Gerard puts the finishing touch on his work and steps back, brush in hand, to study it critically. It’s the most ambitious piece he’s ever attempted, and he’s been working on it so long his hands are cramping up, but he thinks he’s got it. He’s just got to get someone in to view it who hasn’t been staring at it for…how long has he been staring at it? His stereo, a joint gift from Martin and Melanie last Christmas, plays five CDs and will automatically cycle through them until he tells it to stop, so the fact that the music is still playing is no help, nor is it the fact that it’s only the second album in the rotation. The fact that nobody’s come pounding on his door demanding he shut off that godawful noise before I strangle you with the wires might be, but he isn’t sure.
As the thought crosses his mind, his door opens, and he whirls around. Paint flies off the end of his brush and very nearly misses Martin, who squeaks and ducks back behind the door.
“Shit, sorry! Forgot I was holding it.” Gerard drops the brush into the water jar, then turns the volume on his stereo down. “It’s safe. Come in and tell me what you think.”
Martin comes back in carefully, followed—to Gerard’s slight surprise—by Melanie, who has her coat folded over her arms. Both of them look like they’re up to something. They also look rather damp. Martin’s gaze locks with the canvas on the wall opposite the door, and he flinches back, obviously startled.
“Bad, huh?” Gerard asks, his heart sinking a little.
“Wh—? No, no, it’s great, it’s…wow.” Martin blinks hard and sidles in so Melanie can come in and close the door. “That’s so…realistic. It’s…it’s huge.”
“Well, I couldn’t have done this any smaller.” Gerard gestures vaguely at it.
Melanie drifts closer and peers at it. “Oh, cool. Martin, come look at it up close, it’s not as terrifying…did you use a compass or a ruler for this? Or, what do you call it, that Spirograph thing?”
Martin moves towards the canvas as Gerard shakes his head. “Nah. Freehanded it.”
“This is some utterly precise bullshit, this is. Look at that! And that’s—” Melanie’s finger hovers over a point on one side of the canvas, but doesn’t touch. “Is this Chinese?”
“Yeah. It doesn’t really mean anything, but I found this book that tells you how to transcribe different sounds into Chinese.” Gerard steps up beside her and indicates the characters as he sounds out the syllables. “Me, lan, ni…and then over here is mah, tan. It’s, uh, it’s kind of the closest I could get.”
Melanie socks him lightly on the arm, but she’s grinning. Martin’s eyes trace the lines and curves of the patterns, seemingly hypnotized. “It’s…brilliant, Ger. How long did this take you?”
Gerard snorts. “Dunno. What day is it?”
“Sunday. It’s just gone midnight.”
“Which Sunday?” Gerard doesn’t actually think he’s been in here for a week, but he’s hoping to make them both smile.
Melanie smirks and whips her coat off her arm with a dramatic gesture. “It’s the eighteenth, Gerry.”
Gerard blinks. She’s holding a parcel wrapped in bright paper—its neat, sharp corners speak to Martin’s precision, but the monstrosity of ribbon on top is one hundred percent Melanie—and, tearing his eyes away from the painting, Martin reaches under his jacket and produces a card.
“Shit,” he says, not sure what else to say. “That’s today?”
“It is,” Martin confirms. “Happy birthday.”
Gerard laughs and hugs them both. Before he takes the present and card, though, he pauses. “Wait. You said it’s just gone midnight. What are you doing here this early?”
“Spending time with you,” Melanie says pointedly. “We thought we were going to have to wake you up, but here you are.”
“Okay, but—is there a reason you didn’t wait until later?”
Martin shrugs. “School starts tomorrow. We can’t stay out late with you, so we thought we’d come get you early instead.”
“You two are nuts.” Gerard sits down on his bed and waves for the other two to join him. “Did Mum say anything when you came in?”
Melanie shakes her head, hitching herself up to sit on the edge of his dresser. “She’s down in the shop still, I think.”
Gerard stops with his finger halfway across the flap of the envelope. “How’d you get in without going through the shop?”
Martin produces a roll of half-rusted metal tools. “I bought these at a swap meet a couple months back. I’ve been practicing with them, so I figured I could jimmy a window if I needed to. But the one in the kitchen wasn’t even locked.”
“Did you two climb the walls?”
“What, like it’s hard? There’s what’s left of the fire escape that got us most of the way up. It’s fine. It’s not even raining that hard.” Melanie rolls her hand impatiently. “Go on, open it!”
Gerard figures that at this point, it’s a bit late to scold them for taking risks, and it’s not even like it’s the worst thing they’ve ever done. Instead, he finishes opening the card and reads it. It’s a sturdy, brightly colored card with metallic accents and pop-up components and glitter all over the place, and when Gerard opens it, it begins playing a cheery but shrill rendition of “Auld Lang Syne”. It also spills a great deal of confetti that looks suspiciously like the leavings of a hole-punch onto his lap, and subsequently his bed. He decides not to complain about that, but he does shut the card quickly, laughing.
“We tried to find one in black,” Martin says. “But all the black birthday cards were for turning forty, so…”
“So I suggested we go as far as possible in the other direction,” Melanie says brightly. “You can thank Martin for talking me out of the pink one with the princess crown on it.”
Gerard tries very hard not to look as though he’s going to throw up. “Thank you.” He sets the card aside and reaches for the wrapped gift. It’s surprisingly heavy, and he wonders how the hell they got it up the wall. “Gee…I wonder what this could be.”
Melanie shrugs. “Well, keep in mind that unlike somebody in this room, we’re not legal adults yet.”
Gerard stills as that realization sinks in. “Shit. I am eighteen now, aren’t I?”
“Depends on what time you were born, but yeah, Ger, you’re officially grown up,” Martin reminds him.
Gerard grins. “We’re so going to Venice next year.” He pries the tape loose and unwraps his birthday present.
It’s a box, perhaps a foot long and half as wide, made of some kind of wood, not particularly dark but not terribly light either. Except for the very edges, which are smooth and rounded, the whole thing is covered with an intricate pattern of vines and flowers. The hinges are cunningly hidden, barely visible unless you look closely. Gerard runs his fingers over the carving and looks up at Martin in astonishment, then at Melanie. “Did you…make this?”
“Oh, God, no,” Martin says with a slightly incredulous laugh. “Found it at the farmer’s market a couple years ago. Someone had a booth with all kinds of baskets and boxes and things like that.”
Which means there’s something inside it. It’s pretty, and Gerard loves it, but he also knows Martin and Melanie well by now and knows how much time and thought they put into their gifts (it’s made him up his game somewhat as well); if this box isn’t handmade, they’d have given it to him ages ago if it was meant to be his whole present. So he turns the box around, slides his thumbnails into the crack, lifts. And stares.
The box is full, almost to the brim, with colored pencils. Not just any colored pencils either, but the expensive, professional grade ones he’s been talking himself out of buying for months now, always reminding himself that he has his oils and acrylics, that colored pencils aren’t really suited for the large-scale artwork his mother encourages. It’s colored pencils that have always held his heart, though, and while Melanie and Martin certainly know he likes them—he still remembers the awe on their faces the first time he took the cheap set Martin had for school and drew a hasty portrait of the two of them sitting on his bed while he perched on his desk, kind of like Melanie is doing right now—he can’t imagine they knew he wanted these.
“How…?” he whispers, picking one up and studying it. Jesus, there must be every color of the rainbow in here. He’s always considered buying the smallest possible tin, but this looks like the full set.
“There, um, there are definitely a couple of duplicates in there,” Melanie says. She’s obviously striving for nonchalant, but there’s a little spark of anxiety in her eyes. “We couldn’t always remember what colors we’d already got and which ones we hadn’t. Martin finally made a list, but by then we’d already been getting them for a while.”
Relief floods Gerard. He knows how expensive these are, and he knows that the jobs Martin and Melanie pick up after school don’t pay much and they turn more than half of what they earn over to Uncle Roger and Aunt Lily for household expenses; they have precious little to spend on themselves, so it would have taken them ages to save up enough for the full set, or worse. On the other hand, he can’t help but ask curiously, “How long?”
Martin and Melanie exchange glances. “Two years?” Melanie guesses.
“Three,” Martin says. “We started after we got back from Poland. You remember, we watched the sun come up over the mountains and you said you wish you had the pencils to capture it with you?”
Melanie nods emphatically. “Yeah, yeah, I remember. I was taking that figure drawing course that term, so I asked my teacher and he recommended these.”
“Are they all right?” Martin asks, and unlike Melanie he’s not trying to hide that spark of anxiety. “Really all right? It’s, it’s not the presentation tin, a-and I know you’re really good with oils, but—”
Gerard closes the lid of the box. He gets up, ignoring the shower of paper that falls from his lap. He lunges forward, and he hugs Martin hard, then Melanie.
“They’re perfect,” he says, and he’s not ashamed to admit that there are tears in his eyes.
He manages to convince them they won’t lose out on spending all the time they can together if they rest for a while, and all three of them end up dozing off in a pile on his bed. They’re still up well before dawn, though, and they’re able to sneak out of the house before Gerard’s mother can spot them. The streets aren’t exactly deserted, but they’re quiet, and they don’t encounter many people between Pinhole Books and their destination.
Said destination is a particular spot on a particular bridge overlooking the Thames. It’s more or less at the halfway point between where the Blackwood-Kings live and the bookstore, so when they’re all meeting up, it usually involves them gathering here. It’s also perfectly situated for the three of them to stand shoulder-to-shoulder…well, more or less…and lean on the rail to wait for the sunrise. Probably in vain, if Gerard’s being honest. It’s raining to beat the band, and it’s not likely to clear up enough that they can see much. Still, Martin’s got a huge blue umbrella, and with all three of them pressed together they can all fit. Mostly.
As she always does, or always has since the disastrous Halloween party six years ago, Melanie wedges herself between Martin and Gerard, which means she’s stuck holding the umbrella high above her head. She’s caught up to her age in height, but she’s still a few inches shorter than Gerard. Martin, of course, outstrips them both; none of them are done growing yet, but he’s going to be tall when all is said and done. Gerard figures he’ll be lucky to hit six feet. His mother is barely five feet tall, if that, and…well, Gerard can’t remember his father too well. Of course he remembers a giant of a man, but he’s remembering it through the eyes of a very small child, so who knows.
“How tall was your dad, Martin?” The question pops out of Gerard’s mouth before he thinks about it, and he immediately wishes he could take it back. It’s been eight years since they met—to the day, actually—and the only time Martin has ever brought his dad up is at the wedding. It’s obviously still a sore spot.
To his mild surprise, though, Martin doesn’t seem upset, merely pensive. “I don’t really remember him too well, honestly. I think he was taller than Mum. He was probably big, because I remember my hand getting lost in his when I was holding it, but that’s all I know.”
“What did he do?” Melanie asks curiously. “Mum never talks about him.”
“Something to do with boats, I think. I remember being on the shore of the North Sea with Granddad once, he put me up on his shoulders and asked if I could see Papa’s boat from there. I must’ve been…three, maybe? Three or four? He took me for a week to Norfolk for something to do with the Jubilee.” Martin stares vacantly across the Thames. “Huh. I’d forgotten all about that.”
They fall silent, content to just stay in one another’s company. The rain doesn’t really stop, but there’s enough of a break in the clouds to the east that they can all see the first edge of the great disc of the sun peeking over the horizon, then slowly rising higher and higher until it bathes the clouds, the rain-spattered river, and their faces in a golden and rosy glow, at least for a few moments.
It’s not quite as pretty as a sunset, Gerard decides, but it’s pretty enough. He pulls out his camera and snaps a picture. Maybe he’ll try to recreate it with his new colored pencils.
Once the clouds close ranks around the sun again, they head back to Melanie and Martin’s house for breakfast. Uncle Roger greets them with a warm smile and a hug for all three. He seems surprised to learn it’s Gerard’s birthday, but once he finds out, he insists on making his extra-special birthday waffles. Melanie jumps up to assist him, and it has to be admitted they taste delicious. Even Aunt Lily, who comes in looking tired, doesn’t have any complaints about them. Gerard entertains her while Martin and Melanie clean up the kitchen, and they make their escape into the streets of London once more.
“It might be a bit wet for a picnic today,” Martin says, a little uncertainly.
“Pish-posh,” Melanie says, elbowing him. “There’s that shelter on the Broad Walk, it’ll be fine. And nobody’s going to be in the park today. We’ll have it to ourselves. Come on, Ger, what do you want to do in the meantime?”
Gerard thinks for a second. “Have either of you ever been to the London Zoo?”
It transpires that Melanie has, although not since her mum died; Martin, for as long as he’s lived in London, never has. Neither has Gerard, despite living there all his life. The three of them pay their ticket fees—Gerard tries very hard to pay for his ticket, especially since neither Martin nor Melanie will be sixteen for a few months yet and are therefore still getting the cheaper rate, but they won’t let him—and head inside. There are surprisingly more people about than Gerard would have expected, huddled under umbrellas, bundled into mackintoshes, and stomping through puddles, but it’s still easy enough to move around. The reptile house is the most crowded part, presumably because it’s indoors, and they give it a wide berth. Gerard gets some good pictures of the other two. He particularly hopes the one of Martin delightedly greeting, or being greeted by, a cow in the Children’s Zoo comes out well, although he also likes the shot of Melanie staring down a lion. He’s only aware that Melanie has taken a picture of him when he stands up from letting a small child who seems to consist mostly of big eyes peeking out from between a rain slicker and a sou’wester put their finger through the gauge in his earlobe when she hands him back the camera with a smirk, but he doesn’t mind too much.
They stop to purchase sandwiches and lemonades from a shop that seems surprised to have any visitors whatsoever, then head into Regent’s Park proper. As Melanie said, this part is pretty much deserted, save for the serious strollers and joggers, and there aren’t too many of them this late on a Sunday. The three of them make their way along the Broad Walk until they find the shelter—a small, octagonal structure with a couple wrought-iron benches in it. They eschew the benches, electing instead to spread their cloth on the concrete floor and have a true picnic of it.
“We could have skipped, you know,” Gerard says as he unwraps his sandwich. “I wouldn’t have been too terribly upset.”
Martin shrugs. “Yeah, but yours is the only birthday we’re going to get to celebrate proper this year, if all goes well, so…”
“Wait, what? What do you mean?”
Martin’s cheeks turn pink again. Melanie is the one who speaks up, though, once she swallows. “We’re planning for college in the fall, Ger.”
Gerard frowns. “Doesn’t your school have—doesn’t it go all the way to the top?”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t have the programs we want. My guidance counselor gave me a few schools to look into that’ll get me into the uni programs I want, and it turns out one of them is the one Mum went to, so I’ve got a pretty good chance at getting in. And Martin…” Melanie nudged him. “Go on, you tell him.”
The blush on Martin’s face grows darker. “Um, you remember that woman I told you about, the one who was at the Christmas concert and said she knew Granddad? She was telling me about the music program at Edinburgh College, and she suggested I apply. So I did, and…well, I didn’t expect much, but I got a letter the other day with a couple dates for auditions to choose from, so I’m going to be going up for that in May. Still no guarantee I’ll get in, but—”
“Of course you will,” Gerard says, delighted. “The woman was probably a recruiter for the program, her recommendation will go a long way.”
“It might’ve got me an audition, but I still have to be good enough to actually get a spot. But thank you.” Martin rubs the back of his neck. “A-anyway, the term starts in August, so we’ll be gone by my birthday and won’t be back until after Melanie’s.”
Gerard takes a quick breath as the implications of what they’re saying hit him. “So you’re managing it. You’re getting out of London.”
“For now, anyway. We hope.”
For now nothing. Gerard knows them both. If there’s nothing tying them to London, they might come back to visit, but not to live. And if the only thing tying them to London is Gerard…
Then and there, he makes a resolution. Once they’re settled, once he’s sure they’re good to go, he’s going to leave. He’s going to make the break once and for all, leave his mother and this world behind. He’ll make a new life for himself somewhere else, somewhere Mary Keay and her ilk will never find him, and then when Martin and Melanie go on holiday they can come stay with him. All of them can be free, can stop spending their lives chasing after Leitners and Fears and things that go bump in the night.
That’s for later, though. For now he turns to Melanie and asks, “What are you going to study?”
They chat and eat and toast one another, and then Melanie produces a square of pound cake; Martin pulls a candle out from his jacket and sticks it in the cake, and Gerard offers his lighter so they can sing him “Happy Birthday”. As they finish, Gerard closes his eyes and wishes harder than he ever has in his life.
Once the cake is gone—he insists on sharing with them every year and he doesn’t know why they still protest every time—they roll up the cloth tight and stow it in the deepest pocket Gerard has, then Martin puts up the umbrella once more and they head out into the rain. If anything, it’s raining harder now, and Gerard is already mentally betting against whether they’ll find anyone to help with the next part. Still, though, they make their way across Regent’s Park to Primrose Hill and make their way up to the top. Melanie arranges Martin and Gerard in their usual positions, fussing at them about the umbrella.
Just as Gerard is about to suggest they figure out a way to manipulate a photograph after taking it, a small family walking a pair of well-matched dogs comes up the hill, and Melanie accosts them. “Excuse me, would you be willing to take our picture for us?”
The man hands the dog’s leash over to the plump elderly lady and takes the camera. Gerard reaches over and takes Martin’s arm, forming a stable bridge for Melanie to sit on. Before they can bend down to give her better access, she runs at them and leaps, landing bang on target but knocking the umbrella free of their hands.
Gerard finds he doesn’t care. Instead, he throws his head back and laughs as Melanie’s arm loops around his neck. Martin and Melanie are laughing, too, and as they lean in for the dog-walker to take the shot, Gerard thinks this might be the best birthday he’s had in his life.