I’m certain Mom will shit a brick about the Vikings, so we take baby steps on the morning of the big reveal.

First, I load up a tray with pancakes – her favourite ever since she got sick and I quit my job to be her carer – then I perch on the edge of her bed and we swap notes on our recent reads.

Mom’s book is called The Tao of Feng Shui and tells how changing up your décor can help lift your spirits during an illness. Mine is called The Way of the Viking and describes every aspect of the Viking lifestyle, plus the back has a cut-out coupon for ten free Vikings with the purchase of every genuine Ox-horn drinking vessel.

I help Mom move from her downstairs bedroom to the kitchen. “And… open your eyes!”

There’s an agonising silence as she takes in my kitchen makeover.

“Wow,” she says finally. And then (because she knows I have a sharper ear for criticism than praise) she repeats more loudly, “Wow, Tom! I love this Scandinavian theme you’ve chosen. Oh, and you took out my broiler and the washing machine and the faucet and you installed some 9th century Viking berserkers! My kitchen’s never looked this good!”

“Wait ‘til you see the bathroom!”

* * *

On the upstairs landing, I point out a giant Viking called Agmundr hanging in the place where the fake ‘Whistler’s Mom’ used to be. Then I show her how our new shower works, with Frode holding up a watering can and a sieve, and wave ‘Hi’ to Gorm, who’s squatting where the old toilet used to be, arms wrapped round a giant bucket.

Down in the den, Mom takes in the pièce de résistance: Thorstein Codbiter, my only English-speaking Viking, and also our new TV. Thorstein does a rerun of Maverick with horse actions and accents and when Mom nods off in the middle like she always does, his voice hushes and he switches to The Joy of Painting.

* * *

By the time Mom wakes up, Bodil the broiler has whipped up Salisbury steak and smoked fish and venison. All the Vikings join us and it’s by far the most raucous dining experience Mom and I can remember, with singing and toasting and passing the drinking horn full of mead.

But after the venison course, Thorstein comes over with a sad look on his face and says, “Your mother is tired.”

We leave the Vikings to enjoy themselves while I take her upstairs. When Mom’s tucked up in bed, I open the Collected Mark Twain to our page, but she puts her hand over mine and rests her head on my shoulder, so I close the book.

“Today was extraordinary,” Mom says softly. “You know, Tom, I don’t think there’s a better son than you in the whole wide world.”

“I’m relieved you weren’t mad about it,” I chuckle, kissing the top of her head.

“Thank you for leading the décor committee in such a surprising direction,” she says. 

* * *

Thorstein finds me on the back porch staring at shadows in the trees. He hands me a beer and we sit on the swing bench drinking in silence. Eventually he asks me what’s wrong. I tell him how I read in The Way of the Viking that longboat funerals are an amazing way to say goodbye to a loved one.

Thorstein listens and nods. “We will build a longboat for your mother, then,” he says solemnly.

* * *

When we see the longboat anchored in the shallows of the lake with an orange and mauve sunset behind it, Mom and I gasp.

 “Please thank your nice Danish friend for me,” says Mom.

We sit around the fire with the Vikings and drink from genuine Ox-horns for a long time and when I look over at Mom it’s like she’s fallen asleep, but I know she’s not going to wake up this time. 

I’m crying so hard I can’t see what I’m doing, so Thorstein takes over, making brisk orders until Mom is lying in the longboat with Dad’s ashes cradled in her arms. Six strong Vikings push the longboat out and Thorstein runs along with a torch and just as the tide takes the boat, he hurls it onto the deck where the kindling is laid. And we stand at the shore, a great long line of us, and Thorstein rests his arm across my shoulders and we watch Mom and Dad burn bright as stars flung across the lake in the dark, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

* * *

Ⓒ Kate Horsley