The Cardmaker and the Caretaker - 2. Chapter 2 Valentine’s Day Surprise

The tall blond man in front of Patrick didn’t seem to notice the impact he had on the cardmaker. He gestured at the window and his son. “Michael was asking about Valentine's Day. It's not so common in Denmark. I tried to explain, and he wanted me to get a card. He ... he doesn't understand I haven't got anyone to buy it for.”

“Would you like to come inside and see the shop? I can make some tea, and there's orange juice and biscuits.”

Patrick was surprised at himself over the spontaneous offer, but the two Danes didn't seem to find it strange. They followed him into the shop, and while he made more tea, Michael and his dad looked at the displays of art work, mobiles, and cards which decorated the front third of the shop.

When the refreshments were ready, the boy shed his coat, scarf and boots and curled up in one of the seats. He drank some juice and ate one biscuit, as the two men chatted with him and each other, but soon he was nodding and falling asleep. His dad moved him to the sofa and Patrick got a blanket.

“Thank you. Michael tires quickly, and we had already walked quite a bit.” The blue eyes were sad again. “He has a heart problem. That's why we're over here, to see a specialist, who may be able to help.”

He sat down in the chair Michael had vacated and was now next to Patrick.

“It's a school holiday in Denmark right now, so he doesn't miss out on any lessons. Though he was a bit annoyed with spending his holiday having tests and talking to doctors.”

Patrick studied the sleeping boy with sympathy. He looked frail and the white locks of slightly wavy hair together with a pointed chin gave him an almost elfin appearance. “How old is he?”

“Seven.”

At his surprised glance, the blond man smiled.

“Yes, I know. He looks much younger, and that's partly because of his heart condition. But Vibeke, his mother, was tiny too, and Michael looks very much like her, except for his eyes.”

This time the sadness was much more pronounced, the broad shoulders slumped and a small sigh escaped. Without thinking Patrick reached out and put his hand on the tanned arm near him; the past tense didn't escape his notice. No need to ask about the reason why this man had no use for a Valentine card.

A warm hand suddenly covered his, and he looked up to meet intense blue eyes which were clearly grateful, but also contained another emotion that confused him.

“Anyway, we have to be back at the hospital at two and hear the result, so you'll have to excuse me, if I'm a bit distracted. I haven't even told you my name, sorry about that.”

A wry smile appeared and his hand turned Patrick's sideways and gave it a firm squeeze.

“Peter Rasmussen, nice to meet you.” The pronunciation of his first name was slightly different to the English equivalent.

Somehow he managed to reply. “Hi Peter, I’m Patrick Kern, good to meet you too. And you're most welcome to stay here and relax. I can call a cab for you, when you have to leave for the hospital. I'm afraid I don't have a car, so I can't offer to drive you there.”

He returned the handshake and expected him to let go, but the warm hand still held his. It felt good, and maybe Peter needed the comfort of connecting with another person, even if it was a complete stranger. The least he could do was to offer whatever support and sympathy the attractive man would accept.

Wait a minute, where did that thought come from? And why did he get an image of hugging Peter, of holding him tight while the taller man sobbed on Patrick's shoulder, of kissing his cheek and whispering comforting words in the ear hidden below soft golden locks. As both men let go and sat back in their chairs the vision faded, but he felt so flustered, he jumped up and took refuge in the standard British tradition for awkward moments.

“How about another cup of tea?”

Peter nodded, “Oh yes, anything rather than the horrible brown fluid the hotel and the hospital pretend is coffee.” He made a disgusted face, and then smiled. “Actually, tea tastes much better in England than at home, don't know why.”

The two men kept up a casual banter which slid into relaxed chatting until the time approached for Peter and his son to leave. As Patrick got up to phone the cab company, he couldn't help asking, “What are you doing after the meeting at the hospital? Are you going straight back to Denmark?” He had the feeling they were staying for the weekend as well, though nothing specific had been said.

The blond man shook his head, “No, we're going back to the hotel. I'll email and maybe phone a few people, depending on the prospects. Then we'll probably have a meal there before Michael goes to bed. Tomorrow and Sunday we'll try to see some things in London, like the Science Museum and the Natural History Museum.”

Patrick took a deep breath, and before he could chicken out, he made the suggestion.

“Why don't you come back here? You can use my computer and phone, and maybe Michael would like to help me unpack the Easter Bunny and decorate an egg to take home.”

Somehow he knew Peter didn't want his son to overhear those conversations, and he felt certain he could distract the boy.

“We can buy take-away from one of the local restaurants and eat it here or go back to my house.” The blond man's face brightened, and this encouraged Patrick to go on.

“I have Saturday and Sunday off, and if you like I can go with you to the museums. My dad and I used to spend hours there, but I haven't been back for years now.”

It was strange, but the thought of going to places which reminded him of his parents didn't make him cringe. All he could think of was how much he liked spending time with Peter and how he wanted to show Michael all his favourite exhibits, even if he couldn't talk directly to the boy about them.

Peter’s grin was huge and he clapped his shoulder. “That would be absolutely fantastic, man. I’ll let you decide which one to visit first, but remember: Dinosaurs are a must.”

Both men laughed and Patrick phoned for a cab while Peter went over to wake Michael and make him ready for the trip back to the hospital.

The cardmaker knew he was attracted to him, but that wasn't as important as the feeling this man might become his first genuine friend. Someone he could confide in and talk to, and who maybe needed a close friend too. At least that was how Peter came across to his special sense; as someone who welcomed his offer of company and friendship, both the spoken and unspoken.

---

When the two Danes returned to the card shop, all Peter said was, “There's hope.”

Patrick gave him a spontaneous hug, which the other man returned briefly. For the rest of the weekend they didn't discuss the issue of Michael's condition.

In the shop they both turned to focus on the boy who immediately went over to the large box on the other side of the room. He giggled and pointed at the two long ears sticking out of the wrapping, and as Patrick had hoped, unpacking the huge Easter Bunny and all the related decorations captured Michael's attention for the next half hour.

After finishing his phone calls Peter joined them and Michael laughed himself silly at his dad's clumsy efforts at decorating an egg. The boy painted two eggs himself, and both of them admired Patrick's three beautifully executed shells. But the happiest moment was when Michael gifted the two men with his eggs, after a short whispered dialogue with his dad.

“Den er til dig, far.[1] Patrick, dis is for you.”

It was obvious he had asked his dad for instruction, and even if the th sound of this was too difficult for him, the meaning of the repeated sentence was clear.

Both of them thanked Michael profusely, and Patrick immediately set his egg on a small stand on his work table. He gave Peter a similar stand.

“Can you explain I spend most of my time here? I’ll be able to look at his lovely gift every day.”

Michael beamed with pride when his father translated and added, in both languages, that he would display his egg on the desk in his office.

After this Peter suggested Michael take a nap on the sofa, but the boy whined a bit in his reply, “Men hvad så bagefter, far” [2]

Patrick looked at his companion, who explained Michael had asked what the plan was afterwards.

“Why don’t you come home with me? It’s only six stops on the Tube.” He wondered how much persuasion was needed to get his two new friends to visit his house.

Peter hesitated briefly, but Michael asked, and when he understood what was offered, his happy expression sealed the deal. The boy settled for his rest with a contented sigh while Patrick tidied up, and Peter used the computer to send emails.

They bought food on the way and took turns carrying Michael, who was still tired and could only walk for short stretches. Luckily, Holborn Station was only five minutes' stroll from the shop, and at the other end Patrick's comfortable dwelling in the row of terraced houses along the river was only ten minutes away.

After they'd eaten, and Patrick had shown them his house, Michael settled in front of the TV with a Disney movie, which they found on one of the cable channels. When it was over, he soon fell asleep with his head on Peter's leg, and the two men talked for a couple of hours. By then it was almost midnight, and when the blond Viking came back from a short trip to the bathroom, he suddenly looked like he had rowed non-stop across the North Sea.

Patrick felt guilty for keeping him awake, even if the man had given no sign he wanted to leave. He told himself that was the only reason for his offer. “Why don't you stay the night? I have a guest room with a double bed, where you can sleep.”

“If you're sure, man? I have to admit I'm beat, and I don't like to wake Michael up and take him out in the cold, even if we get a cab.”

The relief and gratitude in the exhausted man's voice and eyes made Patrick want to hug him again.

But he distracted himself with getting out clean bed linens and towels and making up the bed. The guest room was chilly, so he put the electric blanket on the bed and switched it on as well as the heater in front of the grate. When he got back to the living room, Peter had taken the boy’s sweatshirt and trousers off and wrapped a blanket around him.

“If you wait five minutes, the bed should be warm. I'm afraid the room is cold, and it will take some hours before the heating has made up for it.”

Peter nodded and followed him to the guest room to be shown how to switch off the heating devices, and where the extra blankets were.

“I’m glad you have duvets,” he said with a tired grin. “I hate beds done with just sheets and blankets, always makes me feel confined and uncomfortable.”

He couldn't help smiling; his parents had felt the same after taking a trip to Scandinavia before he was born. He'd grown up with duvets, the thick warm version for winter and the light one for summer. Just another small instance of similarity making him feel in tune with his Danish visitors. Before he dared go any further down that road, Patrick said good night.

---

The next morning Michael was thrilled with waking up at Patrick's house instead of the hotel. He chatted non-stop while he stuffed his face with scrambled eggs and toast, and Peter was clearly delighted to see his son also drink a whole glass of milk as well as orange juice. Patrick even managed to coax the boy to eat some fruit, which he'd cut into small pieces. Michael watched as he sprinkled the fruit on his yogurt, and even if he was sceptical at first, he ended up enjoying the snack.

While he cleared away the breakfast things, he could hear the two Danes have an intense discussion. Michael was clearly begging and cajoling his dad for something he wanted, and Peter seemed to be gradually losing the fight.

When the handsome Dane left the table, came up to the sink, and started drying the dishes, Patrick couldn't help smiling from the warm feeling inside him. To distract himself from the silly domestic dream which he must not harbour, he casually asked, “What was that about? Michael seemed quite upset.”

His companion sighed, “He wanted me to ask you, if we could stay here rather than at the hotel. I tried to tell him we shouldn't impose on you like that, but in some ways he's very much a spoilt child. He rarely asks for anything, so I hardly ever say no.”

Patrick fought to keep the huge grin down and not give away the excitement he felt. His dream of domestic bliss with these two lovable guys could come true, even if it was all platonic and only for the weekend.

“You're more than welcome to stay here, Peter. Actually, you'd be doing me a favour too. I've felt lonely in this house ever since my parents died, and having someone to visit is wonderful. And if you're here, it'll be easy to take small excursions over the weekend and come back when Michael gets tired.”

He tried to think of more arguments that would sound reasonable and not too needy, but suddenly Peter laughed. Patrick's stomach lurched when his new friend gave him a sideways hug with a strong arm around his shoulders.

“You're an amazing guy, Patrick. I can't believe you're coming up with reasons why you should be grateful to us for invading your home. But I won't deny we'll be happy to accept.”

He squeezed him one more time and strolled over to the door to say something in Danish to Michael. The boy had gone into the living room to watch TV, and from his yell of delight there was no doubt how he felt about the news. The sound of running feet alerted Patrick who managed to turn around just in time.

Michael leapt into his arms and hugged him hard around the neck. He couldn't help grinning like mad and his eyes got damp, as he put his arms around the thin body and looked over the boy's shoulder at Peter. The tall man was smiling back, his blue eyes intense and happy as he leaned against the door frame and spoke to them. He alternated between English and Danish, and both of them agreed to his plan.

Thus Peter went to the hotel to get their stuff and check out, while his son watched cartoons, and Patrick sat in a chair with his laptop, planning their outings and humming happily. That was how the weekend began, and it only got better from there.

It didn't matter Peter was straight; they were compatible in so many other ways. No matter what they spoke of during the long weekend together, they either had similar tastes or were intrigued by the different perspective. Obviously, a lot of their attention was on Michael, and in a way, that was helpful too. It kept Patrick aware Peter was off-limits romantically. Even so, he couldn't help indulging himself in the harmless fantasy of them being a couple out with their young son.

The boy was delightful in his appreciation of everything he saw, and he even started to say a few English terms and phrases. It turned out Michael actually knew many English words, courtesy of various computer games as his father said with a grin. He was just too shy to talk, but when Patrick patiently read out the signs by the exhibits, he would often repeat the words he knew. Peter translated back and forth, and the whole experience was one of the best times in Patrick's life.

He was aware he should be careful about the crush he was developing, but he told himself he could deal with it after the two Danes went home. He would get over the infatuation, and they would be able to be good friends. After all, they wouldn't see each other too often, since they lived in different countries, but they could stay in touch by writing and other means. Peter had already asked for his email address, and they'd exchanged business cards with the necessary information.

“I’ll email you the best of the photos, Peter.”

“That would be great, and don’t forget to include some of you too.”

He had borrowed the camera a few times and taken pictures of Michael and Patrick. The boy mostly didn’t notice, but when he did, he’d make pouty faces, sticking out his tongue and rolling his eyes. Peter laughingly said his son was practising for his teenage years and Patrick sensed the unspoken hope-against-the-odds. A quick squeeze of his new friend’s shoulder brought a grateful nod for his understanding.

Whenever Michael needed a rest, often accomplished with a nap on his father's lap, the two men would talk or just sit quietly on a bench, in the Museum café, or wherever they happened to be. During one of those breaks he found out Peter was an avid Manchester United fan. The big Dane had laughed as he explained the reason.

“I used to be the goalkeeper in school, and Peter Schmeichel[3] was my idol. I was eleven when Denmark won European Cup in 1992 with him in the goal, and I’ve been a Man U fan since I was eight.”

Patrick laughed, “I remember him. He was the crazy goalkeeper who would join the attack on corner kicks if his team was behind.”

“Yeah, that’s right, and he even scored a couple of times. I still think he’s the greatest goal keeper of the century.”

“You have the same first name and you even look a bit like him. But I guess most Danes are blond with blue eyes. The Great Dane, that’s what he was nicknamed, right?”

Peter laughed and told a couple of funny stories of being jokingly compared with his idol during his teen years. They kept talking of football until Michael woke and wanted to see more exhibits.

By Sunday afternoon the cardmaker was totally enamoured by the whole concept of playing happy families, and even if he knew it would end soon, he refused to think about it. After spending several hours at the Science Museum they returned to the card shop, so Patrick could prepare for the week ahead.

While he dismantled the Valentine's Day display, Peter sat on the sofa with Michael on his lap. They were talking in low voices and looking in the catalogue with Valentine card outlines. At some point Michael fell asleep, and his father offered to make tea. The busy cardmaker was grateful for a break, and the two men sat in the two chairs opposite the sofa and looked at the sleeping boy.

Neither of them seemed to know what to say; Patrick dreaded to bring up the topic of the impending departure of the two Danes, and Peter seemed to be struggling with his own inner contemplations. Finally Patrick couldn't stand the silence anymore, and in desperation he went over to his safe and got out the book of finished Valentine cards.

“I saw you looking at the catalogue, so I thought you might find this interesting.”

Perhaps it was a breach of confidence towards his customers, but he told himself Peter would never meet any of them or be able to talk to people in his shop about this.

They looked at some of his favourite examples, including the most recent one of a same-sex couple who'd made Patrick both pleased and envious with their obvious devotion and love. The other reason it was one of his favourites was that both men had commissioned a card from him without knowing they'd had the same idea.

They'd come into his shop on this very day a year ago, two days after Valentine's Day, laughing and exited, with their arms around each other, to tell him they were getting married.

“You're the first to know,” John had explained, giving him a warm hug. “Thank you so much for the wonderful cards you made for us, we'll treasure them forever.”

His lover, tall, dark, quiet Anthony, had looked at the bubbly redhead with amused affection, but his pat on Patrick's shoulder conveyed just as much gratitude. He complimented him for not letting on he'd already been approached by John, probably his profession as a lawyer made Anthony appreciate client confidentiality.

Peter smiled as he was told the story, and he seemed to be very intrigued by the book and the concept of personal cards.

“I tried to explain the idea of Valentine cards to Michael, but I'm not sure I succeeded. Somehow he's convinced if I just buy a card from you, I'll meet the love of my life. If he saw this book, I think he'd be adamant I should ask you to make me a card.”

The blond man obviously tried to make a joke out of the notion, but Patrick could tell there was more to the story. He knew he shouldn't, but his feelings kept tripping him up, and he went along with the idea.

“If I was going to make a card for you, I'd have to know what the love of your life should be like. Tell me what you want. What is your ideal woman?”

He knew he was heading for a broken heart, but he didn't care. It was impossible and utterly crazy, but he had fallen in love with Peter. It was no good trying to deny his feelings, but he wasn't going to stupidly confess his love to the man next to him. He wanted him to be happy, nothing more. He would make a Get Well card for Michael, and if the boy wanted a Valentine card for his dad, Patrick would create one with an unselfish hope of future love for this wonderful man.

He had been lost in his own thoughts, but suddenly realized Peter was looking at him with a strange expression on his face. The blond man shifted his gaze to the notebook in Patrick's lap, the one he used to write down the wishes of his customers and the ideas their conversations sparked. The blue eyes came back up to meet the kind brown eyes, and the cardmaker was caught like a deer in headlights, unable to tear his eyes away.

Peter opened his mouth, hesitated, but then he shrugged and seemed to think 'what the hell'. “The love of my life? What would the love of my life be like, you ask? Well, first of all he would probably be a man; a kind man, with a generous heart, accepting and honest and true to himself.”

The silence following this statement was profound and only broken when Michael sighed and moved a bit under the blanket. Both men looked at him, but the boy was fast asleep and soon stilled. When their eyes met again, the unspoken question was obvious. Peter was first to look away, a slight flush on his cheeks.

“Yes, I have sex with guys and girls, but I don't fall in love with women. Michael's mother was a casual fling, she told me she was on the pill, but that was just one of her lies. In the end she paid the ultimate price, dying from an unstoppable bleeding after giving birth. I was left with a baby to care for when I was only twenty-five years old.”

He took a deep breath, “And no matter what she did, I can't hate her or be angry with her, because she gave me Michael. I love my son more than anything in the world. He is probably my one chance of being a dad, even if it may only last for such a short time.”

The expression on his face was at once proud and bitter.

“As you can probably imagine, I've spent the past seven years working to support us after I finished my degree. And having a sick child in and out of hospitals every five months fucks up your social life, not to mention going out to meet potential boyfriends. But it didn't prevent me from dreaming about falling in love, and thinking about what I wanted.”

Suddenly the intense blue eyes were back on Patrick's face, and the heated gaze made his mouth go dry. A small bubble of hope grew inside him, getting larger at every word from his companion.

“I want a man who is faithful and devoted, the way I intend to be. Someone who needs me, who cares about me and Michael, and who'll let me care for him. A partner I can share my life with, both the joys and burdens, but also the daily stuff like cooking and washing the dishes. A clever, handsome, charming man who laughs at my silly jokes, likes the same things I do, and who tells me interesting facts about people and the world around him.”

Before he could react, Peter was kneeling next to him and had taken hold of his hands. “So tell me, Patrick. If I wanted you to make me a personal card that asked you to be my Valentine, would you take on the job?”

Happy Valentine’s Day !  
This was where the original short story ended. Readers of that version wanted to know more, and I hope you feel the same way.