The Cardmaker and the Caretaker - 9. Chapter 9 Shopping trips

Patrick woke early the next morning. He managed to slip out of bed without waking his companions. Grabbing the clothes he’d made ready the night before, he headed for the bathroom. Even though he’d had a shower last night, he needed to have a longer bath; preferably with a bit of self-gratification while thinking of his lover. Otherwise he knew he’d be popping wood the whole morning, whenever Peter touched him, which would be mortifying when having brunch with Moster Grethe.

Once he’d sorted himself out, he proceeded to the kitchen and checked the food situation. He made a list and left a note for his family – such a lovely word – before leaving for the local supermarket. On the way out he ran into his next door neighbour, who’d been out to get his newspaper. The old man was taciturn but not unfriendly and blessedly uninterested in gossip or sticking his nose in other people’s business. He’d been a widower for almost ten years and Patrick knew his health had deteriorated over the past six months.

“Good morning Mr. Archibald, how are you today?”

“Good morning lad. I’m tolerable, thank you.”

The man had known him since he was born and had kept the habit of calling him lad now and then. He’d been one of the few people who’d understood and respected Patrick’s reluctance to discuss his parents’ death. After the polite but sincere condolences before and after the funeral, the old man had kept the conversation to normal neighbourly matters. Not that they saw each other much with the late shop hours the cardmaker kept.

“I was wondering whether you’re still thinking about selling your house.”

“Yes, but I haven’t gotten around to doing anything about it. My daughter keeps telling me I should do it soon. She knows I can’t manage the garden and the housework anymore, even with help.” The old man sighed, and Patrick knew he was sad about leaving the home he’d shared with his wife for most of their life.

“She’s a good lass, takes after her mother, you know. But she’s right and I need to get off my backside. She wants me to move to the old people’s home on Burkhart Road, closer to where they live.”

Surprisingly, he felt a flare of grateful anticipation from his neighbour. Apparently he didn’t resent the idea and the place his daughter had found.

“I’ve been over to visit and it’s a nice place; quite large rooms and pleasant staff and a huge garden with roses and old trees.” Both of them looked at the profusion of rose bushes in the old man’s front garden, his pride and joy. “They even said I could bring my favourite roses and plant them in front of my room.”

He had never experienced the old man so eager to talk, but he was delighted to hear the next part.

“It’s privately owned and rather expensive, but my daughter says she wants me to spend the money from the house on my own comfort and not on my children. Her husband agrees. Humpf, I may have to revise my opinion of Gerald.” Mr. Archibald chuckled and shook his head over the son-in-law who was slightly pompous but a decent guy from what Patrick had seen.

“Well, in that case you may like my proposal. I’d like to buy your house. We can get an estate agent to evaluate the property, and I’ll ask my parents’ old solicitor to do the papers. This way the sales cost will be low for both of us. You can take your time with moving out and emptying the house over a few months, if you like.”

He knew it would be a huge task to sort out the accumulation of a life time, even though there were two daughters and a son plus assorted family members to help. His neighbour stared at him, astonished and speechless, and Patrick was surprised to see his eyes grow moist. He tried to get past the awkward moment with a joke.

“And I promise to take good care of any rose bushes you leave behind. You can come by and check up on them and scold me if I’m doing anything wrong.”

The old man actually reached out and clasped his shoulder and Patrick sensed his relief and gratitude and something else which was strangely close to parental joy.

“Ach, laddie, t’is almost too good to be true. Would this offer to buy my house, which I’m happy to accept, have anything to do with the handsome gentleman and the little blond lad I’ve seen around the past weekend?”

The astonished cardmaker felt a blush start, but determined to stay true to his old vows of being honest about his true self when Mr. Right came along, he nodded.

“Peter is my boyfriend. He and his son are over from Denmark, because Michael needs specialist treatment for a heart condition. Peter’s aunt arrived yesterday and she’ll be taking care of Michael for the next six months at least. The extra house is mainly for her and any other relatives coming to visit.”

He wanted to say Peter was his fiancé but felt it was too soon even if they’d more or less agreed to marry. The word boyfriend made him feel like a teenager and not a grown man, but he almost liked the giddy moment.

“Good for you, lad. Would the aunt be the bonny lady walking this way?” Mr. Archibald gave his shoulder a small squeeze and let go.

Patrick was astonished at the old man’s casual acceptance of him being gay, but decided not to question his luck. He turned around and sure enough Moster Grethe was approaching. She gave them her easy smile, and once again he marvelled at the way she exuded comfort while still being mischievously bright.

“Good morning, Patrick. I’m pleased to see you’re a lark like me and not a night owl like my nephew. Is this your neighbour?”

He nodded and introduced her to Mr. Archibald.

“I’m delighted to meet you. Please call me Grethe. I expect we’ll be seeing quite a bit of each other once the weather gets warmer.” She glanced at Patrick’s front garden which was a tangle of the rhododendrons his mother had loved; untouched since the day she died. “I can see this garden is in need of attention, unlike yours.”

Mr. Archibald was clearly taken aback by the blunt manner of the Danish visitor, but he quickly warmed to her relaxed and confident attitude. He insisted on being called Arthur in return and invited both of them in for a cup of tea, “if you’ll excuse the mess in my kitchen.”

Patrick declined with his shopping as an excuse, and Moster Grethe decided she’d better help him, as it would be convenient to get to know the local shops.

“Is there anything we can get you, Arthur?” The quick glance at his cane was the only indication she had caught on to the older man not being in prime health. But the question had no trace of pity, only genuine helpfulness to a new neighbour, although technically she was the recent arrival.

The interesting part was Patrick had offered to help a few times, but Mr. Archibald had turned him down, politely but firmly. He’d come across as fiercely independent and proud, and since he’d not been in any real distress, he hadn’t pressed the issue.

He watched the old man hesitate for a moment, but maybe it was harder to say no to a charming lady.

“Well, I could do with some fresh milk for the tea and if there’s any kind of biscuit you prefer? All I have is shortbread.” It was amusing to watch his neighbour hint delicately of the invitation still being in effect, and how she caught on immediately.

“I quite like shortbread, but I’ll take a look at the selection. However, I plan to do some baking with Michael later, if he feels up to it. Maybe we can bring a plate over this afternoon, if you don’t mind trying Danish biscuits, Arthur?”

They parted with a few other polite exchanges, and Mr. Archibald went back inside, while they walked towards the supermarket. Although they’d all been warmly dressed, it was still February and early morning, so it got cold standing around even in the sun. A brisk pace and getting inside the shop solved the problem.

“Your neighbour seems to be a nice man. Is there anyone else who’s around in the daytime?”

“The couple on the other side works all day and they don’t have children. They moved in two years ago, but I hardly know them. I’m not sure about anyone else on our street.”

He didn’t mention his vague unease about the woman next door, whose only attempt at conversation had been to ask which church he went to. When he’d shrugged and made a vague gesture towards the local parish church, not that he ever attended, she had turned her back with a sneer. But nothing else had happened since and she’d certainly not bothered him or anyone else with religious matters as far as he knew.

They chatted amiably as they filled the cart with breakfast things and other groceries, including things Grethe suggested. When they had everything on his list, she brought up the matter of accommodation, since Patrick had once more hinted he expected her to live with them from now on.

“I’ve thought about it, and if you’re sure, I’d like to stay with you for the next couple of months. But, only if you promise to be honest, and tell Peter if it’s not working. And I’ll do the cooking as well as look after Michael.”

Oh, she was clever, this Moster of his partner. She knew he’d never admit to her if there was a problem, but lying to Peter wasn’t possible. Fortunately, he could outwit her.

“As a matter of fact I was talking to Mr. Archibald about buying his house. It’s getting too much for him since his hip went bad, and his daughter has found him a nice place to live nearer their house. We’ll need to go over the matter with my solicitor, and I’ve told my neighbour he can take his time to move out. So it won’t be for another two or three months, but eventually you’ll be able to move in next door.”

Grethe shot him a sharp glance, but she kept her mouth shut while she worked out the implications. “I guess Peter told you about Alice coming to London to work as a model.” He nodded.

“I doubt she’ll want to live with her mum, and if things work out, she’ll be travelling around most of the time. But I’d be grateful to be able to offer her a place to sleep whenever she wants. Plus I have a feeling she’s much closer to one of the photographers than she has admitted. If it works out, they may end up going into business together. I know Alice dreams of running a model agency.”

The white-haired woman smiled fondly, and he found himself wishing the daughter was like her mum in personality as well as looks. If so, she’d do well managing and caring for high strung models and dealing with demanding customers. And he wanted Peter’s cousins to be successful in order to make their loving mother proud and happy. She deserved it as far as he was concerned.

“Anyway, Alice will probably stay in London for a long time, and Kim is stuck in Asia for at least three more years. He might as well visit me here as in Copenhagen. Even when Michael is well again, he’ll be better off having a surrogate grandmother close by. Marianne can’t move over here, but she’ll visit, of course. Staying next door with me will be the perfect solution. Nobody wants their mother-in-law in the house for two or three weeks – hell, few men can tolerate their own mum for that long.”

Moster Grethe laughed heartily and Patrick joined in. He liked this candid woman whose spoken words were in synch with the things his other senses told him. She had no hidden agenda or sly purposes, nor did she seem to suspect other people of duplicity or meanness. Peter’s aunt wasn’t naïve and her mind was sharp as a razor, but she had an air of acceptance and trust which resonated deeply within him.

“All in all, I think your idea to buy the house next door is great, and I’ll be happy to contribute in any way I can, including convincing my stubborn nephew to go along with your plan.” The wink accompanying the words made a laugh bubble up inside him.

Right there, standing in the line waiting for their turn to pay, he gave in to his silly cravings and hugged her. She didn’t hesitate but hugged him back. Apart from Fiona’s quick hug at the funeral it was the first time since his mother died he had been embraced by a woman. And the warm motherly feelings flowing from Peter’s aunt filled up another gaping pit in his soul.

“You’re a most remarkable young man, Patrick. I’m so glad Peter met you. He deserves some love and happiness in his life.”

They let go of each other and returned to the mundane matters of bagging their purchases and lugging them home. They were chatting merrily when they came into the house, only to be met in the kitchen by two sets of accusing blue eyes and slightly sulking faces.

“Papa, hvor var du? Moster Grethe, hvad lavede I?”[1] At once she went over and picked the boy up, hugging him and whispering in his ear. He giggled and let her carry him into the guestroom still wrapped in the blanket, presumably to get him dressed.

Patrick began sorting out the groceries, leaving the breakfast stuff out and putting the rest away. Peter got up to help and neither of them spoke for a while. Once they were done and he got out a bowl to whisk eggs, his boyfriend caught him against the kitchen counter.

“I tried to tell Michael you’d gone shopping for breakfast stuff. But he was pretty annoyed you weren’t there when he woke.”

“Looks like he wasn’t the only one.”

He thought Peter looked cute when he pouted. At the back of his mind he noted the lack of worry over his partner being upset with him. No annoying imp giving him hell or eager angel telling him to trust his heart. Somehow the emotional declarations of love and devotion last night had erased the last doubts he had about their relationship. He’d confessed to him about being rich, and Peter had told him he valued having his love more than anything. Even without his special gift he would have known it was true.

Moster Grethe had confirmed the genuine lack of interest in his fortune this morning. She’d hardly batted an eyelid when he mentioned buying Mr. Archibald’s house. Her focus was on Peter and Michael finding someone who loved them and cared about them. She’d obviously been concerned about Patrick as a person, and once she’d decided he was OK, and the sudden love between him and her nephew was real, all other problems seemed a matter of finding the right solution.

From this position of being sure of their mutual love and secure in his future with Peter, the cardmaker could deal with anything else. Including a boyfriend who pretended to sulk.

“Well, I prefer waking up and seeing you in bed next to me like yesterday.” Peter whined. “And you’d gone out, so I couldn’t even get a good morning kiss and cuddle. Oh, and my Moster probably likes you better than me now, since you’re all chatty early in the morning. Plus you didn’t give me a hug and a kiss when you came home.”

During his little tirade he had managed to manoeuvre Patrick into the corner by the sink. He’d put on jeans and socks, but the upper part of his hot body was only clad in the tight T-shirt of last night. It outlined his muscular torso in the most awesome sexy way, and the cardmaker wanted to fondle the firm pecs and kiss and lick the nipples which had enticed him the other night. The way his lover had almost stalked him also turned him on. By the time Peter pulled him in for a kiss, he was already half hard and slightly breathless.

They started out with lips touching and moving gently, but within moments Peter’s tongue was begging for entry and he let him deepen the kiss, turning it possessive and demanding. One hand was buried in Patrick’s hair and the other pressed against the small of his back, making small moves towards his ass but retreating just before coming in contact with the swell of his butt. As distracting as this was, he still noticed the hard pressure against his stomach and he moaned when subtle hip movements caused his own erect member to rub against the warm body trapping him in the corner.

“Yrk altså, nu kysser de IGEN. De må da snart blive trætte af det.”[2]

Michael’s voice conveyed his exasperation even if Patrick couldn’t understand the words. He blushed and tried to push Peter away but the blond Viking refused to budge. He smiled at his lover, while Moster Grethe replied to his son and from the sounds of saucepans and cutlery started to prepare breakfast.

“He thinks we should be bored with kissing by now. She’s trying to explain how you never get tired of kissing and hugging people you love. I’ll be kissing you forever, and not just your lips.”

He knew he had to change the subject fast, or else risk a wet spot appearing on the front of his pants. The thought of those sexy lips and tongue exploring other parts of his body was causing delicious shivers in various places. He wanted to drag his boyfriend upstairs and get naked and … Shit, not a good train of thought to pursue.

“Let’s get on with the plans for today. You have a meeting at the hospital at two o’clock, don’t you?”

“Yes, they want to set up a schedule for Michael’s treatment at once, and we need to sort out the paperwork. I have to find out if us moving here permanently makes a difference.”

“Why would it?” He was puzzled how this could be an issue.

“Coming over here was a bit of a long shot. The specialist at Rigshospitalet[3] suggested we try, but told me not to get too hopeful. If they agreed to take Michael, she promised to argue for remuneration by the Danish health care system. They’re normally pretty good at paying for treatment abroad if all options at home are exhausted, and the doctors recommend the case. However, if we immigrate to Britain, we may not be entitled to national health care. I’ll have to contact the authorities in Denmark when I get back and see what they say.”

As Peter spoke, the familiar niggling doubts and worries began churning around in Patrick’s head and guts. But his partner caught on to him at once, maybe because he felt his body tense or read the anxious brown eyes.

“We’ll work it out; please don’t worry before I’ve talked to the doctors. We’ll still live here, but I may have to keep an official address in Copenhagen and go back to stay for a week once in a while.”

“Did you forget our talk last night? Money really isn’t an issue, I’d spend every last penny to ensure Michael’s health and to have you in our bed every night.” He whispered the last part in Peter’s ear. This got him another heated kiss until giggles from the other two people in the kitchen drove them apart.

“Far og papa kysser. Far og papa kysser. Far og Patrick er kærester.”[4] The teasing chanting had Peter roll his eyes with a tolerant smile, as he whispered his son was having a go at them kissing and being sweethearts.

They went over to the kitchen table which was now set up for a nice brunch. Grethe was at the stove making scrambled eggs and bacon and Michael was laying the table and putting out butter, jam, juice and other breakfast items. The two men busied themselves with making toast and cutting up fruit and soon all four of them enjoyed a leisurely meal. As the tasty food filled his stomach the presence of a caring family once more spread its balm over Patrick’s heart and soul.