Patrick woke early the next morning. He managed to slip out of bed without waking Michael and Peter. Grabbing the clothes he'd made ready the night before, he headed for the bathroom. Even though he'd had a bath last night, he needed to have a longer shower. Preferably with a bit of self-gratification while thinking of his lover. Otherwise Patrick 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, Patrick proceeded to the kitchen and checked the food situation. He made a list and left a note for Peter before leaving for the local supermarket. On the way out he ran into his next door neighbor 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 the past six months.
"Good morning Mr. Archibald, how are you today?"
"Good morning lad. I'm tolerable, thank you." The man had known Patrick 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 neighborly matters. Not that they saw each other much with the late shop hours Patrick kept.
"I was wondering whether you're still thinking about selling your house."
"Yes, but I haven't gotten around to do 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 over on Burkhart Road." Surprisingly Patrick felt a flare of grateful anticipation from his neighbor. "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 favorite roses and plant them in front of my room."
Patrick 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 want 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 actually 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 of buying your house. We can get an estate agent to evaluate the property and I'll ask my parents' old lawyer to do the papers. This way the 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." Patrick 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 neighbor 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 man and the blond little lad I've seen around the past weekend?"
The astonished card maker 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 and his son Michael are over from Denmark, because the boy needs specialist treatment for a heart condition. His 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."
Saying it out loud was almost beyond his ability, but he pushed through the anxiety in his gut. "Peter is my boyfriend. He and Michael are staying with me." He wanted to say Peter was his fiancé but felt it was too soon even if he'd more or less agreed to marry him.
"Good for you, lad. So would the aunt be the 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 Patrick marveled 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 neighbor?" Patrick nodded and introduced her to Mr. Archibald. "I'm glad 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 Patrick's 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'd 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 neighbor. Although technically Grethe 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, Patrick 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 short bread." It was amusing to watch his neighbor hint delicately of the invitation still being in effect, and how Grethe caught on immediately.
"I quite like short bread, 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 Patrick and Grethe 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 neighbor seems to be a nice man, Patrick. Are there anyone else who's around in the daytime?"
"No, the couple next door works all day and they don't have children. They moved in two years ago, but I hardly know them." Patrick didn't mention his vague unease about the woman, 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'd 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 Patrick knew.
They chatted amiably as they filled the cart with breakfast things and other groceries. "I've thought about it, Patrick, and if you're sure, I'd like to stay with you at least for the next couple of weeks. But only if you let me do the cooking most of the time. Plus you must promise to be honest and tell Peter if it's not working." Oh, she was clever, this Moster of his boyfriend. She knew he'd never admit having a problem to her, 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 nearby. We'll need to go over the matter with my lawyer and I've told my neighbor, 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 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." Patrick 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'll be grateful to be able to offer her a place to sleep whenever she wants. Plus I've 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 her own model agency."
The white haired woman smiled fondly and Patrick found himself wishing Alice was like her mother 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 if only just to make their loving mother proud and happy. She deserved it as far as he was concerned.
