The Cardmaker and the Caretaker - 13. Chapter 13 Good and bad family moments

Patrick woke the next morning to a soft knocking. He slid out of bed and walked over to open the door. As expected, Michael stood outside with a hopeful look. He smiled and motioned him inside, and the boy immediately ran over to the bed and climbed up next to his still sleeping dad.

Before they went to sleep, Peter had put on his boxers and T-shirt and Patrick was wearing his new silk pyjamas. He padded over to find his clothes and slip out to get dressed in the bathroom, but a pleading voice halted him in his tracks.

“Papa, kom her. Far bli’r ked af det, hvis du ikke er her.”[1]

He looked at Michael, who was beckoning him with his hand, and repeated, “Papa, kom nu.”

The message was obvious, and Patrick melted. He went back to the bed and climbed in next to Michael. The small boy lay down with a contented sigh and snuggled into the duvet. Patrick couldn’t help himself, but reached out to run his fingers though the unruly blond hair. He’d never really considered having children, but Michael was such a joy to be around. Having the possibility to see him grow up was fast becoming a high priority to him.

If the hospital succeeded with those treatments, perhaps he could donate some money as thanks? He would have to check out their homepage or perhaps talk to people when visiting Michael. Assuming he would be allowed to do so as a non-relative? Damn, another thing to put on the ever-expanding list of things he needed to talk with Peter about. But at least the money matter and his sixth sense were dealt with and accepted.

He felt the boy next to him grab his left hand, which was lying idle on the pillow between them. They both focused on the ring as Michael rotated it on Patrick’s finger, studying it intently. He suddenly turned over and leaned over his dad’s back. With a giggle he extracted Peter’s left hand from the duvet and pulled it upwards.

“Er I gift nu, far?”[2]

Patrick sat up, and Peter rolled onto his back, giving his son a sleepy hug.

“Nej, forlovede. Vi har lovet at gifte os.”[3]

His blue eyes found Patrick’s and a delighted smile blossomed on his face.

“Good morning, my love. Michael wanted to know if we’re married now, but I told him we’re engaged.”

Patrick didn’t think, he simply leaned down and kissed his fiancé. Only briefly though, to avoid any unwanted reactions which included Michael groaning at them.

“Hvad skal vi lave i dag, far?”[4]

Peter chuckled and said, “Morgenmad først. Breakfast first, then plans for the day.” His stomach rumbled to emphasize the answer, and all of them laughed.

“I’m going to grab a shower, Peter. See you downstairs in a bit.”

“OK.”

The two blond heads made their way down to the kitchen, Michael clinging to his dad’s back, and Patrick let the wave of affection for his wonderful Danes carry him smiling into the bathroom. Normally, he would have gone for a long jog, but he didn’t think his butt would appreciate it. Not that he minded the soreness reminding him about last night and their amazing sex. Anyway, he hoped Peter and he would have time to go running together later, although he really ought to go to the shop for a few hours too. Patrick shook his head in wonder; imagine having such a full life there weren’t enough hours in the day. That hadn’t happened in years.

Instead of walking into an empty kitchen and preparing his lonely breakfast, Patrick was greeted by cheerful voices, the smells of coffee, eggs, bacon and toast, and smiling faces turning to welcome him.

“Good morning, Patrick. Did you sleep well?”

He gulped at Grethe’s motherly words and tone of voice; they were eerily similar to what met him when his mum was alive, or at least on the mornings she was at home. After Patrick was old enough to fend for himself with help from his dad, his mum would accept occasional night or early morning shifts at the hospital. Only after his parents had died, did he realize she worked as a nurse because she wanted to. With her husband’s income and the interest of her inheritance, she could have stayed at home. Well, in a way she did, because she was there for her son, whenever he needed her. As Patrick grew older and more independent, she gradually increased her hours at the hospital.

“Patrick, are you OK?” The motherly voice became concerned.

“Huh? Yes, thank you, I’m fine.”

“But you went sort of pale, and distracted, all of a sudden.”

“Sorry, it was just…you reminded me of my mum. But I suddenly realized something. My mother worked at the Great Ormond Street Hospital for Children. You know, where…”

Patrick waved at Michael, not wanting to distract the boy from having breakfast, by saying his name. The cardmaker moved to the table and sat down next to Grethe and across from Peter.

“Mmmm, this looks delicious, Mosta.” He had noticed Peter mostly called Grethe by the auntie name ‘Moster’ and somehow it sounded nicer, more family-like, almost like ‘mother.’

“Good, please help yourself, boys. Oh, and congratulations on the engagement.” Her beaming smile left no doubt she was delighted at their new status.

Peter, who was already shovelling eggs and bacon in as fast as possible, winked at him. They both focused on the food, and Patrick quickly filled a plate and started eating. The breakfast tasted as delicious as it looked. He would definitely need to get more exercise, if he ate like this every morning.

“Would you like to go for a run later?” he asked his fiancé. “And I should spend a few hours at the shop, since I need to finish the card for Anthony’s mother.”

“What time are we meeting your friends tonight?”

“They’ll come to the shop at seven pm.”

“OK, how about we take a quick look at the room upstairs to see how much stuff there is to go through. Then we can do a long run and after lunch you can go to the shop, while I spend some time with Michael. Moster, are you visiting Mr. Archibald this afternoon, or is he coming over here?”

“I thought I might go over there and let him tell me more about the house and his family. I shall ask him to come over for dinner to keep Michael and me company. Are you bringing your friends back here, Patrick?”

“I’m not sure, it depends how the evening goes. If we do, Peter can text you beforehand. Is that OK?”

“Of course, dear boy. I’ll make sure there are plenty of home-baked cookies and the house is tidy.”

“I was thinking of hiring a cleaning lady, but that will have to wait until Monday.”

Patrick was relieved Grethe simply nodded and smiled. She obviously approved, and of course it was also necessary for Michael’s sake. Now, what else on the list…oh right.

“I guess we could take a look in the storage room, Peter.”

“Only if you’re OK about it.”

“Tak for mad,”[5] Michael suddenly said and got up. He looked expectantly at his dad.

“Velbekomme. Smut du bare ind og se TV,”[6] Peter replied. He looked back at Patrick once the boy had disappeared into the living room.

“I told him he could go and watch telly,” he explained.

“What is that phrase he uses? ‘Tack fore mad?’ He’s said it before, but I forgot to ask.”

Grete laughed. “It’s as Danish as ‘Please’ is British. It means ‘Thank you for the food’ but it’s more than that. It’s also a way of saying ‘May I leave the table?’ and ‘I’ve enjoyed the meal.’ If you’re ever in Denmark, it would be a very useful phrase to know. Oh and the answer ‘Velbekomme’ literally means ‘May it become you well’, but you’d probably say ‘You’re welcome’ in English.”

During her explanation Patrick had finished eating, and he poured himself another mug of tea.

“Tak for mad, Mosta. I hope I’ll learn to speak Danish eventually.” He looked back at Peter. “I’m glad to have a reason to deal with my parents’ things. And it’s not as bad as you may think. I gave their clothes to charity before I packed up the rest.”

“Patrick, what happened to your parents, if you don’t mind me asking?” Grethe’s voice was gentle and caring.

“Didn’t Peter tell you? Not that there is much to tell. They were killed in a car accident five years ago. A lorry driver fell asleep or had a heart attack and rammed into the back of a queue on an M25 exit. Unfortunately, Mum and Dad were caught between him and the lorry in front.”

“Oh Patrick, I’m sorry, what a terrible tragedy. Nothing adequate can be said…” She got up and moved around the table to give him a warm hug, and he let the balm of her genuine compassion soothe his hurt.

“Thank you, Mosta. It helps to have a new family who cares.”

She began clearing the breakfast things away and he got up to help. Peter mumbled something about taking a shower and left after giving Grethe a peck on the cheek and a ‘Tak for mad’ and Patrick a chaste kiss on the mouth.

“Were your parents single children too?”

“No, my dad had two sisters and a brother, and Mum had an older brother.”

“Oh,” she hesitated, clearly not sure how to ask the next question. Patrick decided to help her out.

“My parents weren’t close to their siblings and I haven’t been in touch with them or my cousins since the funeral. To be honest I dislike all my aunts and uncles, but I’m thinking of getting in touch with a couple of my cousins, who may be more accepting.”

Her eyes got huge and she sputtered, “Your relatives…disapprove of…of you being gay? Are they very religious or something?”

“No, no,” Patrick hastened to reassure her. “I very much doubt any of them knows. I was out to my parents but not to anyone else, and I’m certain they never told anyone, particularly not the rest of the family.”

“But, but…why then?” She was completely bewildered, but when Patrick pulled a face at the thought of having to tell this kind, unselfish woman about his greedy, insensitive relatives, she quickly back-pedalled. “I’m sorry; it’s none of my business. I was simply shocked at the idea of none of them being there for you after your parents died.”

“No, it’s OK. I’ll explain, but I want Peter to be here too. I haven’t really talked to him about the reasons I’m not close to my relatives. It’s mostly tied into the money my parents inherited, although I have to admit I’m not quite sure what happened before I was born. My parents’ solicitor probably knows, but I never asked him for the story. It seemed pointless with them gone and much easier to break off all connections to the rest of the family. I’d never met any of them before the funeral anyway.”

“You never met any of your grandparents, aunts, uncles or cousins as a child? No family gatherings or Christmas visits or birthday parties?” Grethe was visibly shaken by this idea, and in hindsight Patrick could see her point. But his parents had never spoken about their siblings in his presence until he was a teen. They talked about his grandparents occasionally, but since they were deceased, visits were not a possibility. He suddenly recalled the day he was told about having relatives and realized his parents had waited as long as they could to reveal their existence.

***

He’d been twelve, almost thirteen, and they had been sitting at the breakfast table one Sunday morning. His parents had been unusually distracted the day before and they were quiet that morning too. Once the meal was over, his mum looked at him and sighed.

“There’s something we need to talk about, darling.” Like any boy he immediately went over any possible misdemeanours of his own, but he was fairly confident this was something else. He briefly thought about one of his classmates whose parents had divorced recently, but somehow he knew his parents loved each other dearly and would never separate. He waited anxiously for her to continue, hoping it had nothing to do with his newly discovered attraction to boys.

“Your mum and I think it’s time for you to be told about the families we come from. We believe you’re old enough to understand.”

“Have you ever wondered why you’ve never met any relatives?” His mum asked gently.

“No, they’re dead, aren’t they?”

“Your grandparents are, but you have uncles and aunts and cousins.” His dad waited for his reaction.

“I do? How many?” He could see they were pleased with his calm manner and logical approach.

“I have an older brother, who is married and has three children,” was his mum’s answer.

“I have an older sister who has three children and a brother and sister who’re younger than me. They have two children each.”

“That means I have ten cousins. Are they younger than me?”

“Two of Herbert’s children are older than you, but his youngest son, Jason, is seven,” his mum explained. She seemed to wince slightly at the mention of her brother’s name.

“All of your cousins on my side are younger, except my first niece, Fiona, who’s a year older than you.”

Patrick wondered if there was any special reason for those cousins to be given names, but how could there be? His parents made it quite clear they had never seen any of their nephews and nieces, although they had sent gifts and cards at their christenings. He never wondered at the time how they would know of these events, but now he surmised it was the work of Mr. Wickham, their solicitor.

“Why have I never met any of my cousins or uncles and aunts?” From their faces and the emotions impacting him, Patrick knew this was the crucial question. At the time he wasn’t aware his empathy was anything special, nor was he able to figure out or name the jumble of emotions from his parents.

“My brother and I are estranged, dear. It means we dislike each other so much, we prefer not to see each other or speak with each other. I send a Christmas card to the family every year, and his wife sends one back. I sincerely hope you’ll never have to deal with him, but if you’re ever approached by a man introducing himself as Herbert Williamson, I want you to ignore everything he says and walk away. He is an evil, bitter man.”

“I promise, Mum.” Patrick had kept his word on the day of the funeral. He had completely ignored the hateful man who glared at him and muttered about ridiculous wills and a manipulative sister being father’s favourite. Apart from a wife and three children, Hebert had been accompanied by two men who were introduced as ‘my cousins Robert and Albert Williamson’ as well as a gaggle of other sycophants. The fawning brothers had been willing listeners to his uncle’s complaints, and Patrick got the vague impression they felt cheated by the same unknown events caused by his grandfather’s will. He didn’t care and curtly dismissed them when they approached him with thinly-disguised begging for money, saying ‘our dear cousin Elizabeth would have understood.’

His mother’s name in their mouths disgusted him, and the simultaneous arrival of Aunt Victoria was almost a relief in spite of the waves of disapproval rolling ahead of her. The cardmaker felt like laughing when his memories made him realize the presence of Fiona’s mother had probably been a powerful deterrent to the greed and ambitions of the Williamsons. Whenever he was approached by members of his mother’s family, Aunt Victoria would descend on him like a frigate of war protecting the valuable merchant ship from privateers and other enemies. Shame she also chased off potential friends and allies, including anyone from her own side of the family.

Thankfully, there had been no bitching about wills or money by his father’s relatives, or at least not during the funeral. But Patrick had certainly felt the general disapproval which was the main cause of his dad cutting his family off. He had explained it that Sunday morning long ago and gained his son’s immediate support.

“My sisters and brother didn’t approve of me marrying your mum. Of course I didn’t care, and I certainly didn’t need their acceptance, but the ways in which they expressed their dissatisfaction were quite unforgivable. No need for details, but I am determined to ignore them until they apologize.”

“Do you think they ever will?”

“Oh probably; when Hell freezes over, pigs fly, and Scotsmen stop drinking whisky.” His dad winked at him. “A common trait of all Kerns is being stubborn and convinced they’re right, a terrible combination.”

“Well, I think you’re absolutely right, Dad, and I don’t want to know people who hate Mum. They’re stupid idiots and we don’t need them.”

“No, we certainly don’t, my boy. Let’s not waste any more time on them.”

“Why did you even bother to tell me about them?”

“We don’t want you to be unprepared if you should met them. And you have a right to know who your relatives are, and our reasons for not being in touch with them. We will answer any questions you have, but I must admit I don’t like talking about my siblings. They’re not nice people and don’t deserve any attention.”

“Do they get Christmas cards?”

“Indeed they do. Specially made reminders of how happy I am being married to your mum and having a wonderful son, who shares my interest in art and creating beautiful cards. They also disapprove of my ‘silly hobby’ and consider it a waste of time.”

“Wow, they really are utter jerks.”

“Yep, complete and utter morons. Well, my youngest sister Mary was OK when we were kids, but she got persuaded to marry a rich guy who was even more of a snob than our sister, and this addled her brain and froze her heart.”

“Why are they so different from you, Dad?”

“Actually, it’s more a question of how did I manage to become a nice person.”

“Really? Are you saying you’re the only good guy in the whole Kern family?”

“No, my father was nice too, and so was my grandfather. But they had one fatal flaw which I have been lucky enough to avoid. They were hopeless at choosing wives.”

“You’re kidding me?”

“Nope, my grandmother was an evil bitch and my mother was even worse.”

“Dad!”

“Honestly, cross my heart. The only thing which saved my dad and me was boarding school. The oldest Kern boys always went away to school at the age of eight, and before that we had kind nannies or a governess to teach us right from wrong. My father would pick me up at school and take me to see granddad, who was luckily a widower, and we would have a wonderful time together for a week or two, before we had to endure the horror of the rest of the family.”

“It sounds completely unbelievable, but kind of fascinating in a weird way. I wish I had known your dad.”

“Had he been alive today, he would have loved you and been very proud of you, Patrick. I’m very sorry you never met him. On the other hand, I’m glad you never met my mother.”

“I know grandfather died just before I was born, but when did she die?”

His dad looked away and his mum patted his arm. “Go on, darling, tell him.”

“She died the day before yesterday.”

“Seriously?” Patrick’s mouth hung open in shock. He’d been sure all of his grandparents had died before or shortly after he was born.

“Yes, my sister called to let me know. I’ll have to go to the funeral. Victoria wanted me to bring you, but I refused. I’m worried she might approach you directly, and that’s why we chose today to tell you about our delightful relatives.” The heavy sarcasm and disgust in the last two words was like a punch in the stomach.

“We would have told you soon anyway,” Patrick’s mum assured him.

“Is Mum going to grandmother’s funeral?” His parents shook their heads and he knew she hadn’t been invited. “Then I’m not going either.” And that had been the end of the discussion.

***

When Patrick had finished telling Peter and Moster Grethe the story, they both hugged him, saying how sorry they were and they certainly understood his reasons for rejecting all his relatives. He decided to keep the rest of the story for another day and suggested they take a look at the room upstairs.

“Are you up for it?” Peter’s worry was echoed in the caring look on his Moster’s face.

“Yeah, I could do with some reminders of my parents’ love for each other and me after wallowing in the evil family skeletons-in-the-closet.”

“All families have those, but I have to admit yours are stranger and scarier than most,” Grethe said with a laugh and a fake shudder. “It’s like being dropped into the middle of a Gothic novel.”

“You always did like those stories, Moster. Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights and tragic love rather than sense.”

She swatted Peter’s butt as he turned to walk up the stairs. “Cut it out, Mr. Romantic; I like Sense and Sensibility and the rest of Jane Austen’s works too.”

“But you wanted Miss Marianne to marry what’s-his-name, didn’t you?” Patrick teased her, using his vague recollection of the movie starring Emma Thompson as the sensible older sister. His mother had loved both the book and the film, and he’d watched it for her sake and held her hand when she cried over the ‘deathbed’ scene.

“Oh, you two are impossible. Go on up, I’ll be with Michael in the living room.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Patrick turned to follow Peter up the stairs and wasn’t the least bit surprised to receive a similar swat before she left the hall, chuckling all the way. The two men grinned at each other as they went upstairs.

Thank you, Kitt, for making time to edit in the midst of all your other tasks.  
If you haven’t seen it yet, you should watch Emma Thompson’s Golden Globe acceptance speech. It’s hilarious, but mostly if you’ve read some of Jane Austen’s books.