Between Two Seas by Marie-Louise Jensen

completely different from the east. It is grander by far. I’ve grown used to a narrow strip of soft, pale sand, full of hardy plants, and a friendly sea with small rippling waves. But here the sand is a smooth, rich gold, with patches of pebbles; a vast flat expanse fading into the distance in both directions. It looks untouched. As if no one has ever set foot here.
    Beyond the sand, the blue-green sea heaves and roars, and sends big breakers curling and crashing onto the sand. It’s huge, open, and fierce. A mixture of awe and delight sends a shiver through me, making my fingers and toes tingle, and the hair stand up on the back of my neck.
    I become aware that Mikkel is standing beside me, waiting for my reaction.
    ‘It’s beautiful … ’ I’m drinking in the size and scale of the beach, soaking up the blues, greens, and golds that are almost dazzling in the autumn sunshine.
    ‘It’s big, like the coast near Grimsby,’ I tell him. My mother took me to the beach, occasionally. ‘This is wilder somehow. More colourful. Is the tide in at the moment?’
    ‘Tide? There’s not really any tide here,’ Mikkel tells me, surprising me. ‘Is there in England?’
    ‘Yes, the sea goes out a long way. So far you can hardly see it.’
    ‘Shall we run down?’ asks Mikkel, pointing down the steep slope at our feet. As soon as I agree, he grabs my hand and pulls me over the edge. We half run, half slide, bringing an avalanche of sand down with us. After a few steps, I let go of Mikkel’s hand and throw myself down. I roll the rest of the way down, losing any sense of what is up and down, sky and beach merging into a tumbling rush of colours, sand spraying around me. I sit up at the foot of the dune. I’m exhilarated and giddy. Drunk on space and light and beauty.
    Mikkel slides down more carefully.
    ‘You’re a crazy girl,’ he says, shaking his head, but he’s smiling.
    I’ve got sand all over my clothes and in my hair, but I don’t care. I feel like running along the beach shouting. I only brush the worst of it off and then we race across the beach all the way to the sea. We meander along the water’s edge, speaking mainly English, but sometimes I try out Danish words or phrases I’ve learned.
    ‘ Det er flot ,’ I say experimentally. It’s beautiful.
    ‘ Ja, det er det ,’ Mikkel agrees.
    ‘So many of the sounds in Danish are so hard.’
    ‘You’ll get used to them. You’re doing very well,’ Mikkel praises me.
    After a while we’re both hungry. We sit in the dunes to eat the food Mikkel has brought. As he unpacks it and I see what it is, my mouth starts to water. Soft white bread, with cheese. Crisp, juicy apples. Fresh milk to drink. I eat the bread hungrily and savour the creamy taste of the milk.
    Mikkel watches, surprised, as I begin on my second piece of bread.
    ‘Don’t they feed you at Jakobsen’s?’ he asks.
    ‘No,’ I say with my mouth full. Once I’ve managed to swallow, I tell him, ‘I feed them. The woman who lives nearby, Hannah’s mother, has shown me what to cook, but … ’
    ‘But … ?’ Mikkel prompts.
    ‘Do you like fish pie with cods’ heads sticking out of it? Watching you while you eat?’ The words, held back all these days, tumble out of me. I’m being ungrateful, but I can’t stop myself.
    ‘It’s very good,’ says Mikkel solemnly, but his eyes quiz me from behind his spectacles.
    ‘Then what about baked seagull? Surely you don’t eat that?’ I demand, wrinkling my face in disgust.
    ‘It’s my favourite,’ Mikkel assures me. I must look appalled, because he bursts out laughing.
    ‘You don’t like our Skagen food?’
    ‘No, I don’t. Just fish, fish, fish all the time. Dried fish, salted fish, fish heads and fishy seagulls. And just for a treat that bitter bread. I know why it’s so bitter now. It’s made with sour dough instead of yeast. The smell makes me feel sick.’
    I stop, realizing I’m close to tears. The food is nearly the worst thing