The truth gradually sets off

I'm not surprised I got there before her. Although we only called each other briefly, she sounded hesitant and confused during the conversation. I concluded that what I had been told must be true. She has not changed. According to her own words, she has completely shifted course. She would be a far cry of that person in all those wild stories. But she could not convince me at all.

Still, I agreed to a meeting. I find it too easy to dismiss someone over a phone call. And it gave me time to do the spadework. At home I have practiced some of what I am going to tell her. I have decided not to beat around the bush. That does not benefit anyone. Bad or lousy news should be communicated straightforward.

Although I have prepared myself in my mind for a meeting in the restaurant, the weather is much better than expected. A cheerful sun is hanging in the sky. Here and there patches of clouds can be seen. There is hardly any wind. I choose a modest spot on the terrace under a sleepy lime tree. I keep my coat on. It is only just the beginning of April and you shouldn't exaggerate.

I received this address from a colleague. A centuries-old city inn on the edge of the city. The brewery is located in the barn next to the café. Their beers are known everywhere. Pale ale, porter, stout.

“Are you there yet?” Just as I am about to check messages on my phone, her shadow falls over me. It is Anouk. I stand up hastily and we stand facing each other a bit awkwardly. We decided to shake her hand. It's the first time we see each other. I know her only from that one quick phone call. But off course, I know her much better from all the gossip, rumours and talk about her at work.

“I did the math this morning, but I think it's been more than ten years since I've been here,” she says flatly. She looks at her chair, brushes the leaves off the seat and sits down. A waiter has arrived and is standing next to our table, asking if we are ready for ordering. We want something to drink? Maybe lunch as well?

“You have chosen a nice place,” Anouk admits after we have both placed our orders. She looks around. The stately trees, the bamboo garden tables, the wicker patio chairs, the wooden play equipment for the children, the rhododendrons. She smiles sympathetically.

“After all these years, little has changed,” she mutters softly. More to herself than to me. “I've been here many times,” she continues. “When the boys were little. And I still had contact with them. We went here on my free afternoons. Weather permitting, needless to say. We lived nearby at the time. Sometimes Martin would quickly visit and keep us company if had finished his work early. Well, good old Martin. I have not seen or spoken to him in years either.”

She wipes something from her eyes. She looks at me as if I am also part of her fragile memory. I just do not know what to say.

“You started a year ago at the company?” Her voice is firmer now, louder. She seems to be able to shake off the delicate nostalgia. Now it's my turn to speak. I tell her of my background, of my work experience, of the reasons why I applied for my current position. She listens attentively. Like this is a job interview. Every now and then she asks a question for clarification.

“You knew I had your position ten years ago?” she says without rancour or disappointment. The waiter brings our drinks. A coke cherry for me. For her mineral water. That is the first surprise. I am told that she would order white wine with lunch. And before the hour was over, she would have downed four glasses. She would be slightly intoxicated. She would start to giggle, talking gibberish.

“I have always enjoyed the job,” she muses. “I liked the dynamics of a large company. The politics, the strategy discussions, the complexity. It was at that time that I could manage anything. I had a job, a family, a vegetable garden, a close group of friends. I loved to cook, go on holidays. I also read at least two books a week.”

The haze of delicate homesickness, the mist of brittle longing hangs around her again. She takes a sip of the water. She bites on the inside of her cheek. This time, she avoids any eye contact.

“Is anyone still working from the time I was in?” Anouk's question sounds half-hearted. As if it is a subject that is taboo for her. And maybe that is true. I am mentioning a couple of names of veterans. She nods to indicate that she knows who they are.

“You must have heard so many stories about me,” she says timidly. She clears her throat and sits up straighter. As if she is ready for judgment. As if I am now taking my laptop out of my suitcase, to open it and start reading a verdict. Nevertheless, I feel the urge to be honest with her. Not to pretend that there isn't any gossip.

"Let's be honest, it’s all my fault,” she confesses. “And what possessed me? As I said earlier. I had everything. Children, a husband, a beautiful house, an excellent job." Her eyes are narrow, lips pressed together. Then she tells the rest of the story that I have already heard from several colleagues. How she gradually started drinking too much. At first only on weekends. Then every night. And finally, during the day. It became an untenable situation. For her husband, her kids, her family, her colleagues,

“Maybe if Martin and the children would have stayed. Maybe then I would have come to this realization much sooner. But once I was on my own, it was all over the place,” she admits. She closes her eyes. Like she's praying. As if she is indicating that she thinks enough has been said about this extremely sensitive topic?

A young woman is about to sit next to us on the picnic bench. Her two children are taken a seat opposite her. She grabs markers from her bag and two pieces of blank paper. The children start drawing furiously. The mother opens a book and starts reading. We both look at the scene. In the meantime, our lunch is served.

That is the second surprise. I was assured she would order a salad. And then not eat any of it. She would toss around the lettuce leaves. Like a pharmacy assistant making a medicine mixture. But nothing could be further from the truth. She ordered a vegetarian burger with lots of cheese, tomato and sauce. The plate has not yet been placed in front of her when she sinks her teeth into the sandwich.

We eat our meals in silence. Meanwhile, the children next to us run from their table to the wooden play equipment. When Anouk has eaten her burger down to the last crumb, she blissfully wipes some thin sauce from the corners of her mouth with the napkin. She looks at me. Investigative, indecisive. Will there be the final question?

“I sounded a bit confused on the phone. But it is quite a step for me. To ask it again. I saw that you have a vacancy. Do you think I can apply? Do I have any chance? Given my history? On the other hand, it is actually true. I am changed. I am a new person.”

Anouk places one hand over the other. She looks resignedly at her empty plate. A burden has been lifted from her shoulder.

But I'm prepared. I knew that the request would come after she had called. And when I announced within the department last week that a former colleague might apply, all hell broke loose. How many times had they given her a change in the recent past? And how many times were they deeply disappointed in her? Because she had another relapse. Because she could not keep away from the alcohol, the spirits? So, I am urged. Say no. Do not give in to her.

I know that now, this afternoon, it is the moment that I can show that I am the tough manager. That I did not follow all those training courses for nothing. I realize, the company and my department also expect this from me. Clarity. Direction. Decisiveness.

The woman next to us puts down her book and enters the restaurant. She has not yet disappeared from our view when one of her children falls from the jungle gym. There is a terrifyingly loud howl. All visitors on the terrace look up. Disturbed. Annoyed.

Then Anouk gets up. Resolute. She walks to the crying child. Without hesitation she picks it up, strokes its back. Mumbles soothing words. Until the mother comes back. The two women talk for a moment. Slapping each other on the shoulders, laugh.

Anouk walks back to her chair. She makes an apologetic gesture. I clear my throat. I know it must happen now. This is the moment.

"It is all right. I will arrange for you to have a job interview.”