Life After Forty Read Free

out.”
    We spoke for a few more minutes. After I hung up, I felt a little comforted. Then I phoned Marleen. She was the ex-wife of Bernd’s best friend. We’d met each other through our husbands, lived in the same town, and had become close in recent years. Besides that, she was refreshingly robust and practical; I had no reason to fear pity from her. After my short explanation, she asked the reason for the separation, found my answer unsatisfactory, and offered me her guest room. I politely refused, but promised to call her again over the next few days.
    The next few days and weeks passed as though everything was covered in dense fog. Parts of my life were reassuringly normal: I visited my booksellers, kept my appointments as planned, and made no mention whatsoever of what was currently going on in my life. On one of the evenings that I spent with Ines, Leonie came by. Ines had met up with her and told her everything. We had been colleagues for a number of years, and we saw each other three or four times a year outside of work.
    Standing in front of the door with a bottle of champagne, she didn’t beat around the bush.
    “It’s all good: I still have a picture of him in my mind standing there with that vacuum in his hand, he wasn’t interested in your job, he never read any books, and he never came to Hamburg. Just be happy that you’re rid of him and can get out of that backwater. Here’s to the start of your new life!”
    I didn’t yet share her opinion, but I was touched when she—by herself and together with Ines—viewed numerous apartments over the following weeks, whittled them down to possibles, and arranged three or four viewings for me over the weekends. When I wasn’t looking at apartments, I went to visit my parents in Sylt, spent hours running along the beach in the March cold, cried a little, and slept a lot.
    Once a week I had to go back to the house. It was still my address for my office, and all my mail was sent there. Bernd kept out of my way. If he was at home, I went to see Marleen, who had already arranged for moving boxes and a map of Hamburg for me. She had put her divorce behind her, and I found her unshakeable optimism very comforting.
    “Sweetheart, trust me, in six months’ time you’ll look back and laugh at it all.”
    By now, everyone knew. Lots of people avoided me, which I found hurtful. Perhaps they thought separations could be contagious. I hadn’t heard much from Antje either. It occurred to me when Marleen asked after her one evening as we were sitting in her kitchen. It was the beginning of April. Ines and Leonie had found an apartment for me, which I’d managed to secure. Nine hundred square feet, terrace, open fireplace, and a balcony leading off of the kitchen. It was situated almost exactly between Ines and Leonie, a fifteen-minute drive from them both. This made my heart feel a lot lighter, and so Marleen’s question didn’t bother me too much.
    “Antje is so busy. Children, a job—you know what it’s like. She’s helping me with the move. She already booked the fifteenth off work.”
    “I just find it a bit strange. She’s your best friend, and yet you haven’t heard from her in six weeks. Does she even know that you’ve found an apartment?”
    “I’ll tell her tomorrow. I’m going over there for Karola’s birthday. And Marleen, I know you’re not particularly fond of Antje, but you just don’t know her that well, that’s all.”
    She didn’t answer. I had the feeling that she wanted to tell me something. But I didn’t ask, and she said nothing more.
     
     
    When I went out to the car the next day with a birthday present in my hand, Bernd followed me.
    “Where are you off to?”
    “It’s Karola’s birthday. She’s ten today.”
    “Do you have time to be going to a child’s birthday party? I thought you wanted to pack.”
    “She’s my goddaughter. I’ll manage the packing in time; I’ve still got two weeks.”
    “Well, you know best, I