Page 5 of Reinventing Cato
Except…
That bloody except…
He counted down to midnight. “Happy New Year, Cato,” he said quietly, then turned his phone to silent before anyone called him.
His New Year’s resolution couldn’t be any clearer. He needed to stop being an idiot and reinvent himself.
Chapter Two
At 6 pm sharp, Vigge’s parents stood for the live broadcast of Queen Margrethe’s speech from Fredensborg Castle. A glance from his father and Vigge pushed to his feet as well. Vigge hadn’t been home on New Year’s Eve for eighteen years, though his sister had warned him their Danish father clung to the traditions they’d followed throughout their childhood.
Vigge could still speak and understand Danish, though he rarely had any need to use the language. His mother was Scottish and had met his father while she was teaching English in Denmark. They’d married, moved to Scotland when Vigge was eight, and only Danish had been spoken at home. His father’s attempt to salvage some of his heritage.
Vigge only half-listened to the speech. He was trying to think up safe topics of conversation for the rest of the evening—and struggling.
“Gud bevare Danmark,” the queen said, God preserve Denmark, which was chorused by the three of them.
Then it was time for dinner. Vigge ate what he was given, though it wasn’t food he liked. Boiled cod with mustard sauce, boiledpotatoes, eggs, bacon and beetroot, but he consumed every mouthful and made sure he praised his mother’s cooking. Even so, the meal passed mostly in silence. One glass of wine had been allowed from the bottle Vigge had bought. He’d tried to make it last and failed, then had to ignore the pointed looks when his glass was empty well before the end of the meal.
The only thing Vigge was looking forward to was theKransekage, a wreath-shaped confection made of layers of almond-flavoured rings of cake, decorated with royal icing. His mouth watered as his mother served it up.
“Delicious,” Vigge said.
“Your brother’s favourite.”
Damn.But it was. Anders used to help their mum make it.
His mother pushed to her feet and started to clear the table.
“Maybe I could take a ring or two back with me for the journey?” Vigge asked.
“I’m saving some for Gitte, but…” She gave a small nod as if she was doing him a huge favour when all he’d been trying to do was show some appreciation for her efforts. He helped her stack the dishwasher and when all traces of the meal had been removed, and the bottle of wine recorked and set aside—for nobody to drink—they joined his father in the living room.
“You still watchDinner for One?” Vigge asked.
“Yes,” his parents chorused.
It was an old but hugely popular comedy short, broadcast every year in Denmark, and never missed when Vigge had lived here. His father pressed a few buttons on the remote and the black-and-white film started. Vigge had arranged a subscription to a VPN that unlocked Danish TV channels for them. His sister, Gitte, had suggested it as a present a few years ago. He found it hard to know what to buy them and usually sent a hamper. This year’s still sat in the kitchen, untouched. He’d checked.
His father gave a few chuckles as he watched the butler get more and more tipsy consuming the drinks of imaginary guests. Even his mother laughed when the guy kept tripping over the tiger head rug. Vigge might have been amused as a child, but it did nothing for him now except lighten his heart that his parents could still smile at some things. Just not at him.
Vigge wished he was anywhere but here. Even if he’d drunk the entire bottle of wine, his mood wouldn’t be any better. It was a long way to come to spend a miserable New Year’s Eve. Then again, it wasn’t as if he had anything more exciting planned.
The small Christmas tree in the corner looked a sorry affair, a bedraggled, half-hearted acknowledgement of the season, with more needles on the carpet than on the tree. There had been little Christmas cheer in this house for years. Eighteen years to the day since their world had irreparably fractured.
He leaned back into the couch and made a bet with himself as to whether his mother or his father would fall asleep first.Dad.Vigge couldn’t think of anything worse than spending the next five hours sitting in front of the television on New Year’s Eve with his parents.
Actually, that wasn’t true, there were worse things, but…
He’d done his duty. He’d come up here because his sister had begged him to, laid on the guilt trip so hard that Vigge felt he’d had no choice. Gitte rarely asked him for anything, so even though he’d protested, made excuses, offered to pay for their parents to go to a hotel for a break, he’d known he’d give in eventually. He wished he could make everything right, put smiles back on their faces, but he couldn’t. He was the one who’d set events in motion that evening all those years ago and there was no way back from that.
“Chocolate?” His mother offered him a box of After Eight mints.
“No thanks.” He was trying to figure out how long he needed to wait before he could make an excuse and go to bed. He’d arrived yesterday lunchtime and after he’d done a few jobs—putting up a shelf, chopping wood for the fire, cleaning the car inside and out—the three of them had quickly run out of conversation.
Yes, he was fine.
Yes, his job was fine.
