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Lucy had never liked her birthday. For a long while, she’d hoped she could simply keep the date a secret from Lockwood and George, but determined that was impossible the first time they’d all ended up in A & E together and the nurse had confirmed her birthday in front of the boys.
It had been just a month prior and both boys were peeved with her for a full week that she had let it go by without saying anything. Lockwood had sulked about the house looking like a Visitor had ghostlocked his puppy. George had rearranged the entire kitchen, scrubbing pots she was certain he had never used in her entire time at Portland Row. She had eventually allowed them to get her a small cake and sing happy birthday, and accepted gifts from each of them: a cookbook from George, which she had promptly used to even out a wobbly bookcase leg upstairs, and from Lockwood, a pair of deliciously soft blue slippers and a novel, The Bones of Our Past, which she had already read twice.
Her birthday was nearing again, and she strongly suspected they were planning something. The day prior she had caught them with a notepad of all things. Lockwood had hastily shoved it in his pocket, but to be writing on paper and not the Thinking Cloth automatically meant they were hiding something.
Since then, their conversation would drop as she entered a room, and at one point she swore she saw wrapping paper sticking out of a bag that Lockwood hustled up the stairs and into his room.
Two days before her birthday, she’d had enough. Both George and Lockwood had made flailing attempts at shifting their conversation to one about some claims that Kipps was in a particular kind of sexual relationship with another Fittes agent.
“Okay, first of all, I know you two aren’t gossiping about Kipps.”
George and Lockwood both made noises of protest, each shaking his head.
“Kippsy is such an easy target. Why wouldn’t we be talking about him?” Lockwood said.
George nodded. “And that is quality gossip.”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “And second, I know you’re planning something and I want you to stop.”
She watched them share the tiniest of nervous glances before both smiled, Lockwood his trademark grin and George a much more awkward smirk.
“What do you mean planning something?” Lockwood leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest with that insipid smile still wide on his face.
“You know very well what I mean. You’re planning something for my birthday, and I want you to stop planning it. I don’t want to do anything for my birthday. If you really want to do something, leave me a pack of biscuits all to myself outside of the rotation, and give me a night off from my turn oiling the chains.” Lucy crossed her arms to mirror Lockwood as a challenge.
George was eyeing both of them. “Lucy, we won’t do—“
“Shush, George,” Lockwood interrupted. “What is it about your birthday you don’t like?”
George frowned at Lockwood. He had a strong idea of why Lucy didn’t like her birthday, but as far as he knew, Lockwood was clueless about her past. George had taken the liberty to do some research on her early on, but had felt so guilty about it, he hadn’t mentioned it to Lockwood. Now, unfortunately, was one of the times he regretted having not told him.
Lucy lost her confident stance then, her arms still crossed but now pulled in against her while she looked to the floor. She shrugged. “I don’t get the fuss.”
Lockwood studied her. It had taken him some time to learn about her childhood and even then he was convinced there were several large pieces still missing. He knew her relationship with her mum was strained, particularly after being forced to become an agent, and that her dad was passed, but he had assumed, in some naive, optimistic part of his mind, that she still had at least some semblance of a normal childhood.
He could remember the last birthday he’d had before his parents had died. It had been in the back garden with a few other children from his class. It hasn’t been anything extraordinary; balloons, a piñata filled to the brim with candy, and some childish games that Jessica had crafted with balls, plastic cups, posters, and the like. But he had loved every second of it. The playing and laughing and singing. And now he had a sinking feeling that Lucy had never experienced any of that and he was even more determined to go through with their plans.
Lockwood stood and stepped towards Lucy, resting a hand on her arm. “I promise we will not do anything that will make you feel uncomfortable.”
He was already out the kitchen door by the time she processed what he had said. “Having a party would make me uncomfortable!” She called after him. For not the first time, she contemplated if the Skull would keep her alive if she let him out of the jar…
The morning of Lucy’s birthday had her hiding in her room until past ten in the morning. She would have liked to continue to cloister herself away, safe from the well-meaning plans of her boys, but her stomach was yelling at her for food.
She took each corner slowly, expecting balloons and elaborate banners at each turn. But somehow she made it safely to just outside the kitchen and she hadn’t yet been assaulted by birthday decor.
Lucy stared at the kitchen door. There was a strong likelihood that as soon as she stepped into the cozy room, both George and Lockwood would jump out of their chairs and yell birthday greetings at her, but she was desperate for food and tea.
With a sigh, she pushed the door open and held her breath.
But the room was empty.
“Lockwood? George?” She called.
It wasn’t just the kitchen. The entire house was definitely empty.
It was then she noticed the kitchen table.
There were three packages of her favorite biscuits, two boxes of her favorite brand of English Breakfast tea (recently they’d needed to switch brands because of cost and while it did the trick, it just wasn’t as good), and two wrapped presents of varying neatness. On the Thinking Cloth next to them was a note in Lockwood’s handwriting.
Luce -
I know you didn’t want us to make a big deal of your birthday. So George and I will be at the archives until just before dinner. Unwrap your presents and enjoy having the house to yourself while I nobly remain bored out of my mind while George reads or draws pictographs or whatever it is researches. If you want company, feel free to come save me come get us. When we get back this evening, we can get take away and enjoy the cake George has hidden enjoy some tea.
Happy Birthday!
Lockwood and George
Lucy smiled at the note. They’d actually listened to her. That alone was a birthday miracle.
She set the kettle on to boil and opened one of the biscuit packages. It was easy to tell which present was from which boy. Lockwood’s was perfectly wrapped, impeccably with decorative ribbon. George’s was…well, it was wrapped.
Lucy unwrapped George’s gift first and laughed immediately upon realizing what it was. Staring up at her was a picture of a young teen with a spatula on a cookbook entitled Cooking For Teens: Safe and Easy Recipes for Beginners. George’s ongoing attempts at getting Lucy to learn how to cook more than the absolute basics (she could make eggs, thank you very much) had become a running gag, to the point that last Christmas he’d purchased some kitchen gadgets for her as a joke gift as they were specially made for small children to help their parents cook without hurting themselves. They’d yet to be used.
The kettle alerted her that her water was ready, so she paused in picking up Lockwood’s present and poured it over one of the tea bags the boys had left for her. She used one of the fancy cups with a saucer, only reserved for special occasions. The scent of the black tea made her feel cozy and happy, immediately comforted at its warmth. A few splashes of milk and two full spoonfuls of sugar, and it was perfect.
She took her first sip, closing her eyes and savoring the taste, just the right amount of sweetness.
Lucy placed the cup back in its tiny saucer and with careful fingers, unwrapped Lockwood’s gift. She uncovered a plain white box, carefully taped closed. The gift, carefully wrapped again in tissue paper, made her gasp. Inside was a new kit belt made in the smoothest, most luscious leather she’d ever felt. The smell of the leather permeated the box, and she knew then that she would think of Lockwood every time she picked it up and felt the buttery softness and smelled the rich scent. It was only after picking it up that she realized that stamped into the front was her monogram.
“Oh, Lockwood,” she breathed. She regretted not waiting to open it in front of him now.
Lucy sat back in the silence appreciating her gifts and the fact that the boys, particularly Lockwood, had respected her enough that they hadn’t done anything extravagant for her birthday.
She finished her tea and ate two biscuits, enjoying that she didn’t need to account for George and Lockwood in the rotation. From there, she flipped through the cookbook idly, wandered into the library and attempted to read her latest novel of choice, and then even tried to nap. But Lucy realized for the first time she wanted to be around family on her birthday.
Pulling on her shoes, Lucy grabbed her keys and raced out the door and towards the archives. She needed to celebrate her birthday with her boys.
Lockwood practiced some of his footing with an invisible rapier while George read through some antique-looking papers. He had been using his rapier, but George had taken it, chastising him like he was a toddler.
He finished a move he was working on where he did a fast 180 with a bit of a flourish — just enough of one to possibly impress a certain girl he knew — and then huffed with boredom.
“Having difficulties?” George droned sarcastically.
“I just don’t understand why we can’t throw her the original party. I could still go pick up the balloons and streamers. Oh, and those noise makers!”
George peered up at Lockwood over the top of his glasses. “Because it’s generally expected that on a person’s birthday, they get to choose to do what they want. Lucy does not want a party, thus we will not force one upon her.”
Lockwood threw his hands up, “But if she’s never had a party, as you suspect, then how does she know she doesn’t want one?”
Nearby agents glared up at Lockwood as his voice grew a bit louder. They’d already shifted two tables over and it looked like they were close to moving again.
“Lockwood,” George said, trying to express in his tone that he was quite done with this conversation, as it was the third time they’d had it since Lucy had expressed her hatred of the idea of a birthday party. “If Lucy decides that she wants a party, she will tell us. But, and I know this will be hard to understand, not everyone likes being the center of attention.”
Lockwood pursed his lips, and George knew he wanted to argue the point but was trying hard not to because he didn’t want to annoy George. Not anymore than he already had anyway.
The older agent and owner of Lockwood and Co made it another three minutes before he caved.
“Okay, but what if— “
George stood with a sigh. “Lockwood, I’m going to look for another file. In the time that I’m gone, please consider what it means to be respectful of the girl you’re in love with.”
Lockwood managed to sputter and squeak a quick, “what are you talking about?” before George was gone, vanishing down several aisles. It was more than ten minutes before Lockwood realized that George was likely elsewhere in the archives, reading those same papers that had apparently vanished from the table with him.
A quick search made Lockwood frown deeper and mutter, “He could’ve at least left my rapier.”
“Lockwood?”
His heart sped up and he glanced up to find Lucy walking towards him.
“Luce, you didn’t have to actually come save me. I was joking. Well…sort of.”
“What makes you think I’m here for your benefit?” Lucy teased.
Lockwood grinned at her. “Happy Birthday, Luce.” He held open his arms, “Would you like a birthday hug?”
She smiled and nodded, stepping into his arms. Hugs between the members of 35 Portland Row had become a more regular occurrence. While they didn’t happen every day, they were more commonplace. Lucy would hug George after the occasional disagreement with Flo or after a particularly delicious dinner. Lockwood would pull Lucy into his arms after a difficult job or when he felt like both of them were a bit more touch starved than usual. George and Lockwood hugged in celebration after particularly easy jobs, or when one could tell, having lived with the other for so long, when they were holding back their emotions even more than usual.
This hug was longer than typical; however, as neither quite felt like breaking apart. Lucy, overjoyed by the first truly good birthday she’d had, and Lockwood, excited that she’d chosen to spend her birthday with him…them…after all.
They finally drew away from each other.
“Annoyed George until he abandoned you?” Lucy smirked.
“I did no such thing. He went searching for an article.”
Lucy cocked an eyebrow up at him and he shrugged.
“I wasn’t that annoying.”
“Where’s your rapier?” She looked knowingly at his waist.
“Oh, shut it.”
She snorted and reached for his hand. “Let’s go find George.”
The trio headed back to Portland Row soon after, laughing and enjoying the day. They ordered dinner from Lucy’s favorite Indian restaurant, sat around complaining about how stuffed they all were, and then proceeded to stuff themselves further on the small cake George had purchased and hidden the day prior.
Lockwood stuck a random number of candles into the cake and lit them, and he and George sang a passable rendition of “Happy Birthday.”
Lucy sat at the table, candles flickering in front of her as George and Lockwood neared the end of the song. The sun had gone down long before, and Lockwood had switched off the kitchen light so that the glow of the candles shone brightly in the cozy room. It lit up the faces of her family, their goofy grins highlighted as they sang to her at the top of their lungs. The warmth of the moment surrounded her; she swallowed down a lump in her throat and fought back the tears of joy that welled in her eyes. Was this what it felt like for normal people on their birthdays?
The boys ended their song, Lockwood throwing his arms out dramatically at the final notes, his smile wider than she’d ever before seen it.
Lucy hadn’t expected to think of a wish so readily, but it came to her immediately and she leaned forward to blow out the candles.
I wish we will always be a family.
She blew them all out in one fell swoop.