyes look dead. They don’t have the beautiful sparkle that they have now. He is a smart man but looks beaten down and it doesn’t suit him.
Then he shows me photos of his fast car and his big house. They are all impressive, but I much prefer the houseboat.
‘I prefer the person you are today. You look so much more relaxed and chilled,’ I say.
‘Me too. I was taking tablets for blood pressure. I was super stressed. I wasn’t sleeping. I had the wrong priorities. As I said before, I’m not sorry for anything I did, but my ex-wife leaving me like that woke me up. I knew that I didn’t want to live the rest of my life in that way. I was an easy-going Dutchman, who deep down loved long weekends, but once I got into that career, it kind of took over.’
‘I guess sometimes a career sucks you in. You fit in with those around you and become like them. So, did your ex-wife ever see you now you’re like this?’
‘No. She was with my boss six months later. So much for not liking career men.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
‘To be honest, I’m not sorry about anything. I’m glad now. I think part of me was only doing the job because I wanted to keep her happy. She wanted the best of everything, and the pressure was on to be like some kind of power couple. She had friends who would compare their husbands, and I kept not wanting to let her down.’
‘Well, I’m glad you found your true self. You look a lot more at ease now than in those photos.’
‘I am. A year after I quit the job, I grew my hair like I wanted and became the real me again. I no longer needed the blood pressure medication either. I’ll never force myself to be someone I’m not again.’
‘That’s wonderful. You’re so right. Sometimes we lose our own identity in a relationship, and that’s not good for anyone. I think Paul may have done that a bit to try and keep me happy, but in the long run he was making himself miserable and he wanted to be back in Australia. I’d have preferred him to be honest and confide in me.’
‘Some advice… Often guys don’t feel like they can say what they really want to. They don’t come out with it.’
Abe stares into my eyes and I feel my face flush. It is time I went home.
‘Um, anyway. I don’t mean to rush off, but I realised I forgot I left something on at home. I have to go. Thanks for a lovely evening. It’s been amazing. You’re a fabulous host, but it’s getting late. It’s time I went home. Please say hi to Beatrix for me.’
I jump up to my feet and hurry out of the door.
Chapter Sixteen
I wake up with a banging headache, a dry throat and the memory of running out of next door’s houseboat last night. I sit bolt upright as I remember the evening and decide that it might be best if I keep a low profile for the next few days. My kettle whistles loudly, bringing me back down to earth, and I hear a knock on the door at the same time. What if it’s Abe? I hesitate about answering it. Then I see a shadow outside and I can tell by the build that it isn’t Abe but the postman.
‘Good morning, you need to sign for this,’ he says.
I peek my head outside, towards Abe’s boat. There is no sign of Ted on deck, so I guess they are already at the coffee shop. I decide it might be for the best not to pop in for those lovely hot chocolates anytime soon. I would hate for Abe or Beatrix to think I am always hanging around. The only consolation is that my mail will keep me busy for a while. I look at the books that have come in the post –Dutch in Four Months. Since I managed to find a beginner’s Dutch class in Amsterdam that starts next week, I wanted to be prepared. There’s nothing worse than walking into a class with no experience, so I thought this should help me feel a little more confident. With nothing planned for today, I sit with a coffee and start reading right away.
‘Dank je,’ I repeat. At least I can say thank you for my coffees now.
‘Goedemorgen,’ I say out loud to myself. I’ll practise this the next time I see the postman.
This is going to be so easy. Then I look up the words ‘I am sorry’, since I always seem to be apologising for myself, although I am trying to stop that terrible habit.
‘Het spijt me.’ Is that right? It sounds likespit on meor something. I hope I don’t say that wrong. This then leads me down a rabbit hole of new vocabulary. By the time I have learnt a few basic words, my head is thumping. A mixture of yesterday’s beer and it being a long time since I had to concentrate on learning something new, I can feel the fatigue setting in. Knowing that Abe is safely nowhere near home, I decide to go for a walk to clear my head.
The autumn air is exactly what I need, and I feel better for getting outside. I have no idea where I am heading but it feels good to take my time and look around the streets. As I am walking past a shop, the smell of caramel and fresh dough wafts over me. Since I skipped breakfast, my stomach rumbles, reminding me to eat something. The caramel smell is too tempting, and I quickly find myself ordering astroopwafel. An enthusiastic Dutch guy tells me the extortionate price of the waffle and I hand over my credit card. The cost of waffles seems to have risen hugely since my last visit here, but then again this is a European city. However, instead of being handed a takeaway, the guy hands me an apron. At first, I am confused. I suppose eating waffles can get messy if you heap it up with maple syrup, but then he takes me into a room at the back where five happy faces smile at me. For a moment, I wonder if they are still drunk from partying the night before.
‘Have you ever madestroopwafelsbefore?’ asks the super-excitable host.
