She hugs me and gives me such a warm welcome that the nerves soon dissipate.
Beatrix’s first-floor apartment is exactly what I’d expected. It’s small, cosy and filled with her character. A collage of photos with Beatrix and her many friends hangs on the wall, and her bicycle with the customary wicker basket leans below it in her hallway. Further along the wall, a wooden coat hook holds the weight of a pile of thick jackets. It seems there are quite a few people here from the number of coats hanging up. I can already hear the chatting from the hallway.
‘Can I get you a glass of wine or beer?’ asks Beatrix.
‘Wine would be lovely, thank you.’
Beatrix takes Abe and I into the living room where people are sat on bean bags and a white wooden egg chair, just like Abe’s, hangs in the corner. I assume that must be where Beatrix was sitting as it is still swinging slightly as though there is a ghost sat on it. Like her brother, she also has an impressively stocked bookcase too. A dark-haired man, wearing big tortoiseshell glasses immediately makes a beeline for me and introduces himself as Willem, Beatrix’s new boyfriend. He seems as lovely as Beatrix with his similarly warm welcome. I can’t help but take to him immediately.
The book club is a mix of male and female readers of different ages – young and old. They all smile and say hi to me, and one woman asks me where I am from and then proceeds to tell me how she is originally from Southampton. It is so nice to meet someone from the UK who has moved over here too.
‘I’m Theresa. Please, come and sit here next to me,’ she says, gesturing to the empty bean bag beside her.
Beatrix returns with my wine and heads back into the kitchen to get some snacks. Abe follows her to help and so I sit down beside Theresa and introduce myself.
‘How long have you been here?’ she asks.
‘Only eight weeks. I’m still a complete newbie and finding my feet. How long have you been here?’
‘Ten years now. I met my husband on a hen night in Amsterdam. He’s sat over there.’
I look at the studious-looking Dutch guy in brown cords and wire glasses sat opposite her.
‘How wonderful. I bet you’re glad you went on that hen night.’
‘It was a bit awkward, to be truthful. You see, I was the bride, but it still makes for a good story.’ She shrieks with laughter.
‘Wow. That sure is a story. So, a Dutchman swept you off your feet, did he?’
‘You could say that. A little birdie tells me that you may have been swept off your feet by one, too?’
I look over to Abe, who is dishing out some crisps into a bowl in the open-plan kitchen.
‘Well, I’m slowly being convinced. It’s very early days yet. Very early!’
‘You won’t regret it. Dutch guys are the best and, in case you didn’t know this, but the sex… Oh my god, well, let’s just say you won’t get better. No inhibitions.’
The wine I’ve just sipped spits out of my mouth and I almost choke. Everyone in the room turns to look at me as I cough everywhere and turn bright red. I don’t think Theresa has any inhibitions either.
‘Oh, now, I wouldn’t know about that,’ I say.
‘Wouldn’t know what?’ asks Abe as he puts down the bowl of crisps. He smiles at me innocently as I cringe at Theresa’s topic of conversation.
I look down at the floor and try to shrug off his remark.
‘Sex, Abe. She doesn’t know that Dutchmen are the best. Or so she says,’ Theresa says, winking at him.
My cheeks can’t possibly turn redder, and I don’t know where to look. Abe obviously picks up on the fact that I am mortified.
‘Hey, come on. She’s a lady. Let’s not embarrass her.’
I look up at Abe with gratitude as he stands above my bean bag.
‘I’m just kidding. Come on, sex is natural. No shame in it.’ She shrugs her shoulders and fortunately shuts up when Beatrix sits down on her egg chair and officially introduces me to everyone.
‘This is Sandy. My brother’s girlfriend.’ I feel my cheeks flush again at the mention ofgirlfriend. Is this what he has told Beatrix? There is no time to ask as she moves straight on to discuss the book they have been reading.
‘So, let’s talk about the book. What did everyone think?’ Beatrix holds up a copy ofZangvogelsby Christy Lefteri. Even though the Dutch name isn’t familiar, I recognise the cover as the wonderfulSongbirdsbook. What luck! It’s one of my favourites.
