Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“It’s honestly way harder than I thought it’d be. I mean, I knew it wasn't gonna be easy or anything, but…дерьмо.”

“Yeah.”

“But at the same time…it feels right. It feels like a calling. I just hope I’m doing enough.”

“You are, I know you are. I’m proud of you.”

A few months ago, we found out that our uncle had died, leaving his twelve year old daughter orphaned. I didn't even know I had an uncle, my family ties have always been…patchy at best. My sister Alyona jumped at the chance to adopt our cousin, which kind of surprised me, but maybe that’s because I don’t know her that well, due to her running away when we were kids.

That’s a story for another day.

“She’s still dealing with a lot of nightmares,” Alyona goes on. “But she’s making so much progress. Those little trips out to the shops and the park and stuff have really helped her gradually get over her agoraphobia.”

“That’s amazing.”

I’ve only met my cousin, now niece, once. Her name is Armie Buff and she’s way less shy than I thought she’d be. She’s weirdly obsessed with the military for some reason, and refers to me as ‘Colonel Uncle’ which I think means she respects me. I don’t know, Alyona seemed happy to hear her say that to me.

“How’s Papa?” I ask.

I hear her suck in air through her teeth.

“Worse, huh?”

“Well…not better. He’s still talking, at least. But he can’t do much else.”

“Okay.”

Our father is terminally ill. That’s also a story for another day.

“I’ll visit…when I can.”

“I know you will, Mitri. Love you lots.”

“You too.”

She hangs up the phone before I do. I put it down gently, as if she were still inside the phone somehow.

“How’s your sister?” my beautiful, amazing boyfriend Desmond asks.

“Busy, from the sounds of it. But…good.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Me too. I wish I could do more, but…”

“You’re doing the best you can,” Desmond reassures me.

“I know, but-”

I’m interrupted by a rather frantic knocking on the door. Desmond and I both look towards the door.

“We do have a doorbell,” Desmond comments.

He calls his butler, Raymond, to answer the door.

Through the front door, runs a familiar face. And my stomach immediately drops. But not from fear, more…disdain.

“DIMITRI!”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I found him.”

“What?”

“I found Theodore.”

Luke Atmey is a distant cousin of mine. Distant both on the family tree and also geographically. He lives in Los Angeles and I live in London. So what he’s doing in my house, I have no idea.

“Who…is this?” Desmond asks.

“This is my cousin Luke,” I say with a sigh. “From the funeral.”

“Ah you must be the modish man of the manor,” Luke says. “The name’s Luke Atmey, Ace Detective, charmed to meet you.”

“And…you.”

Desmond seems as taken aback as I am, which makes me feel a lot better.

“Would you like…tea, Mr Atmey?”

“Yes! Tea for three!”

“There are indeed three of us,” I say, stupidly.

“Oh. No, no, I meant an additional three! Myself and my dear sister and niece.”

“Wh-what?”

“And do call me Luke. I despise being called by my last name.”

“Your…sister and niece are here?”

“They’re parking the car. We can’t have a family trip without all of the family!”

“Family…what?”

“To meet Theodore! Do keep up! Now, where’s that tea?”

He marches off in search of tea, and I’m standing there, flabbergasted.

“Well that was interesting,” Desmond says.

“I’m…sorry, I have no idea what that was.”

“Who is Theodore?”

“Love, I don’t have a bloody clue.”

“Well, I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”

Raymond lays the table for six as Luke’s sister and niece appear. I recognise them from the funeral. Rita looks as tired as she did the last time I saw her. Maybe that’s her default state. Gremmy, on the other hand, marvells over Desmond’s house.

“Ooh, you have chandeliers, like Grandma,” Gremmy says.

“It came with the house,” Desmond says, casually.

Aurora appears, presumably having heard the commotion from her room, and excitedly hugs all of the guests one by one. They each have varying reactions to this.

“So, Luke, what is this all about?” I ask, once we’re all sat at the table.

“Recently, I received a letter,” he says. “But it wasn't addressed to me.”

“Then you shouldn't have read it.”

“It was addressed to Mom,” Rita says.

“Ah.”

“It was from her nephew,” Luke goes on. “Our cousin, Theodore Tusspells. After all of this searching, he just falls into our lap!”

“He wrote to you?” I say. “What does he want?”

“He wants money,” Rita says.

“Oh, so it’s a scam.”

“I thought so too, but Luke did his research and apparently it’s legit. His business is failing and so he reached out to all of his rich aunts and uncles. But I guess no one else got back to him.”

“You’ve never met this man and he’s asking you for money?”

“Grandma used to throw her money around a lot,” Gremmy says. “One time Cally complimented her coat and she bought one for her. It was like $500.”

“Wow.”

“So are you going to give Theodore the money that he wants?” Desmond asks.

“No, I can’t afford that. But we are going to meet him!”

“You can’t afford to help him with his business, but you can afford flights here from America?”

“Won’t he be kind of insulted if you show up without the one thing he asked for just to let him know that…what…you’re not giving him any money?” I ask.

“Nonsense, he’s family! I think he’ll be delighted to find out he has five cousins that he didn't previously know about.”

Maybe not when he finds out that one of them is Luke, I think to myself.

“So where is he?” Desmond asks.

“France.”

“France?”

“Oui.”

“Luke, don’t do that.”

“My sources weren’t sound, I surmised he subsisted in London, but sequentially he lives in Strasbourg where he superintends the ‘Tusspells Musée des figurines de cire.’ Or in English, the Tusspells Museum of Waxworks. And that’s where we’re going to meet him!”

I feel Desmond cringe at Luke's terrible French pronunciation.

“And he knows we’re coming…?” I say.

“Nope! It’s gonna be a surprise!”

“Oh he’ll love that,” I declare, sarcastically.

“I thought so too!” Luke responds, not getting my sarcasm.

“I love France,” Desmond says. “Haven’t been in years.”

“Dad, where is France?” Aurora asks.

“It’s on the other side of the English Channel.”

“Channel like on TV?”

“No, it’s a body of water. Like a really big lake or river.”

“I can’t swim that well.”

“No, no, we’ll fly there,” Luke says.

“We’re going to fly to France?” I say. “Just like that?”

“Why not?”

“I…don’t speak French,” I say.

“Me neither,” Luke and Rita say at the same time.

“I’m fluent,” Desmond says. “Learned when I was younger.”

“Perfect!” Luke declares. “Welcome along!”

“Are we going to France, Dad?” Aurora asks.

“Apparently so.”

I shoot Desmond a look of betrayal, hoping he’d have some sense as to realise why I don’t want to go on this trip, but he’s lost in daydreams about France. I sink in my seat as Luke and Desmond start talking dates and hotels and Aurora asks a barrage of questions. Gremmy’s glued to her phone and Rita seems zoned out. I’m about to give up hope, when I hear another voice.

“Master?”

Desmond turns in his seat. “Raymond, is everything alright?”

“Forgive me, I couldnae help but overhear your plans. You do remember that I have this Sunday off, don’t you? I cannae miss my daughter’s dance recital.”

“Oh that’s right.” He looks back at the schedule they’d mocked up in pen and paper. “Tell you what, do you want to take the whole week off? Paid, of course. That would be easier than bringing you with me and then having to send you back after a day.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, you’ve always served me well, you’ve more than earned some time off.”

“Wow, you're going butler-less for the week,” Rita says. “Will you survive?”

He chuckles. “I’ll be fine.”

So plans get made. Before I have a chance to think of some excuse not to go. Luke and Desmond keep competing over who’s going to pay for what, but I think they’re both just flexing their wealth. At least I won’t have to pay for my portion of this trip that I don’t want to go on.

Eventually, the conversation that I wasn't listening to draws to a close. Aurora gets bored and wanders back to her room to pack. I wish I was brave or socially inept enough to do that. 

“Where are you staying tonight?” Desmond asks.

“We’re just gonna look for a motel or a b&b for the night,” Rita replies.

“Nonsense, stay the night here.”

I shoot Desmond another look, but he doesn’t notice.

“Oh goodness, are you sure?” Luke literally puts his palm against his chest like he’s an old woman. “That’s so generous of you.”

“Of course! I have over six bedrooms, so take your pick! Get settled in and Raymond will make everyone some dinner in about an hour.”

I wait until they all go upstairs and then I just glare at Desmond.

“What?”

“What do you think?” I explode. “Why would you possibly think I want to go to France?”

“You…don’t want to go to France? Why didn't you say anything?”

“I didn't think I had to tell you that I don’t want to see my stupid cousin ever again.”

“So it’s not really about France? It’s about Luke?”

“It’s about making plans without asking me first.”

“Oh.” He looks crestfallen. “I’m sorry, I…I got caught up in all of the holiday plans. I suppose I could just take Aurora.”

“You really want to go to France with my annoying cousin?”

“To be honest, I was just going to use this as my own trip. I’ll see the waxwork museum, that sounds interesting, but I’m mostly just going to sightsee and try out some of the pubs I haven't tried. I’m overdue for a holiday anyway. We can always split off from Luke and his family and do our own thing in France.”

“I…” It’s hard to stay mad when I think about it like that. “That does sound nice.”

“If you really don’t want to come, you don’t have to.”

“Well…I don’t want you to go without me.”

“Well you can’t stop me from going.”

“No, I didn't mean… Okay fine. I’ll go.”

“I won’t let him steamroll you into anything, I promise.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

Desmond (or rather Raymond) knocks up a meal of vegetable bourguignon. Whatever the hell that is. I think he’s still trying to flaunt his wealth. I just pick at the meal and take an early night.

“Make sure you're up and packed early tomorrow morning!!” Luke shouts up the stairs after me.

I don’t reply.

Chapter Text

Luke is so impressed by the station, anyone would think that was our final destination. He reminds me of Aurora, in a way, amazed by things he’s never encountered. I hate that I have that thought. I don’t want my daughter growing up to be that annoying.

I quickly tap our destination into the ticket machine and it spits out seven orange tickets. I hand them all out and throw the last one away, as it’s just a receipt.

“Don’t lose these,” I say, sternly.

“Sure.”

“Okay.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Of course.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

I look up at the departures board. It’s intimidating to anyone who doesn’t know how trains work, but I quickly find the 9:24 Southern service to Eastbourne. The platform is still pending.

“We’ve got to wait a minute,” I say.

“Can we get something to eat?” Gremmy whines. “I’m hungry.”

“Me too, me too,” Aurora whines.

“Fine, but be back here before 9:24,” I say.

They leave me with the bags and wander off to separate shops and kiosks. I sigh. I hate train stations. I know autistic people are supposed to love trains, but I can’t stand the noise, and the fact that they’re always delayed or cancelled. It’s not as crowded here as it usually is, as we’ve just missed rush hour, but it’s still too full for my liking. Little kids are running around, people are sleeping rough, families are pulling suitcases, looking around confused. I watch a teenager drop his rubbish on the floor and several pigeons swoop in to peck at it. I look back at the departure board. Still no platform.

“Love, I bought you a coffee,” Desmond says, handing me a cup. “I know how you like it.”

I feel my frustration lessen just a tiny bit.

“Thank you.”

“The price on the sign is the same price you pay at the checkout!” The piercing voice of Luke ruins my good mood. “Isn’t that just fantastic?”

“Is that cos Brits don’t pay taxes?” Gremmy jokes.

“What are taxes?” Aurora asks.

“We’re not getting into that today,” I say, my tone a little sterner than I meant it to be.

I look back at the board, and it finally displays the platform number. I hurry off, not caring to check if everyone is following me.

After another nightmare with the ticket barrier, we finally get on the train. Once we’re seated, Luke pulls out a massive scroll, leading me to wonder where exactly he was keeping it this whole time, and lays it out on the table. Gremmy makes an annoyed noise as the paper forces her elbows off the table, but Luke ignores this.

“What…is that?” I ask.

“This is our family,” Luke says, proudly. “Well…what I’ve obtained so far. This is me, and that’s you.”

He points to his own name, then mine. I peer at his extravagant swoopy curly letters spelling out my name ‘Dimitri Allen’. I’m alone on the tree underneath ‘Mr Allen’ and ‘Mrs Allen’.

“It all starts right here.”

He stabs at the paper with his finger. I look where he’s indicating and it’s the name ‘Enoch Drebber’.

“Right,” I say. “My great grandfather.”

“ Our great grandfather.”

“Mm.”

“Enoch Drebber was a grave robber, an inventor and a GENIUS!”

“You don’t have to shout.”

“You’re related to a grave robber, Dimitri?” Desmond says.

“Apparently so.”

“Enoch had two children,” Luke goes on. “My grandfather and your grandmother.”

“Mm hm.”

“Grandpa Frank had five children. One was my mother, Star. And another one was Willow Tusspells. And she gave birth to Theodore Tusspells.”

“And that’s who we’re going to see?”

“Precisely.” He sits back in his chair, proudly.

I look back at the tree. There are a lot of gaps. A lot of people are written down as someone’s parent or someone’s sibling without actually having a name of their own. Some names were scribbled out or had question marks. Luke’s immediate family was neat and clear, of course.

“Ah, now would be a good time for you to help me fill in some details,” Luke says to me, clicking his pen.

“Must I?”

“You must. We’re family.”

I sigh. “My father’s name is Sergei. My sister’s is Alyona. Need anything else?”

He scribbles this down. He spells Alyona’s name wrong and I have to correct him.

“And your mother’s name?”

“I can’t remember.”

He looks at me funny. “You really expect me to believe that?”

“Luke, leave him alone,” Rita says. “Maybe he doesn’t have a mom.”

“Forgive me, has your mother…passed on?” he asks.

I can’t help a scoff escaping my throat. “I wish.”

“I see.”

For a moment, his reaction confuses me. But then I remember Luke’s relationship with his father is…less than stellar. He seems to back off after that, which is nice. I lean back and watch the world whirl by outside the window. Why did I agree to this? What good is meeting Theodore going to do me? What if he’s just like Luke? What if he’s worse?

I try to think about all of the other things we could do in France. What do I really want to do? I like museums and art galleries, there’s bound to be a few of them. Picking a restaurant isn’t going to be easy, though. I hate being such a picky eater, everyone thinks I do it on purpose, but I didn't choose to be this way.

Finally, after what feels like hours (but was actually about 30 minutes) we arrive at the station. I have to help Luke with his bag because he becomes a helpless damsel the minute any kind of time restraint is put on him. And as the train pulls away, so does my usefulness, as I realise I have no idea where I’m going from here.

Thankfully, Desmond does.

“This way,” he says, heading for the escalator. “Make sure to keep to the right.”

“Why do we have to keep-” Gremmy’s question is answered for her, as a man in a business suit rushes past her on the escalator, pushing her to the right. “Oh, okay.”

Once we get to the airport, I sort of switch off and just follow the crowd. Desmond checks our bags in (thankfully Luke’s is just barely an acceptable weight) and leads us to security.

“Make sure you don’t have any liquids or sharp objects,” he tells all of us.

“We know, we did get a plane here in the first place,” Rita declares.

They make it through security no problem. I check and recheck and recheck my bag out of pure anxiety, then worry that my anxiety will make me look suspicious, but I make it through fine as well. But Aurora’s the last to go through the metal detector, and it beeps.

“Oh no, what’s happening?” she says.

“Step aside please,” the security man says.

He’s big and bald and looks like he means business.

“Do you have any metal on you?” he asks. “Buttons? Buckles? Anything like that?”

“Um…I don’t think so.”

“She has metal implants in her spine,” Desmond says.

“Oh right,” the security man replies. “You’re her dad?”

“Yes.”

“I’m just gonna pat her down.”

I watch nervously, but he very gently taps her arms, stomach and legs with the backs of his hands. Aurora giggles.

“That tickles!” she declares.

“Okay, you're good to go.”

I let out a small breath of relief, and I think Desmond does the same. As we’re leaving, he leans over to me and mumbles: “I mean, it technically wasn't a lie.”

We find out what gate we need and sit and wait. And wait. And wait.

“I spy with my little eye, something beginning with s,” Gremmy says.

“Is it…superbly stylish scarf?” Luke asks.

“Nope.”

“Is it spider?” Aurora says.

“Is there a spider in here?” Luke asks.

“There probably is somewhere,” Aurora responds.

“Well it can’t be sword,” Desmond says. “That’d never make it through security.”

“You’re obsessed with swords,” I mumble.

“Is it suitcase?” Rita asks.

“Yeah.”

“That was so obvious, how did none of you get that?” I ask.

“Well you didn't say it,” Rita says. “Snooze you lose.”

Finally, after a gruelling hour, we’re let on the plane.

“This doesn’t look anything like Dad’s airship!” Aurora declares loudly, causing a few people to stare.

“Your dad has an airship?” Rita asks.

Desmond looks proud. “She’s a German made semi buoyant hybrid circa…1980s? Had her for a long time.”

“Why aren't we using it now?”

His pride turns to sheepishness. “It…needs repairs…again…”

I roll my eyes, wondering what kind of mess he got into that Raymond is going to have to fix now.

I take my seat - a window seat - and try to hunch my legs into a semi comfortable position. Which is not easy for a man of all of 214.7cm tall. Aurora is sitting next to me and I mumble an apology for spilling into her legroom.

“It’s okay, Father, I’m only small, so I’m happy to share my legroom.”

I swear this child makes my heart melt sometimes.

We take off into the sky and as I watch the world below me get smaller and smaller until it disappears under the clouds, I think to myself: there’s no going back now.

Chapter Text

The plane lands in Basel, and I’m about ready to fall fast asleep, but we still have one more train to Strasbourg. The ticket machines are a little harder to use, as their English translations aren't perfect, but before we know it, we’re finally in Strasbourg, standing outside ‘ L'Hôtel Douillet. ’

“That’s really what they named the place?” Desmond says.

“What’s wrong with ‘le hotel de…uhh…” Luke’s face screws up as he desperately tries to pronounce the name on the building. “…doo-ill-ett?”

“Unc, just leave the French to ole Bread Head, will you?” Gremmy says.

“It’s a very uncreative name if you speak the language,” Desmond says, ignoring the stupid nickname she gave him. “Trust me.”

“Looks decent enough,” Rita says, as we head up to our rooms.

Maybe she’s been desensitised, since her mother lived in a mansion. I probably am too, as I look around wondering what makes this place so much better than Desmond’s house.

“Fuck,” Rita declares.

“What’s wrong, darling sister of mine?” Luke asks.

“They gave us a double bed. AGAIN.”

He sighs. “Why do people always think we’re a couple?”

“I think Dimitri and I have twin beds, we can trade,” Desmond says. “It’s less work than asking them to fix it.”

“Works for me.”

“Does that mean Aurora and I are sharing?” Gremmy says.

“Yay! Sleepover!!” Aurora jumps up and down in excitement.

“Make sure you go to bed at a reasonable time,” Desmond says.

They both groan.

It’s been a while since I’ve been in a hotel room. They’re always a bit soulless. But they’re clean, at least. I dump my suitcase on the carpet, then sit on the edge of the bed, before leaning over and letting my face smush into the cold, fresh sheets. Desmond chuckles and strokes my hair.

“Well done on not complaining too much,” he says.

“I never said I wouldn’t complain.”

“You didn't.” He plants a kiss on my forehead. “At least we made it. And whatever happens tomorrow, if you want to leave and do your own thing at any point, you can. I’ll watch Aurora.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Desmond turns the TV on, just to cut through the unnerving silence that always comes with a hotel room, but all of the channels are in French. He chuckles at a joke, before turning it off, since I can’t understand it.

“What time is it?” I ask.

“Just gone eight.”

“It feels later.”

“You’re probably tired from the journey.”

“You don’t say.”

“Raymond would usually have dinner ready by now.”

I finally sit up. “Des…”

“What?”

“I thought Rita was joking when she asked if you could survive without a butler.”

“Ha,” he scoffs. “It’s not that , I just miss him, that’s all. I’m used to him always being around. Even when things were…at their worst, he was always there.”

I wasn't expected to be confronted with that today. Maybe the tiredness of the journey is making him all sad and reminiscent or something.

I stroke his back. “You’ll see him soon.”

He nods. “I hope Aurora’s alright,” he says, abruptly changing the topic, as if trying to cover that open wound.

“Hey, Des? You know how Luke and Rita come from money? Do you think Theodore does too?”

“Well he’s asking for money.”

“I know. I know he’s not rich now, but…do you think he was raised rich?”

“Possibly. He’s Star’s sister’s son. So it depends if Star got her wealth from her parents or if she’s self made.”

“I think it was a bit of both. She talked about growing up with butlers and maids, but she also talked a lot about her successes.”

“Oh that’s right, she wrote to you.”

“Mm hm. That’s how I found out that I’m a Drebber.” I pause. “I just… Meeting Luke was enough of a shock. I don’t know if I want to know all of my distant cousins. What if they’re wankers or something.”

Desmond chuckles in surprise. “That’s a bit harsh for someone you haven't met yet.”

“That’s my point! I have no idea what this guy is gonna be like.”

“Well there’s only one way to find out.”

I feel like I should care more about this Drebber family of mine. Why can’t I make myself care?

Maybe because I know that someone being family doesn’t always make them a good person. Maybe because I feel like I don’t owe Luke or this ‘Theodore’ anything.

“We can worry about that tomorrow,” Desmond says, as if he can practically hear my internal struggles. “We should get some dinner.”

When we knock on the kids’ door, there’s no answer, but we hear thumping and raised voices and laughter. The door is on the latch, so Desmond lets himself in.

Aurora is down on the carpet, while Gremmy is whaling on her with a pillow. 

“ Don’t. Touch. My Damn. Stuff !” she declares.

Aurora’s laughing her ass off, but manages to get a few apologies out between her laughs.

“What is going on here?” Desmond demands.

Gremmy stops beating her with the pillow for a moment, and Aurora takes this moment to scramble out of her reach and run behind Desmond.

“Aurora ate my fucking toothbrush,” Gremmy declares.

“I’m sorry! I thought it looked tasty! I couldn't resist!”

“It’s MY toothbrush! How am I supposed to brush my teeth now?”

“Gremmy, I’ll get you another toothbrush, alright?” Desmond says. “Please calm down.”

“Teach your kid not to eat other people’s stuff!”

“Believe me, I’ve been trying for a long time. Aurora, apologise to Gremmy properly. And don’t go in her suitcase unless she asks you to.”

Aurora composes herself and manages to stop laughing as she comes out from behind her dad. 

“I’m sorry for eating your toothbrush and all of the soaps.”

“It’s fine as long as you don’t- You ate the soaps?!”

Gremmy runs into the bathroom, and then loudly complains when she realises that the soaps are in fact all gone.

Desmond asks me if I’ll handle dinner while he sorts out this situation, and I’m glad to get away from all of the screaming, so I go to Luke and Rita’s room. It’s a little further down the hall, but luckily I remember which number it is. I knock.

“Come in.”

“I was wondering if- oh, sorry.”

I immediately switch to a hushed voice when I spot Luke crashed out on his bed. He’s not even under the duvet, he’s sprawled out, fully clothed, across one of the single beds. The other one has Rita sitting on the end of it, quietly reading.

“It’s okay, he wouldn’t wake up if a bomb hit this hotel,” she says in a normal volume. “He did that pretty much as soon as we got in. Not used to travelling.”

“I see. I just wanted to know if you wanted to get food? Desmond is…dealing with something.”

“I heard that from down the hall. Grem Grem can handle herself, I’m sure.”

“She sure can.”

“Yeah, I’ll come with. I’ll leave a note for ole Sleeping Ugly over there.”

She uses the hotel’s pen and notepad and writes ‘ gone out to get dinner. dw i’ll get you some. back soon. love you. R ’.

**

“Do you do gluten free?”

“Yeah, we do.”

“And is it in a separate fryer with separate utensils and everything?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Are you sure? Cos if my brother gets sick, we’re gonna have a problem.”

“Look, lady, I got it. Are you gonna order or what?”

“We’re going somewhere else.”

She storms out.

“What was that?” I ask.

“That guy doesn’t give a shit about allergies, I’m not trusting him with Luke’s food.”

“I didn't know you cared that much. About Luke, I mean.”

She looks at me. “Are you kidding? Yeah, he’s an annoying little shit, but he’s my brother. I’m not gonna let some asshole poison him.”

I say nothing. She starts typing on her phone, probably searching for a restaurant that caters to allergies. It’s almost nine o clock, so I’m not confident that anywhere will be open.

“Hey, so question for you,” she says.

“What is it?”

“Why do you look half dead?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

I don’t know how to respond to that. Especially coming from someone who looks like her.

“Well why do you ?” I return.

“Drugs.”

“Oh.”

At least she’s honest.

“No, but seriously,” she says. “You’re even more out of it than you were at the funeral.”

“I just…was hoping Godot would come on this trip with us. That’s all.”

When Luke and Desmond were making plans, I asked about Godot (as subtly as I could), but was told he couldn't get the time off work. I didn't hide my disappointment well.

“You know Robo-Boy?”

“Yeah, he’s my…penpal.”

“Oh my God, you're the other guy.”

“How do you know about that?”

“Word travels fast, what can I say?”

“Right.”

“Is it awkward? Dating the guy your cousin is also dating?”

“Well I didn't know that at the time!” I sigh. “I don’t love it, but it’s worth it for him. Luke’s more upset about it than I am, but he can…y’know…”

“Die mad,” we both say simultaneously.

We share a look. One of surprise and mutual respect.

“So why did you come on this trip?” I ask.

“Why not? Grem Grem leapt at the chance. And I didn't wanna be left out. Cally would’ve come too, but she couldn't get the time off work. You know what care homes are like.”

I don’t, but I can imagine.

“So do you…care about any of this ‘Drebber’ stuff?” I ask.

“Well it makes for a killer story at rehab.”

I’m not sure what to say to that, so I say nothing.

“But in all seriousness. It does interest me. Not as much as Luke, but I don’t think anyone cares about it as much as Luke does. It’s good to know I’m not the only hot mess in this family. But I already knew that. My brother’s one.”

I scoff. “I thought you were talking about me.”

“Not everything’s about you. But yeah. You too.”

“What about your dad? Why didn't he come?”

“It’d be kinda difficult, given he died over forty years ago.”

“What? But I…saw him at the funeral.”

“Oh, you mean Luke’s dad. He’s not invited. He sucks.”

“What did he do? Other than hit on me and then call me a communist.”

She just makes a disgusted face. “You don’t wanna know. Too much to count. But as far as Luke’s concerned, if you're a bad enough person, you ‘don’t count’ as a real Drebber, even if you are family. That’s why Mom’s last husband wasn't one.”

“So Luke doesn’t hate me, huh?”

“He probably respects you cos Mom liked you enough to write letters to you. But it’s not hard to be better than Mom’s last husband, trust me. He's about as pleasant as a hemorrhoid when you have a fourteen hour drive the next day.”

“I…see.”

Eventually, we find a pizza place that seems to know how to do gluten free properly. With the help of a translator, I order a pizza with vegan cheese, black olives and artichokes. I see the guy behind the counter cringe at my pronunciation, but at least I get the right order.

When we get back, Luke is still dead asleep and Desmond is watching some kind of French soap opera, so I guess it’s my job to deliver the kids’ pizzas. I open their hotel room and they both immediately shout at me:

“THE FLOOR IS LAVA!!”

“What?”

Gremmy’s standing on the desk, while Aurora’s sitting on one of the beds.

“Don’t stand on the desk, someone has to clean that!” I say.

Gremmy crosses her arms. “You’re not my dad.”

“At least take your shoes off or something. You’ll make marks.”

“Oh, is that my pizza?” she asks, ignoring me.

Gremmy clambers onto the chair, then looks around for how to get to me without touching the ground. I sigh and go to step closer.

“Father, no! You’ll drown in the lava!” Aurora shouts.

“You don’t drown in lava, it burns you,” Gremmy corrects.

“She’s right,” I agree. “Though if the ground really were lava, you’d probably be dead anyway by now due to all of the toxic fumes you’d be inhaling.”

“Oh no! Gremmy, hold your breath!” Aurora says.

“I’m not holding my breath, that’s not how you play.”

“Look, do you want this pizza or not?” I snap, wanting to get back to Desmond before I die of old age.

Aurora throws some pillows onto the ground to make a path from Gremmy to me. I sigh when I watch her trample her shoes all over them, but I don’t say anything. She grabs the pizza and cheers, then immediately runs back across the carpet. She looks down a second later, releasing what she’s done.

“Oh. Fuck. AAAAAA!!! I’M MELTIIIIIIINGGGGGGG!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!! Okay, you win, Aurora.”

“Yay!”

Aurora jumps off the bed, and instead of picking up her pizza, takes a paper napkin and starts eating it. Gremmy gives her a weird look as she tucks into her own pizza.

I go back to my room.

“So the kids have made up, then?” I say, as I enter.

“Yes, thankfully the front desk has spare toothbrushes in case guests forget theirs. Gremmy isn’t too upset now she has a new one, and Aurora has promised not to eat any more of her things. So we’ll see how long that lasts.”

The rest of the night is quiet, thank goodness. Desmond peruses the information booklet provided by the hotel, looking for stuff to do when we’ve finished our quest to find Theodore.

Something overcomes me and I start rummaging through my suitcase for Star’s letters. I don’t know why I brought them, to be honest, but with all of this talk of family, I think I just wanted a chance to remember what little of the extended Drebber family tree I actually care about.

Star, Luke’s mother, wrote to me a few times when I was in prison. She was apparently as into family history as Luke is, and recognised my name from a newspaper article about my arrest. I’m her Aunt’s grandson or something, I don’t know, but I share a last name with one of her relatives. 

I haven't read her letters in depth since I got out of prison. I flick to a random one.

Dearest Dimitri,

It’s so lovely to hear from you. I do worry when you don’t reply for long periods of time, but I suppose I should chalk that up to the letters having to travel so far. 

The film is going well. Well, as well as it can be. There’s still lots of reshooting, changing the lighting and then reshooting. Honestly, how picky some of these directors can be! I shouldn't complain, though, they’re only trying to make me look my very best, which shouldn't be too hard! Some of the boys on set are a sight for sore eyes, I’ll tell you that. But let’s keep that between us, shall we? According to my lawyer, I have eyes for no one but my husband.

I quickly glance up to see if Desmond is watching me, but he’s absorbed in the hotel booklet. I don’t know why I want to keep this part of my life so private.

I keep reading.

That Clive fellow sounds like a real piece of work. I hope you stay away from him from now on. Prison must’ve made him a little disturbed, poor thing, but that’s no excuse for knocking someone’s teeth out, I tell you. I hope you have more sense than that. Or at least, don’t get caught.

I often wonder what prison must be like. Does it smell? I spent the night in a holding cell once, and it smelled very bad. I was very cross when Papa finally came to bail me out. I don’t know what took him so long. I forgave him before long, though. I loved Papa a lot. 

Take care of yourself, hon. And look out for my movie when it’s released! If they let you watch movies in prison, that is.

All my love,

Star

I don’t remember her being that self obsessed.

I used to treasure her letters, and read them over and over again, eagerly waiting for the next one. Now, I just think I must’ve been so starved for any kind of entertainment, I would’ve taken anything.

Not that Star’s a bad person or anything, but let’s just say Luke’s apple certainly didn't fall far from her tree.

Chapter Text

“Here it is! We made it!”

“This is it? Are you sure?”

We all stare up at the building. It’s big, but not nearly as big as I thought it’d be. There’s no signage or anything, just two big wooden doors. I can’t even see if the lights are on inside. It  looks closed for business, but when Luke pushes the big doors, they open with ease. Immediately we’re confronted with a desk and two lifesize statues of people I don’t recognise. The sign above the desk says ‘ BIENVENUE AU MUSÉE DE CIRE DE MADAME TUSSPELLS! ’ and then beneath that is a board with ticket prices on it. The lights are dimmed and there’s no one behind the desk.

“Wow!” Aurora exclaims, going right up to one of the statues and inspecting every detail. “It looks so real!”

“Of course it does,” Luke says. “It was made by an expert. The Drebbers have always had an array of artistic accomplishments, and waxwork making has been in the family even before Enoch himself.”

The way into the museum itself is blocked by a turnstile, but on the other side of the desk is a door to a small room. The sign on the door says ‘ Entrée interdite ’ which I’m sure is something like ‘keep out’, but my curiosity overcomes me and I peek inside.

It looks like some kind of workshop. There are racks and racks of tools, chisels in every size, brushes, set squares, scalpels and more. Most look old, worn down and rusted. On the furthest wall is a blackboard with dozens of scribbled notes. I see a lot of numbers, so I assume they’re measurements, but the words are all in French. There are also photos and anatomy drawings stuck up higgledy piggeldy around the room. In the corner of the room is what looks like a metal skeleton with clay stuck to it. It’s starting to form a human shape, but isn’t defined. At least, not yet. The smell of clay fills the tiny room, and I wish one of the small windows was open.

Against the other wall is some kind of white block. It takes me a moment to realise it’s a fold out bed. So Theodore sleeps in here? It doesn’t look much like a bedroom, aside from the small lamp next to the fold out bed and a clock that ticks in the silence. The desk is a mess of tools, empty cups and miscellaneous items like a pen and a set of keys. But it looks like a kind of organised chaos, like he knows exactly where everything is.

He hasn’t noticed me poke my head in. He’s sitting at the desk, silently carving detail into a wax hand, absolutely absorbed in his work. I watch him curve around the nails and mark out the knuckles with such precision. It’s a wonder to observe.

“HEY! ARE YOU THEODORE?!” Luke shouts, barging into the workshop.

We both jolt in surprise, but the man jumps up from his desk.

“ QUE FAIS-TU ICI? ES-TU INCAPABLE DE LIRE LE PANNEAU? SORTEZ !” he shouts.

“Oh, uh, I’m your cousin!” Luke goes on. “Uh…coo-son? Is that how you pronounce it?”

“ SORTEZ D'ICI MAINTENANT !”

Thankfully, Desmond overhears the commotion (not that he could miss it, really) and comes to help.

“ Monsieur Tusspells , je suis vraiment désolé de vous déranger. Nous sommes ici à cause de votre lettre à Star Atmey ? ”

He seems to calm down immediately, but still has a suspicious look in his eyes.

“ Tante Star?” he says. “ Ma lettre est-elle arrivée à destination ?”

“ C'est exact .” Desmond hesitates. “Mr Tusspells, is it possible that you speak English at all?”

“ Anglais? Ah oui, c'est vrai, elle est américaine, n'est-ce pas ?” He clears his throat. “Uh, my English…is not being so good.”

“Oh!” Luke says. “It’s okay! It’s better than my French!”

“You… are knowing Aunt Star?” he asks.

“She’s my mom.”

“Oh. You…are my cousin?”

“Yeah. I’m Luke. This is my other cousin Dimitri and his boyfriend Desmond. My sister’s here somewhere. She’s also your cousin since she’s my sister. And my niece, her daughter. And Dimitri’s daughter.”

He’s babbling excitedly. Theodore looks completely lost. I feel terrible for the poor guy.

Theodore isn’t much to behold. He’s average height and has his sandy blond hair scraped back out of his eyes with a red bandana. He’s wearing a stained apron, round glasses and gloves and still has a scalpel in his hand. He doesn’t stand with very much confidence. He looks like he wants to run back into his workshop and shut the door. Probably because he does.

“You found him, did you?” Rita says. “Hey. I’m Rita. Star’s oldest.”

“ Enchanté .”

“Oh, I didn't know people actually said that.”

“We’ve come all the way from America to meet you!” Luke says.

He waits for a response. We all do.

“O…kay.”

It’s only now that I wonder what exactly Luke expects from Theodore. He’s staring at him like he thinks he’s going to start doing tricks.

“So, um… Tante Star is not coming?” he says, eventually.

Everyone looks at each other awkwardly, wondering who’s going to have to break the news.

“Grandma died,” Gremmy says, eventually. “Like…a year ago.”

“Oh. Oh, I… am so sorry. I was not knowing.”

“It’s alright, cuz, you’ve got us!” Luke says, clearly trying to save face, though he looks as shaken as everyone else.

“I…I am not knowing what to say.”

The silence is heavy. We all know what Theodore really wants, but I guess he feels too awkward to ask for it now. He looks genuinely upset to find out that his aunt is dead. It reminds me of how I felt when I found out. I never met Star in person. Now I never will.

“So you… are here to meet me only?” Theodore says, eventually. “Not for…what the letter had said?”

I shoot Luke a look of daggers, as if to say ‘I told you so’ but he doesn’t see me.

“Yeah! Isn’t this exciting? We’re all part of a huge family of Drebbers!”

“ Quoi ?”

“Theodore, Enoch Drebber is the ancestor that links all of you,” Desmond explains. “He’s your…what was it, Luke? Great grandfather? Great great grandfather?”

“Ah, oui , Enoch Drebber,” Theodore says. “Married into second generation waxwork makers.”

“Actually, he and Esmeralda never got married,” Luke says. “I found their contract from the 1895s and it states that he wanted their bond to stay platonic and they had their children… y'know without having sex.”

“How does that work?” Gremmy asks.

“There are ways,” I say.

Theodore sighs. “I am sorry for your loss. But if you are not having what I ask, then I am not having time to talk. I work now.”

“You…don’t care about our family history?” Luke says, looking crestfallen.

“ Tu me fais perdre mon temps avec ça ! Sorry. You leave now.”

“Jeez,” Rita comments.

“I mean what did any of you expect?” I say.

“I’m not giving up that easily,” Luke says. “I didn't come all of this way to be told no.”

Just then, Aurora appears out of nowhere. “Dad! Father! This place is so pretty, you have to come and see!”

“I’m sorry, Aurora, it looks like Theodore wants us to leave,” Desmond says.

“What? No! We just got here!”

“How you were getting into exhibit?” Theodore demands. “You were not buying ticket!”

“So if we do buy tickets…we can stay?” Gremmy says.

Theodore considers. He sighs.

“I am not doing discount,” he says, eventually. “Is full price. I get all times ‘ oh, c'est bon, je connaissais ta mère, elle a dit que je n'avais pas à payer ’. I am not caring that you family. You are being customers. You pay. Or you leave.”

“That seems fair,” Desmond says.

“Yay!” Both of the kids jump up and down in excitement. Even Luke seems happy with this arrangement.

“Je n'ouvre généralement pas le musée à cette heure-ci,” Theodore says to Desmond. “Mais les affaires sont les affaires. Oh and euh…” He points at the sign on his workshop door, which is in French. “NOT. ENTRY. Understand? None.”

We all mumble affirmations.

The kids immediately run off and Rita follows them at a leisurely pace. Desmond and I go the other direction to have some space. The whole place is rather small, so even though there are a lot of rooms, it’s not hard to find each other. It’s kind of like a cramped labyrinth. The walls are all the same colour, and the floorboards are crooked, making me think that Theodore doesn’t put any thought into anything except his waxworks.

His work is incredible, though. Even I can’t deny that. Every statue has not an eyebrow hair out of place. They look so alive, even the way the lips are shaped make some of them look mid conversation, frozen in time forever. It’s a little eerie.

Theodore stands in the very corner with his arms crossed, staring us all down. He kind of looks like a bodyguard at a nightclub, though less physically dangerous.

He keeps staring at me especially.

“What?” I say, eventually.

“Allen?” he says.

“Dimitri Allen,” I correct.

“ Oui . Dimitri Allen. Dix-sept. ”

“Seven?”

“Seventeen,” Desmond corrects.

“Seventeen what?”

“I…don’t know. Mr Tusspells, que veux-tu dire par ‘ dix-sept ’?”

“ Section. Section dix-sept. Here, I show.”

He walks off in a specific direction and we follow him, unsure of where he’s actually leading us. Eventually, he stops in front of one sculpture. He stops in his tracks so abruptly, that Luke bumps into him.

“Dimitri Allen,” he introduces, indicating the statue.

“Oh…yeah…” I say.

It doesn’t look anything like me. It looks like an idealised version of me. Young in the face, yet with the grey, wispy hair of an old man. I’m pulling an expression I’ve never pulled in my life - something whimsical and full of wonder. I look away.

“Wow, Dimitri, you never told me you had a sculpture here,” Desmond says.

“I… Yes. That’s right. It was a long time ago. He wrote me a letter when I was in prison, so I sent him some photos. I needed the money.”

“Is not right,” Theodore says. “ Pas assez de rides… I do over. You are having time?”

It takes me a second to realise what he’s actually asking me.

“No, I…”

But he’s not listening to me. He starts pushing my face around, keenly observing me, while mumbling to himself. I push him off.

“No, Theodore, stop. That’s not why we’re here.”

“Oh.” He looks around.

“Why don’t I have a waxwork statue?” Luke whines.

“Why would you be having one?”

I stifle a laugh as Luke’s ego is instantly crushed.

“Hey, what about Mom?” Rita says. “She was a pretty big deal.”

“Ah, oui , of course I having statue of Tante Star. This way.”

He leads us to another section.

Everyone marvels over Star’s statue. Even I have to admit, she looks like a real work of art.

“Wow! Pretty!” Aurora exclaims.

“Of course she picked that dress to be sculpted in,” Rita says.

“What’s wrong with her dress?” Luke retorts.

“Mom’s taste was always eye bleedingly flashy.”

“What, just because you dress like the Great Depression, means anyone wearing colour is eye bleeding?”

Theodore looks to Desmond for a translation, and Desmond makes a gesture that means something like ‘don't worry about it’.

I have to side with Rita on this one. The dress has pretty much every colour you could think of, in a splotchy pattern. It looks like some kind of commentary on rebelling against the order. It had puffy sleeves and was brought in at the waist. Her makeup was pretty overkill too - with pinks and greens and purples just for the eyeshadow. I guess she really wanted to look her best and thought that meant the more colour the better. I can see where Luke gets it from.

Soon, we end up on a private tour of the whole museum. We see lots of global famous faces including Italian author Al Legorri, English Olympic horse rider Bry Dell and even famous serial killers like Ruth Less and Anne Thrax. The museum is split into sections based on occupation or theme, but each section is quite small, some of which only having one waxwork in them. It’s as if Theodore just works with what he can get. He knows his museum well, and moves from section to section as if he’s done so a hundred times.

“This is Florence Cook,” he introduces. “Born in 1856, at a young age she was becoming famed for her ability to talking with the dead. She make many moneys selling tickets for her… euh …ghost conversations. But there was being much debates around the realness of her talent. She was ousted as being an artist of scams and is known as one of most famous scamming artists in the world.”

“So what happened to her in the end?” Gremmy asks.

“She lose all her money and die of pneumonia.”

Florence is a slight little thing with pale skin and creepy looking grey eyes. She’s draped in a thin, wispy white robe - probably to make her look like a ghost.

I’m keen to move away from the ghosts and crooks section.

“This is Adolphe Sax. Who though almost meeting demise seven times before age of ten, was having very busy musical career and was being inventor of the saxophone.”

“Seven times?” Aurora echoed.

“And I thought I was unlucky,” Rita says.

“His near deaths include falling down stairs, drinking acid that he had mistaken for milk, almost drowning in river and having roof tile falling on his head. The last which left scar, which you can see if you looking closely.”

“Oh I see it!” Luke shouts, before I get the chance to look.

He goes to run his fingers over it, but Theodore snaps at him not to.

“He then moving from home country of Belgium to Paris where he inventing the saxophone and many of other instruments and had a some successful career until he died in his 70s.”

Adolphe has some impressive facial hair, but is an otherwise unremarkable looking old man in a suit. He has what looks like a real saxophone in his lap, that glints in the light. I wonder how much that must’ve cost.

“Do you meet the people you sculpt?” Gremmy says.

“Not the ones who died in the 1800s,” Rita quips.

“I know that! That’s why I said some !”

“I try,” Theodore says. “Is not always being possible. But I much prefer to seeing the details in person.”

“Have you ever had to deal with anyone really annoying?”

“Lot of times. Fussy people. Always wanting to change the appearance. I say is not possible! I do…how you say ‘ réalisme ’?”

“Oh, realism,” Desmond translates.

“ Oui , looking real. Is whole point, really.”

“Do you do other art?” Luke says. “Like painting?”

He makes a noise of disapproval. “I not like painting. Is too…limitful. Too flat. I feeling trapped. Sculpting is having whole picture. Everything is being right size and shape.”

“It’s really impressive,” Luke says. “Every Drebber has an artistic pursuit. I’m a clown!”

“ Un clown ?”

“ Oui, il vient de dire qu'il était un clown ,” Desmond clarifies.

“Dimitri, what’s yours again?” Luke asks me.

“Uh…I like knitting.”

“That’ll do.”

“Me too me too!” Aurora says, jumping up and down in excitement. “I like to crochet little bunnies and frogs and pigs.”

“I’m into amateur photography a bit,” Gremmy says. “It’s just a hobby.”

Theodore doesn't seem remotely interested in our hobbies. I wonder if he has any. If he does anything other than sculpt.

Once the tour is over, we somehow convince Theodore to sit down and talk.

“We really want to get to know you and welcome you into the family,” Luke says. “I have so many questions.”

“Do you do any crime?” Gremmy asks, randomly.

“Gremmy, it was my turn to ask questions!” Luke snaps.

Theodore looks befuddled. “ Quoi? Crime?”

“Yeah, everyone in the Drebber family does a lotta crime for some reason,” Gremmy goes on.

“That is very true,” Luke concedes.

“Guilty,” Rita adds.

“Mm,” I say, avoiding anyone’s gaze.

“I… No, I don’t…” Theodore seems flustered. “I have not being criminal.”

“Are you sure?” Luke prods.

“I… Laissez-moi tranquille, le matériel spécialisé est si cher, comment veulent-ils que je fasse de l'art décent à ce prix-là ? C'est ridicule, je vous le dis !”

We all look at Desmond.

“Um…shoplifting, it sounds like.”

Luke writes this down, while Theodore looks a mix of furious and humiliated.

“It’s okay, cuz, I shot a man once,” Gremmy says, casually.

“You…you what?”

“He deserved it.”

“That he did,” Rita agrees.

“ Moins j'en sais, mieux c'est, je pense ,” Theodore mumbles to himself.

Luke pulls out his family tree once again.

“So. Theodore. I know that your mom was my mom’s sister, Willow Tusspells.”

“ Euh, oui .” He looks a little unnerved that Luke knows his mother’s name.

“And what about your father?”

He makes a face of disgust. “Jaques. He is not longer being around.”

“He died?” Aurora asks.

“ Non , he, euh … Maman gain much success from business. Her talent is not rivalled by anyone. Is like nothing anyone ever seen. Papa not like this. He wanting be…providing for family. He feeling threatened. He was…how you say… délicat ?”

“Fragile?” Desmond translates.

“Oui, he was pathetic man really. He should being proud of Maman success but he not liking it. So he leave. And we say ‘bon débarras’ to him. After that it just us.”

“How old were you when he left?” Luke asks.

“Uh…twelve years? It was being hard at first, everything was changing too fast, but I had gotten used to it soon. I am not missing him.”

Luke writes down Jacques’ name. Somehow I don’t think we’re going to meet him any time soon. Or at all. He asks if Theodore has any brothers or sisters or any other family, but it doesn’t seem like he has much of anyone. Everyone he mentions is someone Luke already has accounted for.

“ Tante Star, Oncle Quercus, Oncle Finch.”

“Finch?” I repeat.

“Yeah, mom’s oldest brother,” Luke says. “He was cool. Died a few years ago.”

This family tree is turning more into a memorial than anything else.

“ Grandpapa Frank and Grandmaman Jolene were sending me Christmas cards when I was small child,” Theodore says.

“I have a great grandma Jolene?” Gremmy says. “Like the Dolly Parton song?”

“Well she’s dead now,” Rita says. “She lived for a really long time. Ninety something I think.”

“Ninety seven,” Luke replies. “Grandma Jolene was the first of our family to be from America. She and Grandpa Frank met in Minnesota but she was from the South somewhere. Texas I think?”

“ Oui, Grandmaman’s French was not good at all,” Theodore says “But I was appreciating the efforts.”

“What about your dad’s side?” Desmond asks. I guess he’s interested in the family now too.

“What about?”

“Well they’re family too. They could go on the tree. Luke, do you have room?”

“A little.”

“Claud and Marguerite. They have not been talking with us since divorce. They saying everything is Maman fault.”

“That’s terrible.”

“They are.”

“Are they still around?”

“ Non , not for long time.”

“So you don’t have any family at all then?” Gremmy says.

“Not except us!” Luke chimes in.

Theodore scoffs. “ Tu n'es pas de la famille, pas vraiment ,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Huh?” Luke says.

“ Théodore, ce n'est pas juste. Ils se soucient de toi. Ils veulent faire de toi l'un des leurs ,” Desmond says.

Theodore shakes his head.

“What’s happening?” Aurora asks.

“What did he say?” Luke demands.

Desmond looks like he doesn't want to translate, but he begrudgingly does.

“He says you're not his family.”

Luke looks like he’s been shot. “How could you say that?”

“You not help. Ever. You not care about business. Family business. You…you not even go to Maman funeral.”

“Wait, Theodore’s mother is dead?” I say.

Luke ignores me. “Well you didn't go to my mother’s!”

“I not know Tante Star dead! None told me!”

“Well I didn't even know you existed to invite you!”

“Alright!” Rita yells, breaking up the fight. “Enough out of both of you. We’re not just gonna sit here and fight because Mom and Aunt Willow apparently never talked.”

“They talked!” Luke rebuts. “I found all of their letters, they were really close.”

“You’ve got to stop reading other people’s post,” I say. “I’m pretty sure that’s a crime.”

“It’s not worse than the crimes I’ve already done!” he points out.

“So what happened?” Gremmy says. “How did they go from best buds to not even telling their kids about each other?”

“I mean there’s the distance,” Rita says. “Keeping up with someone’s life is harder if they live on the other side of the world.”

“Not impossible, though,” I say, thinking of Godot.

Luke sighs. “Look, Mom was a busy woman. She couldn't keep up with everyone in her life, she was always modelling or acting or writing or singing. It’s not her fault that she missed Willow’s funeral.”

“ Non , Tante Star was there. None of you were being there. But she there.”

“She…? Then why didn't she tell me?”

“It not matter. Point is you not family if you not wanting to help business.”

“So you do only want us for our money?” Rita quips.

I don’t know if she was serious or not with that comment, but it makes Theodore get up from his seat. For a moment, he just stands there, then he walks off. Just as I’m wondering where he’s going, he shouts at us to follow him. So we do.

Chapter Text

At the far back of the museum is a door with the same ‘ Entrée interdite ’ sign. He unlocks the door and pushes it open and gestures for us to enter. It’s a bedroom and workshop, much like Theodore’s, but bigger and with a different colour scheme - beige instead of light blue. Everything is caked in dust and looks like it hasn’t been touched in years. In the centre of the room is something huge covered in a grey sheet. Theodore pulls the sheet down and a layer of dust rises. Most people shield their eyes, but I don't. 

Under the sheet is a waxwork on a raised platform, towering above all of us, even me. It's a woman with dark hair scooped up into a messy bun. She's wearing an apron over her purple dress and has her sleeves rolled up. The look in her eyes is dignified, but passionate at the same time. She looks like she could tell me so many stories.

“Willow Tusspells,” Theodore introduces us.

“Wow,” Luke whispers. “That’s her.”

“She had inherit here from her grand-mère, Esmeralda Tusspells. And she had inherit from her grand-mère Élisabeth Tusspells.”

I see Luke scramble to get out his notebook and take notes. Rita nudges him and he stops. 

“She had known family history behind the place. She had known how much…pressure. Whole family legacy… She had put heart into everything. She…”

He's on the verge of tears, I can hear it in his voice. Everyone's silent. Theodore won't look at any of us, just keeps staring up at his mother in adoration.

“I was holding her hand when she died. I was nineteen years. I had beg her hold on just little longer. Just little. Her last words: ‘ Fais de ton mieux. Rends-moi fière. Je t'aime. ’.”

“Do your best,” Desmond translates. “Make me proud. I love you.”

“I try…” Theodore screws his face up.

“You did do your best,” Gremmy says. “And I think you did okay.”

“I am failing! Money, I losing and I not know what to do. Tante Star was being my last hope. And she gone. And none of you are caring if I fail. If Maman legacy for nothing. I…” His voice cracks. “I not having anything else in my life.”

He runs out of the room and right into his office and locks the door, presumably to cry in private. We all look at each other, kind of stunned. 

“Well that fucking told us,” Rita comments.

“You didn't have to tell him he only wanted us for our money,” Luke says.

“Shut the fuck up, Luke,” I say. “Theodore’s right, you don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

“I… Well you're not consoling him either.”

I look back in the direction Theodore's went. “I'm… giving him space.” 

It's not entirely untrue, I don't know what to say to him, but if it were me I wouldn't want to be followed by a bunch of strange relatives when I'm at my lowest moment.

“When did his mother die?” Aurora asks.

“It seems recent,” Desmond replies. “He said he was nineteen, but I don’t know how old he is now.”

He looks for a plaque, but there isn’t one. I suppose Willow’s statue is for Theodore’s eyes and Theodore’s eyes only. And he knows everything he needs to know.

“This place is so beautiful,” Aurora says. “I’ll be sad if he has to close it down.”

“Not as sad as he will,” Gremmy retorts.

“I mean look around,” Rita says. “It's kind of dead in here. Pun not intended.”

“So what do we do now?” Desmond asks.

“Maybe we should go,” Rita says.

“We can’t leave him like that, Mom,” Gremmy responds.

“I don’t know, are we just making him feel worse by hanging around?”

I look back at Willow. Her expression is unchanged. She’s so lifelike, I almost expect her to move. The more I stare, the more I expect her to get off her pedestal and console her crying son.

I wonder what it’s like to have a mother that loves you that much.

Now isn’t the time for that.

“I wonder how much it costs to keep this place running,” Desmond says. “Versus how much he’s making.”

“If either of you give him a lump sum of money, he’ll only lose that too,” I say.

“Dimitri!”

“What? That’s just how business can be. The more you spend the more you lose.”

“He’s got a point,” Rita says. “We’ve gotta figure out why he’s failing, rather than just throwing money at him.”

“So it was never about money,” Gremmy says. “That was just what he thought he needed, when really he needed help.”

“Well I used to own a casino,” I say. “And I knew I needed a good team in place to run all of the stuff that I couldn't.”

“You kept that quiet,” Gremmy says. “Why’s every Drebber gotta be loaded?”

“Theodore isn’t,” Rita says.

“Aw, too soon.”

“We need to make a plan,” Luke says.

“So you do want to help him?” I ask. “I thought your presence was enough of a gift?”

“I…didn’t realise how dire things were. Theodore has such an incredible skill, we can’t let him waste it.”

I say nothing. Who knew Luke had that kind of growth within him?

“Well it’d help if he had an outside sign,” Rita says. “It’d make finding the place a lot easier.”

“He also needs more staff. Looks like he runs everything himself,” I put in.

“Which is probably why he’s closed four days a week,” Desmond agrees.

“How do you know that?” Rita asks.

“It was on the sign on the way in? Closed Thursday to Sunday.”

“Hey, could we do a gift shop?” Gremmy asks.

“That might be a bit ambitious,” Desmond says. “Let’s focus on getting the business up and running first.”

“Besides, Aurora’s a menace in a gift shop,” I say. “She just wants to eat everything.”

“Wait, where is Aurora?”

We all look around, and that’s when we see it. Aurora has her arms wrapped around Theodore. He’s hugging her back, his face buried in her shoulder. He’s on one knee to accommodate the height difference, and his grip is tight, as if he hasn’t been hugged for a long time and doesn’t know the next time he will be.

“Thank you,” he says, softly.

“It’s okay,” Aurora replies. “Sometimes people just need a hug. And then they feel better.”

Theodore sees us all watching and lets go. “I…I sorry.”

Several people mumble reassurance, but he doesn’t look like he takes any of it in.

“Luke? I… I am sorry that I say I do not care. I…not having time to care. I am working day…night…is never enough. I wanting make Maman proud, that all important to me. Enoch Drebber was being simply a name, I not know him and I not know you. But he was being important to you, so I will learn. Is okay.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Luke says. “I didn't realise how much you were struggling.”

“Theodore,” Rita says. “Do you…have friends?”

“Friends? Non , I am not having time, I work.”

“You’re going to work yourself to your death,” I say.

“I… I am being sculpting since I six year old. I am not knowing any else.”

“We should go out!” Luke says. “No work for one night. Let loose and have some fun!”

“Uh…”

“Theodore, we do want to help you with your waxwork museum,” Desmond says.

“You… Vont-ils me donner l’argent que j’ai demandé ?”

“Yes, but…it’s not just that. It looks like a lot of help is needed on a lot of fronts.”

“But we’ll do it cos we’re family!” Luke cuts in.

“Yeah,” I echo. “Family.”

I don’t know if I care that Theodore is family or not, but I care about him and his dreams. I see his passion and I remember when I had passion like that. I remember Desmond’s determination and desperation to fully restore Aurora back to health. Everyone has something they’d put anything on the line for. And if I can help, I don’t see why I shouldn't.

“Sounds like the first step is getting you a better work/life balance,” Gremmy says, writing something in a notebook.

“Did you steal my notebook?” Luke asks.

Gremmy ignores him. “Then there’s financial support, outsourcing, advertising and new fresh ideas.”

Together we put together a plan. Gremmy takes to the internet to create a digital presence for the museum. Luke starts designing posters and social media posts, while plaguing Desmond with translation questions. And I somehow get roped into writing job postings for new employees. Theodore thanks us over and over again. He’s so grateful, I almost expect him to start crying again. When he asks how he can repay us, Gremmy makes a quip about making family discounts a thing, and he agrees without hesitation.

When all the work is done, it’s about nine in the evening. Theodore closes up shop and Luke announces:

“Right, work’s over, time to hit the town!”

Chapter Text

The next thing I remember, I’m back in my hotel room. I wake up in my clothes, unshaven and smelling like shit. My head is pounding.

“ Черт возьми ,” I announce, to no one in particular.

“Oh, you're awake,” Desmond says.

“How are you not hungover?”

“Oh, I am. I just hide it well. Years of practice of getting blackout drunk and then having to teach a lecture the next day.”

I try to remember what happened last night. I remember everything from the museum, and then all of us arriving at the pub, but after that…it gets fuzzy. I close my eyes. Maybe I don’t need to remember.

The rest of the week is a lot less hectic. Luke goes wherever his heart takes him, which is usually to tourist traps selling overpriced tat. But whenever I don’t want to stick around, Desmond and I just wander off by ourselves. He takes me to some of the most beautiful hidden gems, and I finally start to think that I’m glad I came on this trip after all. Though, I could’ve done without the experience of being stared at in a restaurant because Aurora ate the escargot with the shells still on.

After that, the week is over all too soon. It’s the final day of our holiday.

“This was nice,” Desmond says, meticulously folding all of his shirts as he packs them. “We should do this again sometime.”

“But next time we leave Luke behind.”

“Ha! You're never going to get on with him, are you?”

“I don’t have to.”

“No, you don’t. But Theodore wasn't too bad, was he?”

“He was…fine. Not at all what I expected.”

“Speaking of which, our flight isn’t until 5pm, I think we should pay him another visit. Just us two. Luke and his gang are off tat shopping again, and I don’t fancy that.”

“Visit Theodore again?” I say. “Why?”

“Well, when we all went out, I gave him a project to work on. You probably don’t remember. I just want to see how it’s going.”

“You gave him…?”

Suddenly, the memory clicks into place. Desmond handed Theodore a photo and asked him to consider it. Theodore accepted immediately. Someone made a joke about how self obsessed Desmond is that he wants a waxwork of himself. Someone else commented that it’d probably look better than mine. There was laughter.

“I vaguely remember,” I say.

“You don’t have to join me if you don’t want to,” Desmond says.

“No, no, it’s fine. I’d love to.”

**

Finding the place is a lot easier the second time. Due to the official sign having not been delivered yet (these things take time, apparently), in its place are several handwritten signs made out of paper and stuck up with duct tape. They read ‘ Nouveau et amélioré ! ’ and ‘ Entrez ! ’ in red felt tip pen.

Desmond stops abruptly before we get to the door. 

“Love? Are you alright?” I ask. 

He sighs. “I'm sorry. I…I have to be honest with you.”

I feel my stomach tighten as I wonder what he means by that. 

“What is it?” I ask. 

“When I gave him that photo… Everyone assumed it was a photo of me. And it was just easier to let them believe it. But I should've told you the truth.”

“It wasn't a photo of you? Then…who was it a photo of?” 

He won't look at me. His expression is so solemn. I've only seen that look once before.

“I…think I know,” I say, before he can answer.

He finally looks at me. He's still sad, but expectant now, too. No backing out, I suppose. 

“It's your wife, isn't it?” 

He slowly nods. 

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you.”

“It's alright.” 

“I understand if this makes you worry that I haven't moved on. And to some extent I haven't. But… It's not that… My relationship with you is… I don't…”

I put a hand on his shoulder. “It's okay. I understand.”

I feel the tension in his shoulders relax. 

“Well, I don't know what it's like from personal experience,” I correct myself. “Not exactly, anyway. But…I'm not upset. It's understandable that you'd want to… commemorate your wife in some way.”

“I just…I want the world to see her how I did.”

He has stars in his eyes. I wonder if I used to look at Claire like that. That feels so long ago now. I don't even know if that was real. Desmond holds so much emotion in his heart all of the time, it's a wonder he doesn't burst open. He loves life as much as he hates it. I take his hand, more out of instinct than anything. He holds on tight. 

“I can't wait to see it,” I say. Then I correct myself. “ Her .”

“I just hope I can contain myself. I worry that if it's not, then I'll… But then if it is perfect, I might…”

He gives a light scoff, as if to say he doesn't know what he'll do. I think I do, though.

“It'll be alright,” I say. “I'm here.”

“Thank you. I truly don't deserve you.”

“Des, you know I'm not perfect. I was a bloody mob boss.”

He laughs. “Alright. We deserve each other.”

“Are you ready to go in?” 

“Yes. Let's go.”

**

“Well that was a fun trip,” Luke says, reclining his airplane seat the two inches it’ll actually recline.

“It was certainly enlightening,” I agree.

“That’s one family member down. But there are so many more to meet! Just wait until you meet my Uncle Quercus!”

“Maybe you should meet my side of the family next. My sister just adopted a little girl.”

“You never told me that!”

“You never gave me a chance.”

“Okay, I’ll add that to the list, but right after my Uncle Quercus. You're going to love him, he gives great Christmas presents. And he’s the ambassador of Allebahst!”

“He’s the WHAT?”