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For the first twenty minutes after they arrived, Regulus Black could not remain seated for longer than three seconds at a time.
He tried.
Walburga asked him to sit while she straightened his birthday badge, and Regulus lowered himself obediently onto the edge of the long padded bench in the private party area. He placed both hands on his knees. His legs swung beneath him, his new grippy socks catching against the side of the bench each time his heels kicked backwards.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Then his head turned sharply towards the entrance again.
“Is that them?”
It was not.
A family passed through the enormous glass doors at the front of the building, the children already tugging impatiently at their parents’ hands. Their voices blended into the cheerful roar coming from the indoor park beyond the barriers: shrieks, laughter, the muffled thunder of feet on padded floors and the quick, rushing sound of bodies flying down enormous slides.
Regulus watched the family hurry towards the check-in desk.
His shoulders dropped.
“No,” he said to himself.
Walburga finished smoothing the round badge pinned carefully to his top. It was brightly coloured and enormous against his little chest, announcing that he was the birthday boy in bold, glittering letters.
“Not yet,” she said. “They still have plenty of time.”
Regulus looked towards the digital clock mounted high on the wall.
“I know.”
“You asked if that was them.”
“I was only checking.”
“Mm.”
“I wasn’t worried.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“I’m not.”
Walburga smiled and reached up to straighten his paper birthday hat. Regulus immediately put one hand over it to keep it from moving.
“Eomma.”
“I’m only fixing it.”
“It was already right.”
“It was leaning.”
“It’s supposed to lean.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it looks better.”
Walburga lowered her hand, still smiling. “Then I apologise.”
Regulus considered whether he believed her.
He seemed to decide that he did, because he stopped guarding the hat and turned back towards the park.
The building was so large that Regulus had not known where to look when they first walked inside.
He had seen photographs before. He had watched videos with Orion and pointed out everything he wanted to try. He had spent the previous week explaining the place to Sirius in increasingly dramatic detail, even though Sirius had seen the same pictures and knew perfectly well what was there.
The photographs had not properly shown the size of it.
They had not shown the towering walls or the maze of platforms climbing towards the ceiling. They had not shown how many slides there were, or how some dropped so steeply that they seemed nearly vertical from the bottom. They had not shown the twisting enclosed tubes, the wide racing lanes or the enormous curved slides that sent children rushing down one side and gliding high up the other.
There were slides with humps that launched riders briefly into the air. There were long, smooth slopes and sharp, fast drops. There were mats stacked neatly beside some of them, and padded stairs leading upwards in bright colours.
Past the slides were huge, springy air courts where children could run, leap and bounce. One court had markings for games. Another was open and filled with padded obstacles. Further away was an indoor play structure built from nets, soft platforms, tunnels and climbing frames.
Above part of it all ran the AirGlider.
Regulus had gone completely silent when he first saw it.
The harnesses hung from a track suspended near the ceiling, carrying riders through the air around sweeping bends. Coloured lights glowed along the structure. One child was being strapped in as Regulus watched, and another was already gliding overhead with arms stretched wide, feet swinging far above the floor.
Then Regulus had grabbed Orion’s hand with both of his and begun speaking so quickly that several of his words collided.
“Appa, Appa, look, it goes all around there, look, it turns there, and then it goes past the slides, and you’re really high, but they strap you in, so you can’t fall, and I’m big enough because we checked, remember we checked, and I can go on it, can I go first? Or should we do it after the slides? Maybe everyone should see everything first because they might not know what they want to do yet, but I know what I want to do, but maybe I should let them choose because it’s polite when they’re my guests, but I’m the birthday boy, so maybe I choose first and then they choose after—”
Orion had laughed softly and placed a hand on the top of his head.
“Breathe, son.”
Regulus had taken an enormous breath.
He had held it for a moment.
Then he had continued.
“Can I go on it three times?”
“We’ll see.”
“That means maybe.”
“It means we’ll see.”
“But when you say we’ll see, it means maybe.”
“It does.”
“So maybe three times.”
“Perhaps.”
“Four?”
“Regulus.”
Regulus had grinned up at him.
He was still grinning now, although no one from his class had arrived yet.
He climbed down from the bench again and wandered to the opening of the party area. A low barrier separated it from the main walkway, and Regulus held it with both hands as he leaned as far forwards as Walburga would allow.
“Stay inside, please,” she reminded him.
“My feet are inside.”
“Your entire body should be inside.”
“My feet are the most important bit.”
“Regulus.”
He pulled himself upright.
“All right.”
The party area had already been prepared before they arrived, but Walburga and Orion had spent time making certain everything was exactly right.
Bright decorations hung across the walls. Balloons had been arranged around the long table, and colourful plates and cups sat in perfect lines. Regulus had helped choose everything. He had changed his mind twice about the decorations before finally returning to the first set he had selected.
At one end of the room, the cake waited beneath its protective cover.
Regulus had already checked it six times.
The first time had been to make certain it had arrived.
The second had been to show Orion.
The third had been because he wanted to look at it again.
The fourth had been because he thought the lid might have fogged up.
The fifth had been because he had forgotten exactly where the candles were going to stand.
The sixth time had been less than two minutes after the fifth.
Beside the cake sat the gifts from Walburga and Orion, carefully wrapped and stacked together. Regulus knew they were his, but he did not know what was inside them. He had lifted one when Walburga was not looking and had been caught almost immediately.
“I wasn’t opening it,” he had protested.
“You were shaking it.”
“I was moving it.”
“Why?”
“It looked lonely over there.”
“It was beside the other presents.”
“It wanted to be closer.”
“To what?”
Regulus had hesitated.
“To me.”
Orion had turned away to hide his laughter while Walburga had taken the present from Regulus and placed it back in the pile.
“You may open them later.”
“I know.”
“Then stop investigating them.”
“I wasn’t investigating.”
“What were you doing?”
Regulus had looked at the present.
Then he had looked at her.
“I was checking it.”
“For loneliness?”
“Yes.”
The goody bags were lined up along another table.
Regulus was particularly proud of those.
He had helped put every one of them together. He had counted the sweets, chosen the little toys and helped decide which stickers went inside. Walburga had tried to arrange the items evenly while Regulus supervised with the seriousness of someone managing an extremely delicate operation.
Every bag needed to be fair.
No one could have more sweets than anyone else.
No one could have two of the same toy.
No one could receive a bent sticker sheet.
Regulus had checked.
Then he had checked again.
There were more bags than he could count quickly without using his finger, because so many children from his class had said they were coming.
Loads of them.
Almost everyone who had been invited had sent an answer.
Yes.
Yes, they would be there.
Yes, they would love to come.
Yes, their child was excited.
Yes, thank you for inviting them.
Walburga had read the responses aloud when they arrived. Regulus had listened to every one. He had asked how many people had answered and how many had not. He had wanted to know whether there would be enough goody bags, whether the table was long enough, whether everyone would be able to play the games he had selected.
They had planned those too.
The games would be played later, after everyone had finished running around and after the food arrived. Regulus had chosen games that could include the whole class. He had rejected anything he thought might take too long or leave somebody sitting alone.
The staff had been lovely from the moment they came in.
One had crouched down to speak to Regulus rather than talking above his head. Another had admired his birthday badge and told him she liked his hat. They had shown Walburga and Orion where everything would be kept and explained when the food would arrive.
There would be a break partway through the party.
The children would return to the party area, breathless and tired and hungry. The staff would bring out the food. Everyone would sit together. Then there would be games, the cake and the presents.
Regulus had listened to the explanation while bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“Will you say my name?” he had asked.
The staff member had smiled. “When?”
“When you bring the cake.”
“We can.”
“And everyone has to sing.”
“I’m sure they will.”
“Even if they’re tired?”
“Even if they’re tired.”
“And then I blow all the candles out.”
“That’s normally how birthdays work.”
“I can do it in one breath.”
“Can you?”
“Yes.”
Regulus had demonstrated by puffing out his cheeks and blowing a stream of air towards the covered cake.
Walburga had caught his shoulder before he could lean any closer.
“Not yet.”
“I was practising.”
“You have blown out candles before.”
“But there might be more this time.”
“There will be six.”
“I know. Because I’m six.”
The staff member had smiled wider. “That is usually how they decide.”
Regulus had turned proudly towards her.
“I was five yesterday.”
“Were you?”
“Yes. But now I’m six all day.”
“All day?”
“And after today too.”
“That is useful.”
“Yes.”
He had liked her immediately.
Now she was standing by the entrance to the party area, checking something on a small tablet. She glanced up and smiled when she saw Regulus watching her.
“Not long now, birthday boy.”
Regulus looked at the clock again.
“Twenty-eight minutes.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s not very long.”
“No.”
“It’s less than half an hour.”
“Only a little less.”
“My friends might come early.”
“They might.”
“Because I told them there was an AirGlider.”
“I’m sure they remember.”
“And the big slide.”
“There are quite a few big slides.”
“The really big one.”
“You may have to be more specific.”
Regulus pointed urgently through the open entrance.
“That one. The one that goes down and then up and then down again.”
The staff member followed the direction of his finger.
“That is a good one.”
“I’m going on it first.”
“I thought you were going on the AirGlider first.”
Regulus’s mouth fell open.
He turned to Walburga.
“Eomma.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know which one I’m doing first.”
“That sounds like a very serious problem.”
“It is.”
Walburga sat at the table, one arm resting along the back of her chair. She was composed as ever, but there was warmth in her expression that softened it whenever Regulus looked at her.
“Perhaps you can decide when your friends arrive.”
“But what if they want to do different things?”
“Then you can split into smaller groups.”
Regulus frowned.
“But it’s my birthday. We should do it together.”
“You do not all have to remain in one group for the entire party.”
“I want to see them go down the slide.”
“You may see some of them.”
“I want to race.”
“Then choose the racing slides first.”
“But the queue for the AirGlider might get longer.”
“Then choose the AirGlider.”
“But everyone might be scared.”
“Then they do not have to ride it.”
“But I want them to.”
Walburga raised an eyebrow.
Regulus corrected himself.
“I want them to want to.”
“That is different.”
“I think they will.”
“I expect they will too.”
Regulus looked back at the track hanging over the park.
A rider drifted across the far side of the room, suspended from the harness. Their legs swung as they turned around a corner.
Regulus clapped both hands over his mouth.
The sound that escaped him was small, breathless and delighted.
“Appa! Look!”
Orion was already looking.
“I see.”
“They’re flying.”
“So they are.”
“Not really flying,” Regulus added quickly. “Because they’re attached.”
“Of course.”
“But it feels like flying.”
“I imagine it does.”
“I’m not going to scream.”
“No?”
“No. I’m six.”
“I have heard six-year-olds scream.”
“Not me.”
“You screamed when Sirius put a cold spoon against your neck.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“I wasn’t strapped in.”
Orion nodded solemnly. “An important distinction.”
Regulus hurried back towards him, grippy socks squeaking faintly against the floor. He climbed onto the chair beside Orion and then, apparently deciding that was not close enough, scrambled onto his father’s lap.
Orion steadied him with an arm around his waist.
“You chose your best clothes to climb all over me?”
“They’re play clothes.”
“You said they were your best outfit.”
“They can be both.”
Regulus had chosen the outfit himself.
He had spent a long time doing it.
Walburga had placed several options on his bed that morning, but Regulus had rejected two immediately, reconsidered one and then assembled his own choice from different pieces. It was smart enough to satisfy his mother and comfortable enough for running, climbing and sliding.
He had stood in front of the mirror afterwards, turning from side to side.
Sirius had appeared behind him in his own pyjamas, despite having been awake long enough to get dressed.
“You look weird,” Sirius had announced.
Regulus had glared at him through the mirror.
“It’s my best outfit.”
“I know.”
“It doesn’t look weird.”
“The hat does.”
Regulus had reached for the paper birthday hat on the dresser.
“I’m not wearing it yet.”
“You have to.”
“I know.”
“All day.”
“Not all day.”
“Yes, you do. Birthday law.”
“There isn’t birthday law.”
“There is when you’re six.”
“You’re seven.”
“That’s why I know.”
Sirius had not been allowed to come to the party.
He was grounded, and Walburga and Orion had arranged for him to spend the day with Arcturus and Melania instead. Regulus had been sad about that. Sirius had been furious about it, although his fury had faded when Regulus came downstairs wearing his chosen outfit and holding his birthday badge in one hand.
Sirius had made him a card.
Not bought one.
Made one.
The paper had been folded slightly crookedly, and Sirius had drawn the two of them on the front. Regulus could tell which was which because one figure was taller and had messier hair. There were six balloons around the drawing, although one was much larger than the rest because Sirius had run out of space.
Inside, Sirius had written a message in careful, uneven letters.
Regulus had read it twice.
Then Sirius had given him a present and thrown both arms around him.
The hug had been so forceful that Regulus staggered backwards.
“Happy birthday, Reggie.”
“Thank you.”
“You have to tell me everything when you get home.”
“I will.”
“Every slide.”
“Yes.”
“And tell me which one was best.”
“Yes.”
“And don’t give my goody bag to anyone else.”
“You’re not coming.”
“I know, but I’m still your brother.”
“I only made them for the guests.”
“I gave you a present.”
“That doesn’t make you a guest.”
“It should.”
Regulus had pretended to consider it.
Then he had smiled.
“I made you one already.”
Sirius’s entire face had lit up.
“You did?”
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
“Eomma put it away.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll eat all the sweets before lunch.”
“I won’t.”
“You will.”
“I’m seven. I can control myself.”
“You ate chocolate before breakfast yesterday.”
“That was yesterday.”
Regulus had hugged him again before it was time to leave.
Sirius had squeezed him tightly.
“Have the best birthday ever.”
“I will.”
“And the best party.”
“I will.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
Sirius had pulled back and grinned at him.
“Good.”
Now Regulus leaned comfortably against Orion’s chest and watched the entrance.
“Do you think Sirius is having fun?”
“I expect he is behaving himself,” Orion replied.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No.”
“Is he having fun?”
“He is with your grandparents.”
“That’s still not an answer.”
Orion glanced towards Walburga.
Walburga lifted her cup.
“I am not helping you.”
Orion looked back at Regulus.
“He would rather be here.”
Regulus nodded.
“I know.”
“But he was very excited for you.”
“I know.”
“And he will want to hear all about it.”
“I’m going to tell him about the AirGlider first.”
“Even if you do not ride it first?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the best bit.”
“You have not tried it yet.”
“I can tell.”
Regulus slid off Orion’s lap again.
“Maybe I’ll do the AirGlider first. Then the racing slide. Then the blue one. Then the bumpy one. Then the play area. Then the AirGlider again. Then food. Then games. Then cake.”
“What about all the other slides?” Walburga asked.
“After cake.”
“You will be going home after cake.”
Regulus froze.
He stared at her.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“But I won’t have done everything.”
“You have a limited session.”
“How limited?”
“You know how long the party lasts.”
“But that was before I saw how many things there are.”
“The number of attractions has not changed since we booked it.”
“They looked smaller in the pictures.”
“The slides?”
“The whole building.”
Walburga tried not to laugh.
Regulus spotted it anyway.
“This is serious.”
“I know.”
“What if we run out of time?”
“Then you will have done as much as you could.”
“But what if someone only goes on one slide because they’re too slow?”
“I am sure your friends will manage more than one slide.”
“What if they don’t know where to go?”
“There are staff members.”
“What if they get lost?”
“It is one open park.”
“There are tunnels.”
“They will come out of them.”
“What if they go in the little play area and don’t come back?”
“Why would they not come back?”
“Because it looks fun.”
“Regulus.”
“I’m only thinking.”
“You have done enough thinking. Sit down and relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
“You are walking in circles.”
Regulus looked down.
He was.
He stopped.
Then he moved towards the goody bags instead.
“Can I check them?”
“You have already checked them.”
“That was at home.”
“They have not changed.”
“They were in the car.”
“No one opened them in the car.”
“One might have tipped over.”
“They are all standing upright.”
“I can’t see what’s inside.”
“That is because they are bags.”
Regulus reached towards the nearest one.
Walburga said his name.
He withdrew his hand.
“I wasn’t touching.”
“You were about to.”
“I was looking.”
“With your fingers?”
Regulus tucked both hands behind his back.
“They help.”
Orion quietly laughed.
Regulus glanced at him.
“Appa.”
“Yes?”
“You’re not supposed to laugh.”
“Why not?”
“Because Eomma is being difficult.”
Walburga’s eyebrows rose.
“Am I?”
Regulus immediately reconsidered his wording.
“Not difficult.”
“What am I being?”
“Careful.”
“That sounds better.”
“Too careful.”
Orion laughed again.
Walburga turned to him. “Would you like to manage the goody bags?”
“No.”
“Then be quiet.”
Orion pressed his lips together.
Regulus copied him.
For several seconds, father and son sat in exaggerated silence.
Walburga looked between them.
“Both of you are ridiculous.”
Regulus’s eyes brightened.
“Can I look at the cake again?”
“No.”
He slumped.
The staff member near the entrance smiled.
“I think the cake is still there.”
Regulus immediately turned to her.
“How do you know?”
“Because I have been watching it.”
“You have?”
“Very carefully.”
“Did anyone touch it?”
“No.”
“Did the lid move?”
“No.”
“Did you check the candles?”
“They are ready.”
Regulus relaxed.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He climbed back onto the bench and finally remained there.
His legs swung faster now.
The clock continued moving.
Twenty-five minutes.
Twenty-four.
Twenty-three.
Every time the front doors opened, Regulus sat straighter.
Every time footsteps came along the walkway, he turned his head.
Children passed the party area with coloured wristbands around their arms. Some wore the same sort of grippy socks Regulus had on. Some carried mats. Some ran ahead until their parents called them back.
None of them came into the party area.
Regulus did not seem troubled by it yet.
There was still plenty of time.
People did not always arrive early.
Walburga had told everyone when to be there. They knew the play session began at a particular time. They would need to check in first. Their parents would have planned for that.
Regulus knew all of this because he had asked.
Repeatedly.
“When do we leave?”
“What time do we get there?”
“Why do we have to be there half an hour early?”
“Will everyone else come half an hour early?”
“What if they come before us?”
“What if they think they’re late?”
“What if somebody forgets their socks?”
“What if somebody forgets it’s my birthday?”
No one would forget.
They had all been invited.
They had all replied.
Loads of them had replied.
Yes.
Regulus leaned towards Walburga.
“Can I see your phone?”
“Why?”
“I want to see the answers.”
“You have seen them.”
“I want to count again.”
“There is no need.”
“Please?”
Walburga studied him for a moment before taking her phone from the table.
Regulus slid along the bench until he was pressed against her side.
She opened the messages.
“There.”
Regulus counted the replies.
He whispered the numbers under his breath, touching each response carefully with the tip of one finger while Walburga held the phone still.
“One, two, three, four, five…”
His birthday hat slipped slightly as he bent forwards.
He ignored it.
“…eight, nine, ten…”
More than enough children to fill the long table.
More than enough children to play all the games.
More than enough children to use every goody bag except Sirius’s.
Regulus finished counting and looked satisfied.
“They’re all coming.”
“Those are the replies we received.”
“They said yes.”
“They did.”
“So they’re all coming.”
Walburga hesitated for such a small fraction of a second that Regulus did not notice.
“Yes.”
He smiled and slid away again.
“What time is it?”
Orion told him.
Regulus looked at the clock to make certain.
“Only twenty minutes.”
“Only twenty,” Orion agreed.
“They’ll come now.”
“Perhaps.”
“They have to check in.”
“Yes.”
“Do they know where the party bit is?”
“The staff will show them.”
“Should I stand at the front?”
“No,” Walburga said.
“But they might not see me.”
“You are wearing a birthday badge and a hat.”
“What if there are other birthdays?”
“The staff will know which party they belong to.”
“But I want to say hello.”
“You may say hello when they come in.”
Regulus stared at the entrance.
“I can wave.”
“You may wave.”
“And tell them where to put their shoes.”
“The staff will do that.”
“I know where the shoes go.”
“I am sure you do.”
“And I can show them the socks.”
“They will have their own socks.”
“What if they don’t?”
“Then their parents can purchase them.”
Regulus nodded thoughtfully.
“Should we buy extra ones?”
“No.”
“Just in case?”
“No.”
“What if somebody’s parent forgot?”
“That is their responsibility.”
“But then they can’t play.”
“They can buy socks here.”
“What if they don’t have money?”
Walburga looked at him.
Regulus looked back.
“Everyone will have socks,” she said.
He accepted that.
A burst of delighted screaming came from the park as four children launched themselves down the racing lanes at once.
Regulus jumped off the bench and ran to the edge of the party area.
He watched them reach the bottom almost together.
“Appa! Appa, look! They race at the same time!”
Orion joined him.
“I see.”
“We can have teams.”
“For the slide?”
“Yes. And then whoever wins goes again.”
“What happens to whoever loses?”
“They go again too.”
“That does not sound like much of a competition.”
“It’s not. It’s for fun.”
Regulus traced the paths of the slides with his eyes.
“We could all start at the top. But not all on one slide because that would be dangerous. Four at a time. Then the next four. Then the next four.”
“You have planned this carefully.”
“I planned it last night.”
“I thought you were asleep.”
“I planned quietly.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“I was in bed.”
“Also not the same thing.”
Regulus ignored him.
“Do you think everyone will like the fast slide?”
“I expect so.”
“What if somebody cries?”
“Then their parent will help them.”
“What if they want me?”
“Why would they want you?”
“Because it’s my birthday.”
Orion looked down at him.
Regulus’s expression was completely sincere.
“I see,” Orion said.
“I can say it’s all right.”
“That would be kind.”
“And they don’t have to go down the big one.”
“No.”
“They can go in the play area.”
“Yes.”
“And I can go with them.”
“You may choose.”
“I don’t want anybody to be scared by themselves.”
Orion’s expression softened.
He placed his hand against the back of Regulus’s head.
“You have thought of everything.”
“Not everything.”
“No?”
“I still don’t know what to do first.”
“That is true.”
Regulus sighed deeply.
It was difficult being six.
The front doors opened again.
A child entered with an adult.
Regulus spun around so quickly that his hat nearly fell off.
His mouth opened.
Then the child turned in the opposite direction.
They were not coming to the party area.
Regulus watched them walk away.
“Maybe they’re going to the toilet first,” he said.
“Perhaps,” Orion replied.
Regulus waited.
They did not come back.
Another few minutes passed.
The staff member checked her tablet again.
She looked towards the entrance.
Then towards the clock.
Walburga noticed.
Regulus did not.
He had returned to the table and was arranging the empty cups, although they had already been arranged.
“You are moving those,” Walburga said.
“They weren’t straight.”
“They were.”
“This one wasn’t.”
“It was.”
Regulus nudged it by a fraction.
“Now it is.”
Walburga glanced at the entrance.
No one.
Seventeen minutes.
She picked up her phone and looked at the message thread again.
“Yes?” Orion asked quietly.
Walburga shook her head.
Regulus was humming to himself while he adjusted the plates.
“What are you doing?” Orion asked.
“Making everyone’s place.”
“They do not have assigned seats.”
“I know.”
“Then what are you making?”
“Places.”
“There were already places.”
“I’m making sure.”
Regulus counted the plates.
Then he counted the cups.
Then the napkins.
One napkin was slightly crooked. He corrected it.
“Do you think they’ll bring presents?” he asked.
Walburga looked up from her phone.
“Some may.”
“They don’t have to.”
“No.”
“I said they didn’t have to.”
“You did.”
“I only want them to come.”
Walburga’s fingers tightened faintly around her phone.
“They said they would.”
“I know.”
Regulus smiled.
“I made goody bags even if they don’t bring presents.”
“That was kind.”
“They’re not for trading.”
“No?”
“No. Because everyone gets the same things mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“The toy colours are different.”
“I remember.”
“If someone wants a different colour, they can ask. But they can’t take.”
“That is sensible.”
“And Sirius’s bag is different.”
“Because he is not a guest.”
“Because he’s my brother.”
Regulus walked over to the goody bags and pointed to the one Walburga had placed slightly apart from the others.
“That’s his.”
“I know.”
“He wanted two sweets.”
“He always wants two sweets.”
“I put three.”
“Did you?”
Regulus nodded.
“Because he can’t come.”
Walburga’s expression softened again.
“He will appreciate that.”
“He better.”
“I am sure he will.”
Regulus returned to the entrance.
Fifteen minutes.
The excitement in him had not vanished, but it was changing.
It was no longer spilling out in constant motion. He was beginning to watch the doors more intently. His little fingers curled around the edge of the barrier.
A group of children appeared outside the glass doors.
Regulus gasped.
“There!”
Walburga and Orion both looked.
Regulus began waving before they had even entered.
“Hello!”
The doors opened.
The children hurried through.
They were older than Regulus. None of them were from his class. They wore matching shirts and followed an adult towards another party area further inside the building.
Regulus’s hand lowered.
“Oh.”
Walburga rose from her chair.
She walked to him and rested a hand on his shoulder.
“They are not your guests.”
“I know.”
“They may be arriving closer to the start time.”
“I know.”
“You still have fifteen minutes.”
Regulus looked at the clock.
“Fourteen.”
“Fourteen, then.”
“That isn’t long.”
“No.”
He glanced at the entrance again.
“Maybe they’re all coming together.”
“Perhaps.”
“Maybe one parent is bringing lots of them.”
“That could be the case.”
“They’d have to have a big car.”
“Yes.”
“Or two cars.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe they’re outside.”
“Perhaps.”
“Can we look?”
“The entrance is visible from here.”
“I mean outside outside.”
Walburga crouched beside him.
“You need to stay in the party area until it is time for your session.”
“But what if they don’t know where the door is?”
“The door is very large.”
“What if they went to the wrong building?”
“They have the address.”
“What if—”
“Regulus.”
He stopped.
Walburga straightened the edge of his birthday badge even though it did not need straightening.
“They will come through that door.”
Regulus studied her face.
“Promise?”
The word was soft.
Walburga’s hand became still.
Orion looked towards them.
The staff member by the entrance looked down at her tablet.
Walburga did not answer immediately.
She had no reason to think no one would come.
They had the replies.
They had the names.
They had planned for the number of guests.
The parents had confirmed.
There was no reason for this sudden pressure in her chest or for Orion to keep checking the car park through the glass every time the doors opened.
There were still fourteen minutes.
Then thirteen.
Then twelve.
“I promise that everyone who said they would come knows where they are supposed to be,” Walburga said carefully.
Regulus frowned.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I know.”
“Will they come?”
Walburga cupped his cheek.
“They said they would.”
Regulus looked at her for another moment.
Then he nodded.
“All right.”
He accepted the answer because he was six.
Because adults made the plans.
Because parents sent messages and received replies.
Because yes meant yes.
He went back to the bench and sat down.
His legs did not swing as quickly now.
The staff member walked quietly towards another member of staff near the check-in desk. They spoke in low voices. Both looked towards the entrance.
Then they looked at Regulus.
Their expressions changed when they realised Walburga had seen them.
One of them offered a small smile.
Walburga did not return it.
She sat beside Orion.
“Message them,” she murmured.
Orion had already taken out his phone.
“I am.”
Regulus’s head turned.
“Who are you messaging?”
“The parents.”
“Why?”
“To make certain they know what time the party begins.”
“They know.”
“Yes.”
“It was on the invitation.”
“It was.”
“And they answered.”
“They did.”
“Then why are you messaging?”
Orion looked at him.
Regulus’s eyes were wide, but not yet frightened. He was only confused. He wanted the world placed back in its proper order. He wanted someone to explain the missing piece so he could stop watching the door.
“We are checking whether anyone is running late,” Orion said.
“Oh.”
Regulus turned back towards the entrance.
“Maybe there’s traffic.”
“Maybe.”
“There’s always traffic.”
“Sometimes.”
“Or somebody couldn’t find their shoes.”
“That can delay people.”
“Sirius can never find his shoes.”
“No.”
“He leaves one upstairs and one downstairs.”
“I know.”
“And once he put one in the garden.”
“He claimed it was an accident.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I did not believe him.”
Regulus managed a small smile.
“Maybe everyone lost their shoes.”
“That would be very unfortunate.”
“All at the same time.”
“Very unlikely.”
“But it could happen.”
“I suppose.”
Ten minutes.
The staff member approached them again.
Her smile was quieter now.
“Would you like me to check whether any guests have signed in separately?”
Walburga stood.
“Yes.”
“I’m sure they haven’t,” Regulus said.
The staff member looked at him.
He pointed towards the entrance.
“They have to come here. I told them.”
“Of course.”
“They’ll see the balloons.”
“Yes.”
“And my hat.”
“Definitely.”
She glanced at Walburga before walking away.
Regulus pulled at the bottom of his top.
“Is my badge straight?”
“Yes,” Walburga said.
“Are you sure?”
“I am.”
“My hat?”
“It is fine.”
“Does it look stupid?”
“No.”
“Sirius said it did.”
“Sirius says many things.”
“But does it?”
“No.”
Regulus touched the hat carefully.
“Maybe they don’t know it’s me.”
“They know it is your birthday.”
“But maybe they think another Regulus invited them.”
“How many children named Regulus are in your class?”
“One.”
“Then I doubt they are confused.”
He looked down.
His grippy socks were bright and new. He had been excited to put them on. They had special rubber shapes beneath his feet so he would not slip when he ran.
He pressed his toes against the floor.
“They said they were coming.”
Orion’s phone vibrated.
Regulus looked up instantly.
“Is that them?”
Orion read the message.
Something in his face altered.
It was small.
A tightening around the mouth. A pause before he looked up.
Walburga saw it.
“What did they say?” Regulus asked.
Orion’s thumb remained against the screen.
“There has been a change of plans.”
Regulus blinked.
“What change?”
“They cannot come.”
“Who?”
Orion did not say a name.
Regulus did not need him to. He knew it was one of the children from his class. One of the yeses. One of the plates. One of the goody bags.
“Why?”
“They did not explain.”
“But they said yes.”
“I know.”
“Did you tell them it’s today?”
“They know.”
“Did you tell them we’re here?”
“Yes.”
“Tell them there’s still ten minutes.”
“They cannot come, Regulus.”
“But the party hasn’t started.”
“I know.”
“So they’re not late.”
“No.”
“Then they can still come.”
Orion put the phone down.
“They have changed their plans.”
Regulus stared at him.
His brow furrowed as he tried to make the words fit together.
“What plans?”
“I do not know.”
“They planned my party.”
“They planned to attend your party.”
“Yes.”
“But now they cannot.”
“Why?”
“They did not say.”
Regulus’s lower lip pushed forwards slightly.
“That’s rude.”
Walburga sat beside him.
“It is.”
“They should say why.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe they’re ill.”
“Perhaps.”
“Then it’s not rude.”
“No.”
“But they should still say.”
“They should.”
Regulus looked towards the goody bags.
“Can we keep theirs?”
“Yes.”
“For Sirius?”
“If you like.”
“He’ll have two then.”
“He will.”
Regulus did not smile this time.
Orion’s phone vibrated again.
Then Walburga’s did.
Both sounds seemed very loud in the party area.
Regulus looked from one parent to the other.
“Is that someone saying they’re here?”
Walburga read her message.
Her expression did not change.
She had always been skilled at controlling her face. Regulus knew the difference anyway.
“What?”
Walburga put the phone down.
“Another family has had a change of plans.”
His confusion deepened.
“The same change?”
“I do not know.”
“Did they say they can’t come?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“They did not explain.”
Regulus looked at Orion.
“Did yours explain?”
“No.”
“Ask.”
“I have.”
“What did they say?”
“They have not answered.”
Regulus was very still.
Around them, the park remained loud.
Children screamed as they rushed down slides. Shoes thudded across padded floors. Somewhere, a whistle sounded. A recorded announcement played through the building, cheerful and bright, telling another group that their session was about to begin.
Regulus’s session would begin soon too.
The staff member returned.
“No one has checked in under the party booking yet,” she said softly.
Walburga nodded once.
“Thank you.”
“They may all be arriving together.”
“That is possible.”
The staff member looked at Regulus.
He was staring at the entrance again.
She lowered her voice further.
“Is there anything we can do?”
“Not yet,” Walburga said.
The staff member’s eyes moved towards the long decorated table.
The empty chairs.
The untouched cups.
The line of goody bags.
The cake waiting beneath its clear lid.
Her expression tightened with something close to horror.
“Of course,” she whispered.
She stepped away.
Regulus heard her anyway.
“What would she do?”
Walburga looked at him.
“What?”
“She asked if there was anything she could do.”
“She was being helpful.”
“What can she do?”
“Bring the food later. Help with the party.”
“But it hasn’t started.”
“No.”
“So we don’t need food.”
“Not yet.”
Regulus rubbed one thumb over the edge of his birthday badge.
“Maybe everyone is together.”
“Perhaps.”
“Maybe there’s a big car.”
“Perhaps.”
“Or a bus.”
“A bus?”
“For all of them.”
“That would be unusual.”
“They might have planned it.”
“Without telling us?”
“To surprise me.”
Walburga looked at her son.
His eyes had become too bright.
He was still trying to smile.
“Maybe,” she said.
The lie hurt as it left her mouth.
Regulus nodded quickly.
“Yes.”
Orion’s phone vibrated again.
He did not pick it up immediately.
Regulus saw.
“Appa.”
Orion looked at him.
“Your phone.”
“I know.”
“Aren’t you going to look?”
“In a moment.”
“What if somebody needs the address?”
“They have it.”
“What if they’re outside?”
“They would come in.”
“What if—”
The phone vibrated a second time.
Orion turned it over.
The message glowed on the screen.
Regulus could not read it from where he sat, but he saw the length of it. Not long. Only a few words.
Orion read them.
“No,” Regulus said.
Neither parent spoke.
His voice had been so quiet that they might have pretended not to hear.
He looked at Orion.
“No.”
“Regulus—”
“They’re coming.”
Orion set the phone down.
“Another family says they cannot attend.”
“They can.”
“They say they cannot.”
“But they said yes.”
“I know.”
“They said yes before.”
“Yes.”
“So they have to come.”
“I am sorry.”
“No.”
Regulus slid off the bench.
He went to the entrance of the party area and gripped the barrier with both hands.
The clock changed.
Eight minutes.
He stared at the glass doors.
A couple came in without children.
A family left, carrying their shoes.
A little girl ran towards the check-in desk and was called back by her father.
None of them were from Regulus’s class.
He shifted from one foot to the other.
“They’re going to come at the same time.”
Walburga stood behind him.
“Regulus.”
“They are.”
She placed a hand against his back.
His muscles were tense beneath his carefully chosen clothes.
“Your father is still contacting everyone.”
“They’re in the car.”
“We do not know that.”
“They can’t message if they’re driving.”
“The parents who are not driving can.”
“Maybe there’s only one parent.”
“For every child?”
“Yes.”
“No, darling.”
Regulus’s grip tightened.
“Don’t call me darling.”
“Why?”
“I’m six.”
“You are still my darling.”
“I’m not a baby.”
“I know.”
“Then stop.”
Walburga lowered her hand.
“All right.”
Regulus kept staring through the doors.
His hat had begun to lean again.
This time he did not notice.
Behind him, Orion sent another message.
Walburga heard the small tapping of his fingers against the screen.
“Any answers?” she asked.
“Only the cancellations.”
“How many?”
Orion looked at Regulus’s back.
He lowered his voice.
“Three.”
“And the others?”
“Nothing.”
“Call.”
“I have.”
“Again.”
“I will.”
Regulus turned around.
“How many?”
Walburga and Orion fell silent.
“How many what?” Walburga asked.
“How many said they can’t come?”
“No one else has answered.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Orion stood.
“Three families have told us their plans changed.”
“Three children?”
“Yes.”
Regulus counted silently.
His lips moved.
There were still plenty left.
There were still enough for the table.
Enough for games.
Enough for racing.
Enough to sing.
“Three isn’t everyone,” he said.
“No.”
“So everyone else is coming.”
“We do not know.”
“They didn’t say they aren’t.”
“No.”
“So they are.”
Walburga looked towards the doors.
No one was there.
“Perhaps.”
Regulus returned his attention to the entrance.
Seven minutes.
Then six.
The staff who passed the party area began looking inside.
Some tried not to.
Others failed.
They saw the little boy in his birthday hat, standing alone between two long rows of empty seats.
They saw the parents checking their phones.
They saw the untouched decorations and the cake meant for a room full of children.
One member of staff stopped near the check-in desk and whispered something to another. The second staff member looked at Regulus, then immediately looked away.
Regulus noticed.
“Why are they looking at me?”
Walburga glanced over.
“They know you are the birthday boy.”
“Because of my badge?”
“Yes.”
“Are they waiting for everyone too?”
“They are keeping an eye on the entrance.”
“Why?”
“To help your guests when they arrive.”
Regulus nodded.
His breathing had become slightly faster.
“Good.”
He turned back.
Five minutes.
A child appeared through the doors.
Regulus’s whole body lifted.
The child was small. The correct age. Wearing a coat Regulus thought he recognised.
He released the barrier.
“They’re here.”
The child turned their head.
Regulus’s smile vanished.
It was not someone from his class.
The child did not even look towards the party area.
Regulus took one step backwards.
Walburga caught him gently by the shoulders.
“It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not.”
Her hands tightened.
Regulus twisted around to look at her.
His face had begun to crumple, though he was fighting it with all the determination his little body possessed.
“They’re late.”
“Yes.”
“They’re all late.”
“Yes.”
“Every single one.”
Walburga swallowed.
“Some people are not coming.”
“Three.”
“Yes.”
“But everyone else is late.”
“We have not heard from everyone else.”
“Why not?”
“I do not know.”
“Call them.”
“Your father is calling.”
“Call again.”
“He is.”
“Use your phone too.”
“I have sent messages.”
“Call.”
Walburga picked up her phone.
“All right.”
“Now.”
“I am doing it now.”
Regulus watched her tap the screen.
He listened as she raised the phone to her ear.
It rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
No answer.
Walburga ended the call.
“Again,” Regulus said.
“I will call another parent.”
“No. Call that one again.”
“They did not answer.”
“They might answer now.”
“Regulus—”
“Call again.”
Walburga did.
It rang until the call disconnected.
No answer.
Regulus’s eyes filled.
He blinked hard.
“Another one.”
Walburga selected another number.
Orion was calling someone too.
For several terrible seconds, both phones rang at once.
No one answered either call.
Regulus pressed his palms against his ears.
“Stop.”
Walburga ended her call immediately.
Orion did the same.
Regulus lowered his hands.
The noise of the park rushed back in around him.
The slides.
The laughter.
The announcements.
Everyone else having fun.
Everyone else arriving where they were meant to be.
He looked at the clock.
Four minutes.
“They’re late,” he whispered.
Orion came closer.
“Yes.”
“Maybe they think it starts later.”
“The invitation had the correct time.”
“Maybe you wrote it wrong.”
“We checked.”
“Maybe Eomma wrote it wrong.”
“I checked too,” Walburga said.
“Maybe all of them read it wrong.”
“That would be unlikely.”
“But maybe.”
Walburga could not say it.
She could not take the last little piece of hope from his hands while he was still gripping it so tightly.
“Maybe,” she whispered.
Regulus looked towards the table.
“So we wait.”
“Yes.”
“We still wait.”
“Yes.”
He returned to the bench.
His movements had become slow and careful, as though anything sudden might make the truth arrive faster.
He climbed up and sat in the middle.
Walburga sat on one side.
Orion sat on the other.
Regulus kept his hands folded in his lap.
Three minutes.
His paper hat leaned to the right.
His birthday badge glittered beneath the lights.
“Do I look nice?” he asked.
Walburga turned towards him.
“You look beautiful.”
“Boys aren’t beautiful.”
“Boys may be beautiful.”
“Do I look like a baby?”
“No.”
“Do I look stupid?”
“No.”
“Is my outfit bad?”
“No.”
“My socks?”
“No.”
“My hair?”
“Your hair is perfect.”
Regulus looked down at himself.
“Is the party bad?”
“No.”
“Are the goody bags bad?”
“No.”
“The cake?”
“No.”
“The games?”
“No.”
“Did I pick stupid games?”
“You chose wonderful games.”
“Are the slides boring?”
Orion answered this time.
“No.”
“The AirGlider?”
“No.”
“Then why are they late?”
Neither parent answered.
Regulus looked from one to the other.
“Why?”
Orion reached for him.
Regulus jerked away.
“Tell me.”
“We do not know,” Orion said.
“You’re grown-ups.”
“Yes.”
“You’re supposed to know.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“No.”
“Did I invite them properly?”
“Yes.”
“Did they know it was my birthday?”
“Yes.”
“Did they know there was cake?”
“Yes.”
“Did they know they get goody bags?”
“Yes.”
“Did they know they don’t need to bring presents?”
“Yes.”
Regulus’s voice began to tremble.
“Did they know I wanted them to come?”
Walburga’s face tightened.
“Yes.”
“Did you tell them?”
“It was your invitation.”
“But did you tell them?”
“Yes.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“And they said yes?”
“Yes.”
“Then why?”
Walburga reached for his hand.
This time Regulus let her take it.
His fingers were cold.
“I don’t know,” she said.
Two minutes.
Orion’s phone lit up.
No one moved.
It buzzed against the table.
Regulus stared at it.
“Look.”
Orion picked it up.
He read the message.
Walburga watched his face.
Regulus watched too.
“What does it say?”
Orion’s silence was answer enough.
“What does it say?”
“They cannot come.”
“Why?”
“They have had a change of plans.”
“No.”
“Regulus—”
“No, they didn’t.”
“That is what the message says.”
“They’re lying.”
Walburga closed her eyes for a moment.
“Regulus.”
“They said yes.”
“I know.”
“They’re lying now.”
“We do not know what happened.”
“Ask them.”
“We have.”
“What did they say?”
“Only that they cannot attend.”
“Ask why.”
“I did.”
“Ask again.”
“I will.”
“Now.”
Orion typed.
Regulus leaned towards the phone, trying to see.
“What are you writing?”
“I am asking whether everything is all right.”
“No. Ask why they’re not coming.”
“I am.”
“You didn’t write why.”
“I am being polite.”
“I don’t care.”
“Regulus.”
“It’s my birthday!”
His voice cracked across the party area.
Several staff members looked over.
Regulus heard himself.
He froze.
His mouth remained open for a second.
Then he closed it.
His chest rose and fell quickly.
“It’s my birthday,” he repeated, much smaller.
“I know,” Orion said.
“They said yes.”
“I know.”
“They can’t say no now.”
“I am sorry.”
“Stop saying that.”
Orion stopped.
Regulus turned away from him.
One minute.
The staff member who had first greeted Regulus stood near the entrance.
She looked at the clock.
Then at the empty walkway.
Her eyes shone.
She folded her arms tightly over her chest.
Walburga saw her whisper something to another member of staff.
The other staff member pressed her lips together and shook her head.
They looked horrified.
Not inconvenienced.
Not impatient.
Horrified.
There was something so terrible about the room being ready.
If the decorations had not been hanging, perhaps it would not have looked so empty.
If there had been fewer chairs, perhaps Regulus would not have seemed so small.
If there had not been a goody bag waiting for every child who had promised to come, perhaps there would have been fewer reminders.
If the cake had not been covered and perfect, perhaps Walburga could have pretended this was not meant to be one of the happiest moments of his little life.
The clock changed.
The party’s scheduled entry time arrived.
A cheerful announcement played overhead.
Regulus looked towards the park.
Another group hurried through the gates.
The children wore grippy socks.
They were laughing.
One of them ran ahead, shouting about the racing slide.
The gates closed behind them.
No one came through the front doors.
Regulus remained seated between his parents.
He stared at the entrance.
His face was completely blank.
Walburga knew that expression.
She had seen it when he was trying not to cry after falling over. When Sirius shouted too loudly and frightened him. When a toy broke and he insisted it did not matter.
He went very still.
He seemed to leave his own face.
“Regulus,” she said softly.
He did not answer.
Orion put the phone on the table.
“Son.”
Nothing.
The birthday session had begun.
The staff did not call Regulus’s group forwards.
There was no group.
There were only three people sitting in the party area beneath the decorations.
Regulus watched the door.
One minute passed.
Then another.
Walburga’s phone buzzed.
She turned it face down without looking.
Orion’s buzzed a few seconds later.
He did the same.
Regulus noticed.
“Read them.”
Walburga reached for him.
“Regulus—”
“Read them.”
She picked up her phone.
Two more messages.
One said that something had come up.
The other apologised for the late notice.
Neither gave a reason.
Neither asked after Regulus.
Neither said they were on their way.
Walburga’s throat felt tight.
“What do they say?” Regulus asked.
“They cannot come.”
“Both?”
“Yes.”
He looked at Orion’s phone.
“Yours.”
Orion checked.
His jaw tightened.
“They cannot come.”
Regulus stared ahead.
“How many now?”
No one answered.
“How many?”
Orion counted.
Regulus watched him.
“How many?”
“Seven.”
“Seven aren’t coming?”
“Yes.”
“How many are coming?”
“We do not know.”
“Count.”
“We have not received answers from the others.”
“Count how many said they’re coming.”
“No one has said they are on their way.”
The sentence entered the room and seemed to remove all the air from it.
Regulus looked at his father.
“What?”
Orion’s eyes closed briefly.
“No one has told us they are on their way.”
“But they said yes.”
“Before today.”
“That counts.”
“It should.”
“It does.”
Orion could not answer.
Regulus slid down from the bench.
He walked towards the goody bags.
His parents watched him.
He touched the first one.
Then the second.
Then the third.
He moved along the table, pressing his fingertips against each bag as he counted.
“One.”
His voice was barely audible.
“Two. Three. Four.”
Walburga rose but did not approach yet.
“Five. Six. Seven.”
Regulus paused.
Those belonged to the children who had cancelled.
He began again with the next bag.
“One. Two. Three…”
The numbers became confused.
He started over.
He counted all of them.
Then counted the cancellations.
Then tried to work out how many remained.
His six-year-old fingers lifted and folded as he calculated.
“There are still lots,” he said.
Neither parent spoke.
“There are.”
“Yes,” Walburga whispered.
“So they’re coming.”
“We don’t know.”
“Why do you keep saying that?”
“Because they have not answered.”
“That means yes.”
“No, darling.”
“Don’t call me darling!”
Walburga flinched.
Regulus snatched his hand away from the bags.
“No one said no before today. They all said yes. So if they don’t answer now, it means they’re coming.”
“Regulus—”
“It does.”
Orion moved closer.
“It may mean they have not seen the message.”
“Because they’re driving.”
“Perhaps.”
“So they’re coming.”
“Perhaps.”
Regulus nodded fiercely.
“Good.”
He returned to the entrance.
The scheduled time had passed by four minutes.
Then five.
People continued to enter and leave the building.
Not one face belonged to his class.
Regulus stood with both hands at his sides.
He did not wave anymore.
A staff member approached Walburga and Orion while keeping her voice low.
“Would you like us to delay anything?”
Walburga looked at Regulus.
“There is nothing to delay.”
“We can hold the food.”
“Yes.”
“And the cake.”
“Yes.”
“We’ll keep everything ready.”
“Thank you.”
The staff member swallowed.
“I’m so sorry.”
Regulus turned.
“Why are you sorry?”
The staff member froze.
Walburga’s eyes warned her.
“I only meant that I’m sorry your friends are running late,” she said carefully.
“They’re coming.”
“I’m sure—”
“They’re coming.”
The staff member’s eyes filled.
She nodded.
“All right.”
Regulus studied her.
“Why do you look sad?”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“I’m all right.”
“Did something happen?”
“No.”
“Are you crying?”
“No.”
Her voice broke on the word.
She turned away quickly.
Regulus watched her walk back towards the desk.
His forehead creased.
“Eomma.”
“Yes?”
“Why is she crying?”
“She feels bad.”
“Why?”
Walburga had no answer that would not destroy him.
“She wants your party to be perfect.”
“It will be.”
Walburga looked down.
Regulus returned to the door.
Six minutes late.
Seven.
Eight.
Another message arrived.
Orion read it in silence.
Regulus heard the phone but did not turn around.
“They’re not coming,” he said.
Orion’s face crumpled for a fraction of a second before he controlled it.
“No.”
“Who?”
Orion did not answer.
Regulus’s shoulders rose towards his ears.
“Who?”
“One of the other families.”
“Why?”
“They did not say.”
Regulus nodded.
He looked at the doors.
Another message came.
Walburga checked.
“No,” Regulus said again.
She had not spoken.
He knew.
“They cannot make it,” she whispered.
Another.
Orion.
Another change of plans.
Another apology.
Another no reason.
No one was delayed.
No one was nearly there.
No one asked them to wait.
No one said five more minutes.
No one said traffic was bad.
No one had lost their shoes.
No one had gone to the wrong building.
There was no large car.
There was no bus.
There was no surprise.
Regulus stood beneath the balloons while the truth gathered around him one message at a time.
His parents stopped telling him after that.
They silenced the phones.
It did not matter.
He had already understood.
Walburga saw the exact moment it happened.
Regulus’s eyes moved from the entrance to the empty table.
He looked at the chairs.
At the cups.
At the places he had carefully straightened.
At the games waiting to be played.
At the goody bags he had filled with his own hands.
At the enormous cake he had practised blowing towards.
At the presents waiting for later.
At the balloons.
At the decorations.
At the staff members trying not to stare.
Then he looked back at the door.
No one was coming through it.
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
He looked towards Walburga.
“Eomma?”
She hurried to him.
“Yes.”
His face folded.
Not gradually.
Not with the slow gathering of tears she had been expecting.
It broke apart all at once.
“Amudo an wa?”
His voice was tiny.
Walburga’s heart seemed to stop.
“Regulus—”
“Amudo?”
No one?
His chin trembled violently.
He looked at Orion.
“Appa, amudo an wa?”
Orion crossed the distance between them in two steps.
He dropped to his knees.
“Son—”
“Nobody’s coming?”
The first tear slipped down Regulus’s face.
Then another.
“Is nobody coming?”
Orion reached for him.
Regulus backed away.
“No.”
“Come here.”
“No.”
His breath hitched.
“No, no, no.”
Walburga crouched beside Orion.
“Regulus.”
“They said yes.”
“I know.”
“They said yes!”
His voice rose into a shriek.
Every staff member in the area looked over.
Regulus grabbed the front of his shirt in both fists, crushing the birthday badge beneath his fingers.
“They said they were coming! Eomma, they said they were coming!”
“I know.”
“You told me!”
“I know.”
“You said!”
“I know, baby.”
“Don’t call me baby!”
The words broke into a sob.
Regulus’s knees buckled.
Orion caught him before he struck the floor.
The moment Orion’s arms closed around him, Regulus began to wail.
It was not quiet crying.
It was not the restrained, wounded sniffling he had fought for the last several minutes.
It tore out of him.
A raw, devastated sound that seemed too large to fit inside such a small body.
He twisted in Orion’s arms and reached desperately for Walburga.
“Eomma!”
“I’m here.”
She gathered him against her at once.
Regulus clung to both of them, hands grasping at their clothes, his paper birthday hat crushed crookedly between Walburga’s shoulder and his head.
“Wae?” he sobbed. “Wae? Why? Why aren’t they coming?”
“We don’t know.”
“I was good!”
Walburga’s breath caught.
“You were.”
“I was good, Eomma!”
“I know. I know you were.”
“I invited everyone!”
“You did.”
“I made the bags!”
“I know.”
“I put all the sweets in, and I made them fair, and I picked games everybody could play, and I said they didn’t have to bring anything, and I—I—”
His words dissolved into another wail.
Orion wrapped both arms around him and Walburga, holding them close.
Regulus could barely breathe between sobs.
His face was pressed into Walburga’s neck. Tears soaked into her clothes. His fingers dug into Orion’s sleeve as though he feared one of them might disappear too.
“They don’t like me!”
“No,” Orion said immediately.
“They don’t!”
“That is not true.”
“They’re not coming!”
“That does not mean—”
“All of them!”
His voice cracked into a scream.
“All of them aren’t coming! Nobody wants my party!”
Walburga held the back of his head.
His hat slipped free and fell to the floor.
Regulus saw it.
He gave a broken cry and reached for it.
“My hat!”
Orion snatched it up before it could be stepped on.
“I have it.”
“It’s broken!”
“It is not broken.”
“It is!”
“It is only bent.”
“My birthday’s broken!”
Walburga squeezed her eyes shut.
“No.”
“It is!”
“No, Regulus.”
“It is! It is! It is!”
He kicked his feet helplessly against the floor.
The bright grips beneath his socks squeaked.
“My party started and nobody’s here!”
“I know.”
“Nobody came!”
“I know.”
“I waited!”
“I know, baby.”
“I waited the whole time!”
“You did.”
“I was ready!”
“I know.”
“I’m wearing my best outfit!”
Walburga’s composure cracked.
A tear escaped before she could stop it.
Regulus saw.
He stared at her through his own tears.
“You’re crying.”
“I’m all right.”
“You said you weren’t sad.”
“I am sad because you are hurt.”
“You said they’d come.”
Walburga went still.
Regulus’s face twisted harder.
“You promised!”
“I said they knew where to come.”
“You promised!”
“I’m sorry.”
“You lied!”
“I did not know.”
“You’re Eomma! You’re supposed to know!”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t!”
His anger collapsed beneath grief before it could fully form.
He threw himself back against her, sobbing into her shoulder.
“Eomma, make them come.”
Walburga stopped breathing.
“Please.”
She looked at Orion over their son’s head.
Orion’s eyes were red.
“Make them come,” Regulus begged. “Call them and tell them. Tell them it’s my birthday. Tell them I’m waiting.”
“We already called.”
“Call again.”
“They are not answering.”
“Call until they do.”
“Regulus—”
“Please.”
Walburga held him tighter.
“Please, Eomma. Jebal. Please make them come.”
“I can’t.”
The words nearly silenced him.
Regulus pulled his wet face away from her neck.
“What?”
“I cannot make them come.”
“Yes, you can.”
“I can call. I can ask. I cannot force them.”
“But you’re my eomma.”
“I know.”
“You fix things.”
“I try.”
“Fix it.”
Walburga looked at him.
His cheeks were soaked. His dark hair clung damply to his forehead. The birthday badge had been crumpled beneath his fists. His hat hung from Orion’s hand, bent down the middle.
Behind him, the entire party waited.
Everything she and Orion had arranged.
Everything Regulus had chosen.
Everything that was supposed to prove how loved and wanted he was.
“I don’t know how,” she whispered.
Regulus stared at her.
Then his face crumpled again.
The sob that came from him was quieter than the others and somehow worse.
“You have to.”
Walburga pressed her forehead to his.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“No, no, no.”
Orion reached around them and cupped Regulus’s face.
“Look at me.”
Regulus shook his head.
“Son, look at Appa.”
“No.”
“Please.”
Regulus forced his eyes open.
Orion wiped tears from beneath them with his thumbs, though more immediately replaced them.
“You have done nothing wrong.”
“They don’t like me.”
“You have done nothing wrong.”
“They all hate me.”
“No.”
“They do.”
“No, they do not.”
“Then why?”
Orion could not answer.
Regulus pushed at his hands.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Everyone keeps saying that!”
“Because we truly do not know.”
“You know everything!”
“I don’t.”
“You’re my appa!”
“I know.”
“You’re supposed to know!”
“I wish I did.”
“Ask them!”
“We have.”
“Ask them what I did!”
“You did nothing.”
“Ask!”
“You did nothing wrong.”
“Then ask why they hate me!”
“They do not hate you.”
“They do!”
Regulus’s voice vanished into breathless crying.
He buried his face against Orion’s chest now, changing between his parents as though neither embrace could contain the hurt for long.
Orion lifted him completely from the floor.
Regulus wrapped both legs around his father’s waist and clung to him.
He was six today.
He had told everyone.
He had been five yesterday, but now he was six all day and after today too.
Six was supposed to be bigger.
Six was supposed to mean he would not scream on the AirGlider.
Six was supposed to mean he could blow out six candles in one breath.
Six was supposed to be everyone singing his name while he smiled over the cake.
Instead he cried so hard that his whole body shook in Orion’s arms.
“Appa,” he gasped.
“I’m here.”
“I don’t want to be six.”
Orion closed his eyes.
“I know.”
“I want to be five.”
“I know.”
“My birthday is bad.”
“No.”
“It is.”
“This is not your fault.”
“I don’t want it.”
Orion held the back of his head.
“I know.”
“Take the badge off.”
Walburga moved closer.
“Regulus—”
“Take it off!”
His hands clawed at the pin.
Walburga caught them before he hurt himself.
“Let me.”
“I don’t want it!”
“I know. Hold still.”
She unfastened the badge carefully.
The fabric beneath it remained wrinkled.
Regulus watched her place it on the table.
His sobbing became louder again.
“Now nobody knows it’s my birthday.”
Walburga stared at him.
“You asked me to remove it.”
“I know!”
“Would you like it back?”
“No!”
“All right.”
“But nobody knows!”
“The staff know.”
“They don’t count!”
One of the staff members covered her mouth and turned away.
Another stood frozen near the food station with tears on her face.
They had seen children cry at parties before.
Children became overwhelmed.
Children fell over.
Children argued about turns.
Children disliked the food or became frightened by an attraction or cried when it was time to leave.
They had never watched a six-year-old realise that an entire table of guests was not coming.
They did not know where to look.
They did not know whether approaching would make it worse.
They did not know what to offer.
Regulus noticed the cake through his tears.
He pointed at it.
“Put it away.”
Walburga looked towards the table.
“You do not have to decide anything now.”
“Put it away.”
“You may still have it later.”
“I don’t want it.”
“All right.”
“I don’t want them to sing.”
“No one will sing unless you want them to.”
“There’s no one here to sing!”
The words became another scream.
Regulus twisted in Orion’s arms, struggling without knowing where he wanted to go.
Orion lowered him carefully.
His feet touched the floor.
Regulus ran three steps towards the table, then stopped in front of the goody bags.
He grabbed the nearest one.
“These were for them!”
Walburga followed him.
“I know.”
“They don’t get them.”
“No.”
“They can’t have them.”
“They will not.”
“I hate them!”
His fist closed around the handles of the bag.
“I hate all of them!”
Walburga crouched.
“You are hurt.”
“I hate them.”
“You may be angry.”
“I want to throw these away.”
“We do not have to decide that now.”
“I made them!”
“Yes.”
“They said they were coming!”
“I know.”
Regulus dropped the bag.
It landed upright.
Nothing spilled.
That somehow seemed to upset him even more.
He hit it with both hands.
The bag fell over.
“There!”
He kicked it.
It slid beneath the table.
“Regulus,” Orion said gently.
“I hate it!”
He kicked the next bag.
Then the leg of the table.
Orion caught him around the waist before he could hurt his foot.
Regulus screamed and fought against him.
“Let me go!”
“You will hurt yourself.”
“I don’t care!”
“I do.”
“Let me go!”
“No.”
“I want to break them!”
“I know.”
“I want to break all of it!”
“You are angry.”
“They ruined it!”
“I know.”
“They ruined my birthday!”
“I know.”
“I want to go home!”
The room went still.
Orion tightened his hold.
Walburga looked at him.
Regulus sobbed against his father’s arm.
“I want to go home.”
“All right,” Orion said.
“No!”
Orion paused.
Regulus turned in his grip.
“I don’t want to go home.”
“All right.”
“I want my party.”
Walburga’s hands clenched helplessly.
“I know.”
“I want them to come.”
“I know.”
“I want to go on the slides.”
“You can.”
“With everyone!”
Walburga lowered her head.
Regulus wailed.
“I want everyone!”
Orion sank to the floor with him.
Regulus folded against his chest, exhausted but unable to stop crying.
Walburga sat beside them on the padded floor.
Neither cared about the people walking past.
Neither cared about the staff watching.
They gathered their son between them and held him while the party remained untouched around them.
Regulus’s words came in fragments now, broken apart by hiccups and sobs.
“I—I told Sirius.”
“I know,” Orion whispered.
“I said everybody was coming.”
“I know.”
“He said to have the best party.”
“I know.”
“I promised.”
“You did not break your promise.”
“I did.”
“No.”
“I said I would.”
“You could not control this.”
“He’ll ask me.”
“We will explain.”
“No!”
“All right.”
“Don’t tell him.”
“We will not tell him anything you do not want us to.”
“He’ll know.”
“Perhaps.”
“He’ll know because I didn’t go on anything.”
“You may still go on the attractions.”
“I don’t want to.”
“All right.”
“I do want to.”
“All right.”
“But not alone.”
“You would have us.”
“I wanted my class!”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t they want me?”
Walburga cupped the back of his head.
“This is not because you are unwanted.”
“It is.”
“No.”
“It is, Eomma.”
“No.”
“No one came.”
Her eyes closed.
“I know.”
“Not one.”
“I know.”
“Not even one.”
Walburga could not keep the grief from her face any longer.
“No,” she whispered. “Not even one.”
Regulus made a thin, wounded sound.
He crawled fully into her lap and curled against her, although he was getting too big to fit as neatly as he once had.
Walburga wrapped herself around him.
Orion sat close enough that Regulus could keep one hand twisted in his sleeve.
“Saengil인데,” Regulus sobbed.
It was my birthday.
“It is,” Walburga said.
“My birthday.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t they come on my birthday?”
“I don’t know.”
“I wanted them.”
“I know.”
“I wanted to show them the flying thing.”
“I know.”
“And race.”
“I know.”
“And I was going to let them pick too.”
“That was kind.”
“And the games were for everybody.”
“Yes.”
“And I made the bags fair.”
“You did.”
“And I didn’t ask for presents.”
“No.”
“I just wanted them.”
Walburga bent over him.
Her tears disappeared into his hair.
“I know.”
“Was that too much?”
“No.”
“Did I invite too many?”
“No.”
“Should I only have asked one?”
“No.”
“Maybe one would come.”
Neither parent answered.
Regulus cried harder.
Orion put a hand over his eyes.
The staff member who had greeted Regulus at the beginning of the day moved towards them, stopped and then crouched several feet away.
She looked at Walburga.
Walburga looked back.
Neither woman knew what to say.
The staff member glanced towards the tables.
“We can keep everything here,” she said quietly. “There’s no rush.”
Regulus lifted his face.
His eyes were swollen.
“Why?”
The staff member’s mouth trembled.
“So you have time.”
“For what?”
She faltered.
Regulus stared at her.
“Time for what?”
“I only mean that you do not have to move yet.”
“Are they still allowed to come?”
“Yes.”
“Even though it started?”
“Yes.”
“How late can they be?”
The staff member looked helplessly at his parents.
Regulus persisted.
“How late?”
“We would let them in,” she said. “If they came.”
“So we can wait.”
Walburga’s arms tightened around him.
“Regulus.”
“We can wait.”
“Your father has contacted everyone.”
“They might come.”
“No one has said they will.”
“They might.”
“Son—”
“They might!”
His renewed scream echoed through the party area.
Regulus scrambled out of Walburga’s lap and ran back to the barrier.
He seized it with both hands.
“They might come!”
Walburga and Orion rose behind him.
“Regulus,” Orion said.
“I’m waiting.”
“You have already waited.”
“I can wait more.”
“You do not have to.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“Because if I leave, they won’t know where I am.”
Orion stopped.
Regulus stared through the doors.
“If they come and I’m gone, they’ll think I didn’t want them.”
“That will not happen.”
“You don’t know.”
“No one has said they are coming.”
“They might not have phones.”
“Their parents have phones.”
“Maybe they’re dead.”
“Regulus.”
“Maybe everybody’s phones died.”
“That is not likely.”
“It could happen!”
“It did not happen to every family.”
“You don’t know!”
His body shook as he clung to the barrier.
“I have to wait.”
Walburga placed a hand on his back.
He did not push her away.
“I’ll wait,” he whispered. “I can wait a really long time.”
“Oh, darling.”
“I won’t be angry if they come now.”
Walburga’s face crumpled.
“I’ll say it’s okay.”
“Regulus.”
“I’ll give them the bags.”
“I know.”
“They can still have cake.”
“I know.”
“I won’t ask why they were late.”
His voice trembled.
“I promise.”
Orion stood on his other side.
Regulus looked up at him.
“Tell them.”
“Tell them what?”
“Tell them I’m not angry.”
“Son—”
“Message them.”
Orion took out his phone.
His hands were shaking.
“What should I write?”
“Say I’m not angry.”
Orion looked at Walburga.
She covered her mouth.
“Write it.”
Orion opened the message thread.
Regulus watched.
“Say they can still come.”
Orion typed.
“And they can be as late as they need.”
He typed.
“And I saved their bags.”
Orion stopped.
“Write it.”
He typed.
“And I still want them.”
Orion’s vision blurred.
He had to blink several times before he could see the screen.
“Did you write it?”
“Yes.”
“Send it.”
Orion sent the message.
Regulus looked at Walburga.
“You send it too.”
She did.
“To everyone.”
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
Walburga showed him the sent messages.
Regulus read what he could.
He nodded.
“Now they know.”
“Yes.”
“They might come now.”
Walburga could not answer.
Regulus turned back towards the doors.
He waited.
His parents remained beside him.
The staff returned to their positions, though no one stopped watching.
The phones remained silent.
Regulus counted under his breath.
He reached thirty.
Started again.
Reached thirty again.
A minute passed.
Then another.
No one arrived.
His crying had quietened, but tears continued sliding down his face.
He did not wipe them away.
“Maybe they live far.”
“Perhaps,” Orion said.
“They don’t.”
“No.”
“But maybe traffic.”
“Perhaps.”
“There could be lots of traffic.”
“Yes.”
“Or an accident.”
“We would not want that.”
“No.”
Regulus swallowed.
“Maybe not an accident.”
“No.”
“Just traffic.”
“All right.”
He waited.
The park’s noise continued without him.
A rider swept overhead on the AirGlider.
Regulus did not look up.
A group of children raced down the four wide lanes.
He did not turn.
The slides he had babbled about all morning might as well have disappeared.
All he saw was the door.
It opened.
A woman entered alone.
Regulus’s hands tightened.
She walked to the café.
The door closed.
It opened again.
Two older children came inside.
They were not from his class.
The door closed.
Regulus’s breathing began to shake.
“Appa.”
“Yes?”
“How long has it been?”
Orion checked the clock.
He hesitated.
Regulus looked himself.
“Fourteen minutes.”
“Yes.”
“They’re fourteen minutes late.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not too late.”
“No.”
“Fourteen isn’t a lot.”
“No.”
“Sirius was twenty minutes late to school before.”
“He was.”
“And they still let him in.”
“Yes.”
“So this is fine.”
Orion’s voice failed him.
“Yes.”
Regulus waited.
The phones did not buzz.
No one answered the message telling them he was not angry.
No one said they would come.
Walburga stood behind Regulus with one hand resting between his shoulder blades.
She could feel each uneven breath.
The birthday hat remained in Orion’s hand.
The badge remained on the table.
The cake waited.
The presents waited.
The food waited.
The games waited.
The goody bags waited.
Everything waited with Regulus.
The door opened.
Regulus drew in a sharp breath.
A family entered with a laughing child between them.
Regulus leaned forwards.
The child looked towards the party area.
For half a second, their eyes met.
Regulus straightened.
The child turned away and ran towards another part of the centre.
Regulus did not move.
The door closed behind them.
His shoulders collapsed.
He released the barrier.
His hands fell to his sides.
Walburga stepped closer.
“Regulus.”
He turned around.
There was no hope left in his face.
Only comprehension.
The final, complete understanding of what had happened.
“They’re really not coming.”
Walburga could not lie again.
“No,” she whispered.
Regulus’s face twisted.
He rushed at her so suddenly that she barely caught him.
His arms locked around her neck.
His legs wrapped around her waist.
Walburga lifted him and held him with both arms.
The scream he gave was muffled against her shoulder.
“No! No, no, no! Eomma, no!”
“I’m here.”
“No!”
“I’m here.”
“Make them come!”
“I can’t.”
“Make them!”
“I can’t.”
“Please!”
“I’m sorry.”
“Appa!”
Orion wrapped his arms around both of them.
Regulus reached for him blindly.
“Appa, please, please, please!”
“I’m sorry.”
“Do something!”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“You have to know!”
“I don’t.”
“You have to fix it!”
“I don’t know how.”
Regulus wailed between them.
His parents held him from both sides while his whole body shook.
Walburga kissed his temple again and again.
Orion pressed his face into Regulus’s hair.
Neither knew what words could possibly help.
There were no words.
No explanation.
No hidden misunderstanding they could uncover in time.
No delayed group gathering in the car park.
No parent calling to say they were almost there.
No friend rushing through the door.
There was only their six-year-old son clinging to them beneath his birthday decorations, sobbing until he could barely breathe.
“Wae?” Regulus cried. “Wae, Eomma? Wae, Appa?”
“I don’t know,” Walburga whispered.
“Why didn’t anybody come?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did I do?”
“Nothing.”
“What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t know” was not enough.
It was all they had.
Around them, the staff stood helpless and heartbroken.
One wiped her face with the back of her hand. Another stared down at the floor. The woman who had greeted Regulus held the tablet against her chest and looked towards the empty chairs as though she might somehow find an answer there.
Walburga looked too.
At every place they had prepared.
Every cup.
Every plate.
Every bag.
Orion followed her gaze.
Then they looked at one another over Regulus’s shaking shoulders.
They had planned everything.
They had booked the place.
Prepared the decorations.
Ordered the cake.
Bought the gifts.
Helped their son fill the goody bags.
Checked every answer.
Arrived early.
Made everything perfect.
And neither of them knew how to fix the one thing that mattered.
Regulus clung tighter.
“I want my friends.”
Walburga closed her eyes.
“I know.”
“I want my party.”
Orion’s arms tightened around him.
“I know.”
“I want them to come.”
Neither parent answered.
They only held him.
The door stayed closed.
Regulus did not stop crying.
He had reached the point where every breath seemed to catch somewhere behind his ribs before tearing its way out of him. His sobs came in violent, uneven bursts, his entire little body jerking between Walburga and Orion as they held him. He could not seem to draw enough air. Each attempt became another cry, another hiccup, another broken plea against one of their shoulders.
“I want them,” he wailed. “I want my friends. Eomma, I want them.”
“I know,” Walburga whispered.
Her voice had become raw.
She had one arm beneath Regulus and the other wrapped tightly around his back, pressing him against her chest. Orion stood close enough that Regulus remained enclosed between them, one of Orion’s hands cradling the back of his head and the other rubbing slowly between his shaking shoulder blades.
“I know, my love.”
“Why didn’t they come?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did I do something?”
“No.”
“Did I?”
“No, Regulus.”
“Tell me!”
“You did nothing.”
His fingers twisted in the front of her clothes.
“Did I say something bad at school?”
“No.”
“Maybe I did.”
“You did not.”
“You don’t know.”
Walburga’s eyes closed.
“I know you.”
“But you’re not there.”
“No.”
“You don’t see me at school.”
“No.”
“Maybe I’m bad there.”
“You are not bad.”
“Maybe I’m annoying.”
“You are not.”
“Sirius says I talk too much when I’m excited.”
“Sirius talks more than anyone I have ever met.”
That usually would have earned at least the smallest smile.
It did nothing now.
Regulus only shook his head fiercely, rubbing his wet face against her shoulder.
“Maybe they don’t like how I talk.”
“There is nothing wrong with how you talk.”
“They laugh.”
Orion’s hand became still against his back.
“Who laughs?”
Regulus immediately curled in tighter.
“No one.”
“Regulus.”
“No one.”
“Your classmates laugh at you?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just said—”
“I don’t know!”
His voice broke into another shriek.
Walburga looked sharply at Orion, silently telling him not to press.
Orion’s jaw tightened.
“All right,” he said softly. “All right. We do not have to talk about that now.”
Regulus’s sobbing continued.
He was crying so hard his nose had begun to run, but he was too distressed to notice. Walburga wiped it gently with a tissue while he whimpered and pushed weakly at her hand.
“No.”
“I am only cleaning your face.”
“It’s ugly.”
“What is?”
“My face.”
“No.”
“It is.”
“Your face is not ugly.”
“It’s all wet.”
“Because you are crying.”
“Everyone can see.”
“There is no shame in crying.”
“I look like a baby.”
“You look like an upset six-year-old.”
“That’s a baby.”
“It is not.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No.”
Regulus buried his face again.
“Don’t let them look at me.”
Walburga shifted slightly, turning her body so she shielded him from most of the open room.
“All right.”
Orion moved with her, placing himself between Regulus and the main walkway.
Their son was surrounded by them.
Protected as much as he could be.
It still did nothing to stop the pain tearing through him.
Walburga could not remember ever seeing Regulus this upset.
She had seen him frightened. She had seen him overwhelmed. She had seen him cry after falling, after waking from a nightmare or after Sirius had accidentally broken something precious to him. She had seen him furious enough to shake and sad enough to hide beneath his blankets because he did not want anyone to see.
This was different.
There was no distraction strong enough to reach him.
No soft promise that tomorrow would be better.
No plaster to place over a scraped knee.
No toy to repair.
No monster beneath the bed to chase away.
He had invited his entire class to his sixth birthday party.
They had accepted.
Then not one of them had come.
Walburga held him while rage burned through every part of her body.
The invitations had been sent weeks ago.
Not days.
Not at the last minute.
Weeks.
Every parent had been given more than enough time to look at the date, check their schedules and decide whether their child could attend.
They had been given the address.
The start time.
The collection time.
Information about the attractions.
Information about the required socks.
Information about the food.
A clear request to respond so Walburga and Orion could pay for the correct number of children and prepare everything accordingly.
The responses had arrived.
Yes.
Yes.
Yes.
So many cheerful confirmations, each written as though there had never been any doubt.
Thank you for inviting us.
He would love to come.
She is so excited.
We will see you there.
How lovely.
Count us in.
Walburga could remember every one of them now.
The friendly punctuation.
The smiling faces at the ends of messages.
The casual certainty.
Not one parent had contacted them in the weeks that followed to ask anything about Regulus.
No one had asked what he liked.
No one had asked whether there was anything particular he wanted for his birthday.
No one had asked about possible gifts.
No one had asked what he already owned or what he had been interested in lately.
Regulus had not cared about presents.
He had said so repeatedly.
He had said it when they wrote the invitations.
He had said it when Sirius asked what his classmates might buy him.
He had said it while assembling the goody bags.
“I just want them to come.”
Walburga knew that.
It did not mean she would not have been furious if the parents had sent their children to a birthday party without so much as a card for the little boy whose family had paid for their entrance, their food, their socks, their activities, their cake and the gifts they would be taking home.
They had paid for everyone.
Every child who had said yes had a paid place waiting.
Every empty chair had cost them money.
Every untouched plate represented food already ordered.
Every goody bag contained things Regulus had helped choose and sort.
None of that mattered nearly as much as the fact that their son had spent the morning bouncing with excitement, only to be left sobbing beneath decorations meant for a room full of people.
But it mattered.
It all mattered.
Because it showed exactly how little thought any of those parents had given to him.
No one had even possessed the decency to cancel in advance.
They had waited until the final minutes.
Some had not said anything until Orion and Walburga contacted them.
Some still had not answered at all.
Change of plans.
Something came up.
Sorry, we cannot make it.
Late notice, apologies.
Nothing else.
No explanation.
No attempt to telephone.
No concern for the child sitting at the venue waiting for them.
Walburga had never wanted to rip a phone apart with her bare hands before.
She wanted to call every parent and demand an explanation.
She wanted names.
Reasons.
She wanted to know when these plans had changed and why no one had thought to tell them before Regulus was dressed, waiting and watching the door.
She wanted to ask whether they had forgotten that there was a child involved.
A six-year-old.
A little boy who had personally counted out sweets for their children.
A little boy who had chosen games that would include everyone.
A little boy who had worried that someone might be frightened by the biggest slide and had already planned to stay with them.
She wanted to ask them how they could possibly justify this.
She wanted to tell them to look at him.
Look at what they had done.
She said none of it.
Regulus needed his mother.
Not her anger.
Not now.
Orion was just as furious.
She knew it without looking at him.
His face had become frighteningly calm.
The calmer Orion appeared, the angrier he was.
His mouth was set in a flat line. His shoulders were rigid. Each movement he made was deliberate, as though he feared what might happen if he allowed himself to move without thinking.
Monday waited only two days away.
Saturday had barely begun, and already the thought of Monday sat heavily in both their minds.
They would have to take Regulus back to school.
They would have to walk him through the gates.
They would have to see the children whose places had remained empty.
They would have to see the parents who had promised to bring them.
Walburga did not know how she was expected to stand beside those people.
She did not know how Orion was expected to speak to them.
She did not know what Regulus would do when he saw his class.
Would they mention the party?
Would they act as though nothing had happened?
Would they ask whether he had enjoyed himself?
Would one of them say their parents had changed their minds?
Would they laugh?
Would they understand that he had waited?
Would Regulus believe anything they said to him?
He was already painfully self-conscious.
Walburga had known he was shy.
She had known he sometimes needed time before joining other children.
She had known he watched first and participated second.
She had known that Sirius often played with him because Regulus did not always know how to insert himself into a game already happening.
She had not known how quickly he would decide that every absent guest proved something was wrong with him.
On Monday, she would have to leave him there.
The thought made her feel physically ill.
Regulus shifted abruptly in her arms.
“I can’t breathe.”
Walburga pulled back immediately.
“Slowly.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. Look at me.”
He shook his head.
“Regulus, look at Eomma.”
His eyes opened.
They were swollen, wet and frightened.
“Breathe with me.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
She took a slow breath.
“In.”
Regulus tried.
His breath hitched halfway through.
“That was good,” she said.
“No, it wasn’t.”
“It was. Again.”
He shook his head.
“Again, baby.”
“I’m not a baby.”
“Again, Regulus.”
He drew another broken breath.
Orion kept one hand against his back.
“That is it.”
“It hurts.”
“I know.”
“My chest hurts.”
“Because you have been crying very hard.”
“I can’t stop.”
“You do not have to stop all at once.”
“Make me.”
Orion’s face cracked.
Only briefly.
A flash of helpless grief before he regained control.
“I wish I could.”
“Make me stop.”
“We are trying.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I know.”
Regulus wiped both hands clumsily across his cheeks.
More tears replaced the ones he smeared away.
“I don’t want everyone to see.”
“Look at me,” Walburga said. “You do not need to look at anyone else.”
“They’re looking.”
“Let them.”
“No.”
“You are safe.”
“They think I’m stupid.”
“No one thinks that.”
“How do you know?”
Walburga hesitated.
Regulus noticed.
“You don’t.”
“I know you are not stupid.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“No.”
He curled forwards, his forehead pressing into her collarbone.
“They know no one came.”
Walburga could not deny it.
“Yes.”
“They feel sorry for me.”
“Perhaps.”
“I don’t want them to.”
“I know.”
“I want to go home.”
“All right.”
“No.”
“All right.”
“I don’t know.”
“That is all right too.”
Regulus hiccuped.
“I want Sirius.”
“We can see him later.”
“I want him now.”
“He is with your grandparents.”
“Call him.”
Walburga looked at Orion.
Orion reached for his phone.
Then Regulus grabbed his wrist.
“No.”
Orion stopped.
“You do not want me to call?”
“He’ll know I cried.”
“Sirius will not mind.”
“He’ll be mad.”
“At you?”
“No.”
“At your classmates?”
Regulus’s face crumpled.
“He cannot go to your classroom.”
“He’ll try.”
Despite everything, Orion nearly smiled.
That sounded exactly like Sirius.
“He may.”
“He’ll shout.”
“We would stop him.”
“He’ll tell everyone they’re mean.”
Orion gently turned his wrist beneath Regulus’s hand and took his fingers.
“Would he be wrong?”
Regulus stared at him.
Then fresh tears welled.
“They are mean.”
Orion’s throat tightened.
“They have hurt you.”
“I hate them.”
“You may feel angry.”
“I hate school.”
“We do not have to talk about Monday now.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“We will think about it.”
“I’m not going.”
“We will think about it.”
“No.”
“Not now,” Walburga whispered. “You only need to think about this moment.”
“This moment is bad.”
“Yes.”
“I hate this moment.”
“I know.”
“I hate my birthday.”
Walburga pressed her lips to his hair.
“I am sorry.”
“I don’t want another one.”
“You do not need to think about another one.”
“Never.”
“All right.”
“I’m never having a party again.”
“All right.”
“You wasted all the money.”
Orion’s eyes narrowed.
“No.”
“You paid for everyone.”
“That is not your concern.”
“But they didn’t come.”
“That is not your fault.”
“You wasted it because of me.”
“No,” Walburga said firmly.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“If I didn’t ask for a party—”
“Stop.”
Her voice was sharper than she intended.
Regulus flinched.
Walburga immediately softened.
“No, my love. Listen to me.”
He stared at her.
“We chose to give you this party because you deserved to be celebrated.”
“But—”
“No.”
She cupped his wet face.
“You did not waste anything. You invited your classmates because they said they were your friends. Their parents accepted the invitations. You did nothing wrong.”
“I asked for this place.”
“Yes.”
“It costs lots.”
“That does not matter.”
“You said it was expensive.”
“I should not have said that where you could hear.”
“I heard.”
“I know.”
“You paid for everyone.”
“We did.”
“And they didn’t come.”
“That is their parents’ failure. Not yours.”
Regulus’s mouth trembled.
“What’s failure?”
“It means they should have done better.”
“Because they didn’t tell you?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe they forgot.”
“Then they should not have forgotten.”
“What if they’re busy?”
“Then they should have told us before today.”
“What if—”
“No, Regulus.”
Walburga rarely interrupted him that firmly.
He blinked.
She wiped beneath his eyes.
“You do not need to invent excuses for grown adults who hurt you.”
He did not fully understand.
She could see that.
But he understood enough to stop.
Orion’s hand settled on Walburga’s shoulder.
She knew he was warning her as gently as he could.
Not because she was wrong.
Because the anger was beginning to enter her voice.
Regulus needed calm.
She took another breath.
“None of this is because you asked for too much,” she said.
“I didn’t want presents.”
“I know.”
“I only wanted to play.”
“I know.”
“I don’t have anyone to play with.”
“You have Sirius.”
“At school.”
Walburga fell silent.
Regulus stared at the floor.
“At school, I don’t.”
Orion crouched lower.
“What do you do at break?”
Regulus shrugged.
“Regulus.”
“I walk.”
“By yourself?”
“Sometimes.”
“What about the other children?”
“They play.”
“Why do you not join them?”
“They don’t let me.”
Walburga’s fingers tightened against his back.
“What do you mean?”
“They already have games.”
“Can you ask to join?”
“I do.”
“And?”
Regulus shrugged again.
His eyes remained lowered.
“They say there’s too many.”
Every empty chair in the party area seemed to become more insulting.
Orion looked away for a moment.
Walburga felt rage rise again, fast and choking.
“They invited nearly everyone to play except you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Regulus.”
“They say I don’t know the rules.”
“They could teach you.”
“They don’t.”
“What do you do instead?”
He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.
“I count things.”
Walburga stared at him.
“What things?”
“Bricks. Windows. Leaves. Sometimes I look for rocks.”
“Every break?”
“No.”
“What else?”
“I sit.”
“Alone?”
“I like being alone.”
The answer came too quickly.
Walburga recognised it because Regulus had inherited the habit from her.
Turn the wound into a choice.
Make rejection look deliberate.
Claim solitude before someone else could impose it.
“You may enjoy being alone sometimes,” she said carefully. “That does not mean you should always have to be.”
Regulus’s chin wobbled again.
“I don’t know.”
Orion stroked his hair away from his forehead.
“Why did you invite everyone?”
“So they’d play with me.”
The answer was so small that neither parent knew what to do with it.
Regulus began to cry again.
Walburga gathered him closer.
“Oh, my baby.”
“I thought if it was my party, they had to.”
Orion shut his eyes.
“I thought everybody would play because there were games, and because you paid, and because it was my birthday.”
Walburga’s tears returned.
“They should have.”
“I thought they might like me after.”
“They should like you already.”
“They don’t.”
“You do not know that.”
“They don’t.”
“We love you.”
“You have to.”
“No,” Orion said.
Regulus looked at him.
“We do not love you because we have to. We love you because you are you.”
“You’re my parents.”
“Yes.”
“You have to.”
“We care for you because you are our responsibility. We love you because you are Regulus.”
Regulus sniffled.
“That’s the same.”
“It is not.”
“I don’t know.”
“That is all right.”
His breathing began to slow, though his body still trembled from the force of everything that had passed through it.
Walburga continued stroking his back.
Orion wiped the last trace of moisture beneath Regulus’s nose.
None of them noticed the large group entering through the main doors.
They arrived in a burst of laughter and overlapping voices.
There were fourteen of them, boys and girls clustered together so closely that the staff at the desk had to ask them to form something resembling a line.
Noah Bennett stood near the front, tall and broad-shouldered with dark curls escaping from beneath a cap he removed when one of the staff members pointed towards the centre’s rules board.
Beside him was Maya Patel, who had been laughing so hard at something Priya Shah said that she had to lean against the counter while signing in.
Luca Reyes and Theo Carter were arguing over which of them would be fastest down the racing slides.
“You have no balance,” Luca said.
“You ran into a glass door last week,” Theo replied.
“It was clean.”
“It was a door.”
“You did not see it either.”
“I saw it after you hit it.”
Ruby Collins was trying to separate pairs of grippy socks by size while Max Turner repeatedly stole the largest pair from the pile and insisted they would fit him.
“They reach your knees,” Ruby said.
“That means they’re secure.”
“That means they are not socks for you.”
“They have more grip.”
“That is not how grip works.”
Aisha Khan stood with Leon Hughes, both of them checking the wristbands the staff had given them.
Chloe Martin, Erin Walsh and Sofia Bell were comparing the different slide heights on a map mounted near the desk.
Jamie Park had already asked twice about the AirGlider.
Dylan Price was attempting to balance one shoe on top of the other while waiting for everyone else to finish checking in.
They were loud without being disruptive, excited without being out of control, nudging one another and arguing about who would scream first on the steepest drop.
“You are screaming first,” Priya told Luca.
“I do not scream.”
“You screamed when a moth flew into your room.”
“It touched my eye.”
“It was near your eye.”
“It intended to touch it.”
“Moths do not have intentions.”
“That one did.”
Noah laughed and reached for his socks.
“Are we done?”
“We are waiting for Jamie,” Maya said.
“I signed in.”
“You put your surname in the first-name box.”
“That is still my name.”
“The poor woman cannot read your mind.”
“She can read the form.”
“She should not have to decipher it.”
The staff member behind the counter was smiling as she corrected the entry.
The group continued talking.
None of them noticed Regulus at first.
The party area was slightly behind them and to the side, half hidden by the angle of the desk.
It was Chloe who saw him.
She had turned away from the map to ask Ruby something about lockers when her eyes landed on the decorations.
She stopped in the middle of her sentence.
Ruby looked up.
“What?”
Chloe did not answer.
She stared.
The others continued laughing.
Chloe touched Ruby’s arm.
“Ruby.”
“What?”
“Look.”
Ruby followed her gaze.
Her expression changed immediately.
The party area was impossible to misunderstand.
Balloons.
Decorations.
A covered cake.
A long table lined with empty places.
Goody bags.
Wrapped presents.
A crumpled birthday badge sitting alone near the edge of the table.
In the middle of it all, a very small boy was being held between his parents while he cried.
Ruby’s lips parted.
“Oh my God.”
Maya heard her.
“What?”
Ruby pointed slightly.
Not openly enough to be rude.
Only enough to direct her attention.
One by one, the rest of the group began to notice.
The laughter stopped.
Noah removed one sock he had half pulled on and stood slowly.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Chloe whispered.
“Is that his party?”
“It looks like it.”
“Where is everyone?”
No one answered.
They looked around as though the guests might be somewhere nearby.
The party area was empty except for the child and his parents.
Theo’s expression tightened.
“Maybe they’re early.”
Maya looked at the clock.
“The session has already started.”
“How do you know?”
“The gate time is on the board.”
“Maybe the others are playing already.”
“Then why is he crying?”
“And why are all the bags still there?” Priya asked.
Regulus gave another broken sob.
The entire group went still.
They could not hear every word from where they stood, but they heard enough.
“No one wants to play with me.”
Sofia’s hand rose to her mouth.
“Oh, no.”
“What the fuck happened?” Max whispered.
“Language,” Ruby muttered automatically.
“No. Seriously. What happened?”
Noah looked towards the staff member helping them with the socks.
She had followed their gaze.
Her earlier smile disappeared.
Noah lowered his voice.
“Sorry. Is everything okay over there?”
The staff member hesitated.
The teenagers gathered closer, their excitement forgotten.
“Is that little boy all right?” Maya asked.
The staff member glanced towards the family.
“I cannot share private details.”
“Of course,” Maya said quickly. “Sorry.”
“But is he hurt?” Noah asked.
“Not physically.”
“Is it his birthday?”
The staff member’s eyes moved towards the badge on the table.
“Yes.”
“Where are the other kids?” Chloe asked.
The staff member’s lips pressed together.
For a moment it looked as though she would refuse to answer.
Then Regulus began crying harder again.
The woman looked down at the counter.
“His parents booked the party,” she said quietly. “They invited his class.”
The group waited.
The staff member swallowed.
“No one came.”
Silence.
A complete, stunned silence fell across all fourteen teenagers.
Noah stared at her.
“What?”
“Every guest cancelled at the last minute,” she whispered. “Or simply did not arrive.”
“Every single one?” Priya asked.
The staff member nodded.
“They all said they were coming?”
“As far as I understand, yes.”
“And then they just didn’t?” Luca said.
“Yes.”
“They left him sitting there waiting?”
The staff member looked close to tears again.
“Yes.”
Maya stared towards Regulus.
He was hidden partially against Walburga now, his small shoulders shaking.
“That’s fucking horrible.”
No one corrected her language.
Max’s face hardened.
“What kind of parents do that?”
“Maybe something happened,” Theo said, but his voice lacked conviction.
“To all of them?” Aisha replied. “Every family?”
“That’s not an accident,” Leon muttered.
“They could have called before today,” Erin said. “Even if plans changed.”
“They could have told them before the kid was already here,” Ruby added.
Sofia looked at the untouched goody bags.
“How old is he?” Jamie asked.
“Six,” the staff member said.
The group reacted as though she had struck them.
“Six?” Chloe repeated.
“It is his sixth birthday.”
Noah turned away from the counter.
For several seconds, no one spoke.
The music from the centre played overhead.
Children shouted from the slides.
A staff member called another group through the gates.
The teenagers looked at one another.
The decision formed before anyone properly said it.
Maya’s eyes met Noah’s.
Noah looked at Priya.
Priya looked towards the party area and then back at the others.
Ruby folded her arms.
“We’re not just going in there and leaving him like that.”
“No,” Leon said.
“Absolutely not,” Aisha agreed.
“What do we do?” Dylan asked.
“We ask,” Maya said.
“His parents might think we’re weird.”
“We are weird.”
“Not helpful, Max.”
Noah pulled the second sock fully onto his foot.
“We ask them.”
“All of us?” Erin said.
“Maybe not crowd him immediately,” Chloe warned. “He already looks overwhelmed.”
“We go slowly.”
“Who talks?”
Everyone looked at Noah.
He frowned.
“Why me?”
“You look the least frightening,” Priya said.
“I’m taller than all of you.”
“Yes, but you have a friendly face.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means go.”
Noah glanced at Regulus again.
“I don’t want to scare him.”
“So crouch down.”
“I know how to speak to children.”
“Do you?”
“My cousins are children.”
“You told your cousin a duck could smell fear.”
“It can.”
“It cannot.”
“That is not relevant.”
Maya pulled her own socks on and stood.
“We should ask his parents first.”
“No,” Ruby said quietly. “If we stand there talking over him, he might think we’re discussing him.”
“Then we speak to him, but look at the parents too.”
“Slowly.”
“Do not all start shouting,” Chloe said.
Everyone looked at Max.
“What?”
“You know what.”
“I can be calm.”
“You shouted when we arrived.”
“I was excited.”
“So is a Labrador.”
Noah ignored them and stepped away from the desk.
The rest followed.
They did not approach in their usual chaotic cluster.
They spread out slightly, moving slowly enough that it was obvious they were not rushing the family.
Walburga noticed them first.
Her head lifted.
Her entire posture changed.
She tightened her arms around Regulus and looked towards the strangers approaching the private party area.
Orion saw them a second later.
He stood.
Not fully between them and his family, but close.
Protective.
Suspicious.
Fourteen teenagers in grippy socks had begun walking directly towards their crying son.
Walburga’s eyes narrowed.
Noah noticed the reaction and stopped several steps from the entrance.
The others stopped behind him.
“Sorry,” he said.
Orion looked at the group.
“Yes?”
“We don’t want to interrupt.”
“You are.”
Noah swallowed.
“Right. Sorry.”
Regulus sniffled against Walburga’s shoulder.
The unfamiliar voice made him turn his head.
He looked at the group through swollen eyes.
His face immediately tightened with embarrassment.
He tried to hide again.
Walburga stroked his back.
“It is all right.”
Noah slowly lowered himself into a crouch.
He remained outside the party area.
Far enough away that Regulus would not feel cornered.
“Hey,” he said softly.
Regulus did not answer.
His eyes flicked towards Noah and then towards the rest of the group.
So many older children.
They all seemed enormous to him.
They wore bright wristbands and grippy socks and looked as though they had been laughing only moments ago.
Now they were all looking at him.
Regulus pressed his face into Walburga’s neck.
Noah kept his voice gentle.
“Sorry. I don’t want to scare you.”
Regulus peeked at him again.
“What’s your name?”
Regulus’s mouth opened.
Nothing emerged.
He looked at Orion.
It was the same look he gave whenever an unfamiliar adult asked him a question and he was too shy to answer.
Orion understood.
“His name is Regulus.”
Every teenager reacted.
Not badly.
But visibly.
Noah’s eyebrows rose.
Maya’s mouth opened in surprise.
Luca whispered, “That is cool.”
Regulus tensed.
He knew that reaction.
People heard his name and paused.
Then came the questions.
Was that really his name?
Was it made up?
Why did it sound strange?
Was it a disease?
Was it a type of vegetable?
One child in his class had called him Rectangle for almost two weeks.
Another had asked why he had a dog name after hearing someone mention Sirius.
The first time the teacher had read Regulus’s name from the register, several children had repeated it in silly voices.
Reg-u-lus.
Reg-you-lost.
Reggy-less.
He had come home that day and asked Walburga whether he could use a different name at school.
Now he looked down, waiting.
Noah grinned.
“That is the coolest name I’ve ever heard.”
Regulus looked up sharply.
Noah seemed sincere.
Behind him, the others began agreeing at once.
“Seriously,” Luca said. “That sounds like a superhero.”
“Or a king,” Ruby added.
“It sounds like someone important,” Aisha said.
“It is a star,” Jamie said.
Regulus blinked.
“What?”
“Regulus,” Jamie repeated. “It’s one of the brightest stars in Leo.”
Regulus stared at him.
“You know?”
“Yeah.”
“It means little king too,” Priya said.
Regulus knew that.
Walburga had told him.
Sirius had told everyone for weeks after first learning it.
But no child outside his family had ever said it as though it was good.
Regulus looked at his mother.
“Eomma.”
“Yes?”
“They like it.”
Walburga’s throat tightened.
“They do.”
Regulus looked back at Noah.
“You’re not making fun of me?”
Noah’s smile disappeared.
“No.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Jinjja?”
“I don’t know what that means,” Noah admitted, “but if it means really, then yes. Really.”
A tiny sound escaped Regulus.
Not quite a laugh.
More a surprised breath.
Maya crouched beside Noah, leaving plenty of space between them.
“My name’s Maya.”
She pointed back towards the others one at a time.
“That’s Noah. Priya, Ruby, Chloe, Aisha, Erin and Sofia. Those idiots are Luca, Theo, Max, Leon, Jamie and Dylan.”
“Excuse me,” Theo said.
“You called us idiots before introducing us,” Max complained.
“It is accurate.”
Regulus’s eyes moved across the group.
Fourteen names were too many to hold at once.
He looked overwhelmed again.
Maya noticed.
“You don’t have to remember all of them.”
“I can.”
“I believe you.”
Regulus wiped his face with his sleeve.
Walburga caught his wrist and used a tissue instead.
He allowed it this time.
Noah remained crouched.
“We heard it was your birthday.”
Regulus’s face folded slightly.
He nodded.
“And you’re six?”
Another nod.
“That’s a big deal.”
Regulus looked at the badge on the table.
“It was.”
“It still is.”
“No.”
Noah did not argue immediately.
He glanced at Walburga and Orion.
Both parents watched him carefully.
They had no idea who these teenagers were.
They did not know what they wanted.
Walburga’s suspicion remained strong beneath the confusion.
Orion stood close to Regulus, ready to end the interaction the moment his son appeared more distressed.
Noah turned back to Regulus.
“We were wondering something.”
Regulus sniffed.
“What?”
“We were wondering if you might let us play with you.”
Regulus stared at him.
Noah gestured towards the group.
“We were going to go on the slides and the AirGlider and everything. We thought maybe you could come with us.”
Regulus’s eyebrows pulled together.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean we could take you on the slides.”
“All of you?”
“If you want.”
“Why?”
The question silenced the group for a moment.
Maya answered.
“Because it’s your birthday.”
Regulus looked confused.
“But you don’t know me.”
“Not yet,” she said.
Regulus blinked.
Noah smiled again.
“We thought we could spend your birthday party with you.”
Regulus looked at the decorations.
Then at the teenagers.
Then at his parents.
He seemed unable to understand the offer.
“You have your own party.”
“No,” Noah said. “We’re just here together.”
“You have friends.”
“We do.”
Regulus’s mouth trembled.
“So why do you want me?”
Noah’s smile softened.
“Because we saw you sitting here, and we thought you looked like someone we’d like to play with.”
Regulus stared at him.
“You saw me crying.”
“Yes.”
“That’s embarrassing.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is.”
“I cried last month because my phone fell into a bowl of soup.”
Luca snorted.
“You said no one would ever understand your pain.”
“It was a new phone.”
“You put it beside the bowl.”
“The table was slippery.”
“It was not.”
Regulus looked between them.
“You cried?”
Noah nodded solemnly.
“A lot.”
“He did not cry a lot,” Maya said.
“You were not there.”
“You sent us a video.”
“That was after the crying.”
“You looked completely fine.”
“I was masking my suffering.”
A faint, uncertain smile touched Regulus’s mouth.
It vanished quickly, but everyone saw it.
No one made a fuss.
Noah continued.
“You crying doesn’t make us think anything bad about you.”
Regulus’s gaze dropped.
“My friends didn’t come.”
“We heard.”
“They said they would.”
“I know.”
“All of them.”
Noah nodded.
“That was really horrible.”
“Maybe they forgot.”
“They should not have.”
Regulus looked at him.
It was almost the same thing Walburga had said.
No excuses.
No pretending that being forgotten would hurt less.
“They don’t play with me at school,” Regulus whispered.
The teenagers’ expressions changed.
Walburga closed her eyes briefly.
Noah remained calm.
“What do you play at school?”
“I don’t.”
“Nothing?”
“I play by myself.”
“What do you do?”
“Sometimes I collect rocks. But you can’t take them inside because they get dirt on the carpet.”
“That makes sense.”
“And sometimes I count windows.”
“How many are there?”
Regulus’s eyes flickered with interest despite himself.
“In the big building?”
“Yes.”
“Thirty-eight that I can see from the playground, but two are little ones in the doors, and there are more on the other side.”
Noah nodded as though this were vital information.
“That is a lot of windows.”
“I counted four times.”
“To make sure?”
“Yes.”
“Good idea.”
Regulus studied him carefully.
“You don’t think that’s weird?”
“No.”
“Children at school do.”
“Well, we think they’re wrong.”
All fourteen teenagers murmured agreement.
Regulus looked towards the others.
“You all want to play with me?”
“Yes,” Ruby said.
“Definitely,” Aisha added.
“We need somebody brave enough to try the biggest slide first,” Leon told him.
“I’m brave.”
“Perfect.”
“I’m not going to scream on the AirGlider.”
Max nodded gravely.
“Then you can protect Luca.”
“I don’t need protecting,” Luca said.
“You were just arguing that a moth had intentions.”
“It did.”
Regulus looked at Luca.
“Are you scared of moths?”
“No.”
“Yes,” half the group said at once.
Luca turned around.
“You are all traitors.”
Regulus made another small sound.
This one was definitely a laugh, although it ended in a hiccup.
Walburga stared at him.
It was the first laugh she had heard since before the party was meant to begin.
Regulus immediately looked self-conscious again.
He pressed his lips together.
Noah did not point it out.
Instead, he said, “Would you like us to come to your party?”
Regulus’s fingers twisted in Walburga’s clothes.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“You don’t have to.”
“We know.”
“You can go play without me.”
“We could.”
Regulus’s face fell.
Noah continued before he could misunderstand.
“But we don’t want to.”
Regulus looked at him again.
“You want to play with me?”
“Yes.”
“Even though I’m six?”
“That’s important information,” Theo said. “We thought you were forty.”
Regulus frowned.
“I don’t look forty.”
“That is true,” Theo conceded.
“You’re bad at guessing,” Regulus told him.
“He is,” Priya said.
Theo looked offended.
“I was joking.”
Regulus glanced at Walburga.
“Was he joking?”
“Yes,” she said softly.
“Oh.”
He looked back at Theo.
“You’re still bad at it.”
Several teenagers laughed.
Theo pressed a hand over his heart.
“I have been destroyed.”
Regulus did not know what that meant, but everyone else seemed amused.
He shifted in Walburga’s arms.
“Can I get down?”
Walburga hesitated.
Then lowered him carefully to the floor.
His legs seemed uncertain beneath him.
Orion immediately placed a hand close to his shoulder without touching, ready to steady him.
Regulus stood between his parents and the group of teenagers.
Without being held, he looked even smaller.
His face was blotchy from crying. His hair was untidy. His eyes were swollen, and he kept rubbing one thumb against the side of his finger.
Noah remained crouched so Regulus did not have to look up too far.
Regulus moved half a step closer.
Then stopped.
“I had plans,” he said.
Noah nodded.
“What were they?”
Regulus glanced towards the attractions.
His voice was shy and rough from crying.
“I was going to do the AirGlider first.”
“Good choice.”
“But then I thought maybe the big slide first because there might be a queue.”
“Also a good choice.”
“But the AirGlider queue could get longer.”
“That is a problem.”
“I didn’t decide.”
“We can decide together.”
Regulus looked surprised.
“I wanted everyone to stay together.”
“All fourteen of us?” Erin asked.
Regulus counted them quickly with his finger.
He reached thirteen, lost track and started again.
No one interrupted him.
“Fourteen,” he said.
“Fourteen,” Erin confirmed.
“That’s a lot.”
“It is.”
“With me it’s fifteen.”
“Yes.”
Regulus looked towards the racing slides.
“There are only four lanes.”
“We can take turns.”
“That’s what I planned.”
“Then your plan still works.”
His lips trembled.
“It was for my class.”
“It can be for us now,” Maya said gently.
Regulus looked at the long table.
“I made games too.”
“What games?” Chloe asked.
Regulus’s voice strengthened slightly.
“One where you have to guess what picture is on your head, but you can’t look.”
“That sounds fun.”
“And one where you pass a parcel, but there are little things in every layer so nobody only gets nothing.”
Ruby’s face softened.
“You made sure everyone got something?”
Regulus nodded.
“Because it’s not fun if you never get it.”
“No,” Ruby agreed. “It isn’t.”
“And there’s music.”
“Good.”
“And food later.”
Max straightened immediately.
“Food?”
Everyone looked at him.
“What?” he said. “I am listening.”
Regulus pointed towards the cake.
“There’s cake.”
Max stared at it.
“That is an excellent cake.”
“You can’t see it properly.”
“I can tell.”
“How?”
“I have a gift.”
“No, you don’t,” Aisha said.
Regulus walked slowly towards the table.
The teenagers remained where they were, giving him space.
He stopped beside the covered cake.
“I was going to blow the candles out in one breath.”
“You still can,” Noah said.
Regulus touched the edge of the table.
“There are six.”
“That seems manageable.”
“I practised.”
“How?”
“I blew at the lid.”
Walburga gave a small, exhausted laugh.
“You were told not to.”
“I didn’t touch it.”
“You nearly did.”
Regulus glanced at the goody bags.
His face became sad again.
“I made those.”
“They look brilliant,” Sofia said.
“There are sweets.”
“Even better.”
“And little toys and stickers.”
“You picked them?”
“With Eomma.”
“Then they must be good.”
Regulus rubbed his nose.
“I made them fair.”
Maya smiled.
“That was very kind.”
“The colours are different, but people can swap if they ask.”
“A sensible rule.”
“And no taking.”
“Also sensible.”
Regulus pointed to the bag set slightly apart.
“That one’s for Sirius.”
“Who’s Sirius?” Dylan asked.
“My big brother.”
“How old is he?”
“Seven.”
Dylan nodded.
“Very big.”
“He’s grounded.”
The teenagers tried very hard not to laugh.
“What did he do?” Max asked.
Regulus looked at Walburga.
Walburga’s expression warned him not to begin that story.
Regulus turned back.
“I’m not allowed to say.”
“That means it was interesting,” Luca said.
“It was.”
Orion cleared his throat.
Regulus became quiet again.
He stared at the badge lying on the table.
Maya noticed.
“Is that yours?”
Regulus nodded.
“I took it off.”
“Why?”
“Because nobody came.”
The group fell silent again.
Regulus touched the crumpled edge.
“It said birthday boy.”
“You are still the birthday boy,” Priya said.
“I don’t want it.”
“That’s okay.”
“But maybe I do.”
“That is okay too.”
He looked at Walburga.
“Can you fix it?”
Walburga picked up the badge.
The front was wrinkled where Regulus had crushed it in his fist.
She smoothed it carefully against her palm.
“I can try.”
“Is it broken?”
“No.”
“You said my hat wasn’t broken either.”
“It is not.”
Orion held up the bent paper hat.
Regulus looked at it doubtfully.
“It looks broken.”
“It can be straightened.”
“Can you?”
“Yes.”
While Orion carefully reshaped the hat, Walburga smoothed the badge.
The teenagers waited.
No one rushed him.
No one glanced impatiently towards the attractions.
No one whispered that they were wasting time.
Regulus watched his parents repair the small pieces of his birthday.
When Walburga had finished, she held up the badge.
“There.”
Regulus inspected it.
“It still has a line.”
“A small one.”
“Will people see?”
“Perhaps.”
His face began to fall.
Noah spoke before the sadness could gather again.
“It looks cool.”
Regulus glanced at him suspiciously.
“It’s wrinkled.”
“Battle damage.”
“What battle?”
“The terrible birthday battle.”
“There wasn’t a battle.”
“You fought the badge.”
Regulus considered this.
“I won.”
“Clearly.”
Regulus touched it.
“Can I put it back?”
“Of course,” Walburga said.
She knelt and pinned it carefully to his top again.
Regulus looked down at it.
The crease remained visible.
He did not ask her to remove it.
Orion placed the birthday hat gently on his head.
Regulus adjusted it himself.
“It’s leaning.”
“You said it was meant to lean,” Walburga reminded him.
Regulus remembered.
“Oh.”
He left it.
He stood for a moment in his best outfit, grippy socks, repaired birthday hat and slightly crumpled badge.
Then he turned towards the teenagers.
“I had everything planned,” he said again.
Noah nodded.
“We want to hear all of it.”
Regulus looked uncertain.
“All of it?”
“All of it.”
“I talk a lot.”
“That’s good.”
“Sirius says—”
“Sirius is not here,” Maya said. “We are.”
Regulus stared at her.
Then he nodded.
He walked slowly closer to the group.
Walburga and Orion exchanged a look.
Neither knew what to do.
They were still cautious.
These were strangers.
Kind strangers, perhaps, but strangers.
They were much older than Regulus.
Fourteen teenagers who had appeared without warning and offered to step into an empty party.
It was generous.
It was also overwhelming.
Walburga could not simply hand her six-year-old son to people she did not know.
Orion seemed to share the same thought.
He moved with Regulus as the little boy approached them.
Regulus stopped in front of Noah.
Noah offered his hand.
Not to shake.
Palm up.
A choice.
Regulus stared at it.
“You can hold it if you want,” Noah said. “Or you don’t have to.”
Regulus looked at Walburga.
She studied Noah.
Then the rest of the group.
Every one of them appeared to be waiting for her permission as much as Regulus’s.
No one tried to coax him away.
No one touched him.
No one acted as though his parents were not there.
Walburga nodded slowly.
Regulus looked at Orion.
Orion’s caution remained visible, but he nodded too.
Regulus placed his tiny hand in Noah’s.
Noah closed his fingers gently.
“Hello, Regulus.”
Regulus sniffled.
“Hello.”
“Happy birthday.”
Regulus’s eyes filled again.
Noah’s face fell.
“Sorry.”
“No.”
Regulus wiped at his eyes.
“It’s okay.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
“That’s fair.”
Regulus hiccuped.
Behind Noah, Maya stood.
“Would you like to go look at the slides?”
Regulus turned his head.
His gaze travelled across the park.
For the first time since realising no one was coming, he truly looked at it.
The enormous slides still towered over the centre.
Children rushed down the racing lanes.
Riders floated through the high track of the AirGlider.
The padded play areas remained open.
Everything he had been waiting to try was still there.
He wanted his classmates.
He wanted the party he had imagined.
He wanted to rewind the morning and watch the doors open one child at a time.
The teenagers could not replace that.
He knew it in the simple, absolute way children knew things.
They were not the people he had invited.
They were not the people he had waited for.
The hurt did not disappear merely because someone else had offered to be kind.
His chest still ached.
His eyes still burned.
He still dreaded Monday, though he could not yet name the feeling in those terms.
He was still embarrassed.
Still angry.
Still confused about why a room full of yeses had become empty chairs.
But he also wanted to go on the slides.
He had wanted it for weeks.
He had chosen his clothes for it.
He had put on the grippy socks.
He had planned every turn.
He looked at the AirGlider.
A rider swept around a bend, suspended high above the floor.
Regulus’s fingers tightened around Noah’s.
“Can you take me on that?”
Noah followed his gaze.
“The AirGlider?”
Regulus nodded.
“You’re not scared?”
“No.”
“I might be.”
Regulus looked at him.
“You’re big.”
“Big people can be scared.”
“Sirius says they can’t.”
“Sirius is wrong.”
Regulus seemed deeply troubled by that possibility.
“Sirius is usually wrong,” Walburga said.
Orion covered a cough.
Regulus looked back at the attraction.
“I’ll go with you.”
Noah smiled.
“Then I’ll be brave.”
Regulus’s lower lip trembled.
“You really want to?”
“Yes.”
“All of you?”
The group answered at once.
“Yes.”
“Absolutely.”
“Of course.”
“We’re doing everything.”
“Except perhaps the moth attraction,” Max said.
“There is no moth attraction,” Luca snapped.
“Good for you.”
Regulus looked around at them.
“You can still leave if you don’t like me.”
Noah’s smile disappeared again.
“We’re not planning to leave.”
“But you might.”
“We might have to go home when our time finishes.”
“That’s different.”
“Yes.”
Regulus swallowed.
“You won’t just disappear?”
“No.”
“You’ll tell me?”
“Yes.”
“Before?”
“Yes.”
“And if you don’t want to play anymore, you tell me?”
“Yes.”
“You won’t pretend?”
“No.”
Regulus looked at each face as though checking for dishonesty.
The teenagers let him.
“We want to play with you,” Ruby said.
“Really,” Chloe added.
Regulus’s eyes became wet again.
This time he did not begin sobbing.
He only sniffled and pressed his shoulder briefly against Walburga’s side.
“Can they?” he asked.
Walburga looked down at him.
“You want to go?”
He nodded.
“You are certain?”
“No.”
She blinked.
Regulus looked towards the slides.
“But I want to.”
Walburga understood.
“You may try.”
Regulus looked at Orion.
“Appa?”
Orion studied the group.
Noah met his eyes.
“We’ll stay with him,” Noah said.
“So will we,” Orion replied.
“Of course.”
“He will follow the centre’s rules.”
“Of course.”
“If he says he does not want to do something, he does not do it.”
“Absolutely.”
“If he becomes overwhelmed—”
“We bring him straight back.”
Regulus frowned.
“I’m here.”
Orion looked down at him.
“I know.”
“You’re talking like I’m not.”
“You are right.”
“I can tell them.”
“All right.”
Regulus turned towards Noah.
“If I don’t want something, I’ll say.”
“Good.”
“And if I say stop, you stop.”
“Immediately.”
“And don’t lift me without asking.”
Noah nodded.
“I won’t.”
“Sirius does.”
“I’m not Sirius.”
“No.”
“Anything else?”
Regulus thought.
“Don’t leave me at the top of the slide.”
Noah’s expression softened.
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Regulus nodded.
“All right.”
Maya looked towards Walburga and Orion.
“We’ll stay together.”
Walburga still seemed uncertain.
“We do not know any of you.”
“That is fair,” Maya said.
“My name is Maya Patel. That is Noah Bennett. We can give you all our names and phone numbers.”
“We will remain here,” Orion said. “We are going with him.”
“Okay.”
There was no hesitation or objection.
That helped.
Walburga looked down at Regulus again.
He still held Noah’s hand.
His free hand was curled in the hem of her top.
He had not let go of either world yet.
“I want to show them the plan,” he said.
“You may.”
He looked at the teenagers.
“The racing slides first or the AirGlider?”
Immediately, the group began arguing.
“AirGlider.”
“Racing slides.”
“The queue is shorter for the slides.”
“The AirGlider queue will get longer.”
“That is exactly what he said earlier,” Orion murmured.
Regulus turned towards him.
“I was right.”
“You were.”
Noah looked down at Regulus.
“You’re the birthday boy. You choose.”
Regulus’s eyes widened.
He looked at the attractions again.
“AirGlider.”
“AirGlider it is,” Maya said.
“Then racing slides,” Regulus added.
“Done.”
“And the big one.”
“Done.”
“And the blue one.”
“Done.”
“And the bumpy one.”
“Done.”
“And then the play area.”
“Done.”
“And then AirGlider again.”
Noah nodded gravely.
“We have a full schedule.”
“We need to go quickly.”
“We’ll follow you.”
Regulus took one small step towards the main entrance gate.
Then stopped.
He looked back at the party area.
At the cake.
The gifts.
The goody bags.
The empty table.
His face became sad again.
“Will it stay here?”
“Yes,” Walburga said.
“They won’t take it?”
“No.”
“My things?”
“They will remain here.”
“What about the food?”
“It will be brought later.”
“For everyone?”
Walburga looked at the fourteen teenagers.
“We ordered enough.”
Max raised his hand.
“I volunteer to prevent waste.”
Ruby pushed his arm down.
Regulus looked at him.
“You can have food.”
Max’s face became solemn.
“Thank you. This is already the best invitation I have ever received.”
“You weren’t invited.”
“Fair.”
Regulus considered that.
“I invite you now.”
Max’s expression changed.
The joking warmth remained, but something softer entered it.
“Then thank you.”
Regulus looked around at the rest.
“You’re all invited.”
“Thank you,” Aisha said.
One by one, the others thanked him too.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
They treated it as though it mattered.
Because it did.
Regulus took another step.
Noah moved with him, keeping hold of his hand.
Maya walked on his other side without touching him.
The rest of the teenagers arranged themselves around them, no longer a chaotic group but a loose, protective circle.
Regulus suddenly stopped again.
“My socks.”
Noah looked down.
“You have them on.”
“They’re right?”
“They look right.”
Regulus lifted one foot and checked the rubber grips.
“They’re the birthday ones.”
“They are very impressive.”
“They were new.”
“Good choice.”
Regulus lowered his foot.
“My hat might fall off.”
Walburga reached towards it.
“You can leave it here.”
Regulus covered it with his hand.
“No.”
“All right.”
“I want people to know.”
“That it is your birthday?”
He nodded.
“Then we will keep it on.”
Regulus looked towards the gate again.
“Can I go now?”
“Yes.”
They had taken only a few more steps when Orion stopped.
“The booking.”
Walburga followed his gaze towards the staff.
The teenagers had signed in separately.
Regulus’s paid party package had been arranged for an entirely different group.
The original session time had already begun.
Walburga looked at the clock.
Her anger sharpened again.
Regulus had lost part of his own party time sitting beneath decorations and waiting for children who were never coming.
“No,” she said.
Regulus looked up.
“No what?”
“Nothing, darling.”
“I’m not a baby.”
“Nothing, Regulus.”
Orion moved towards the staff desk.
Walburga kept one hand near Regulus while he continued holding Noah’s.
The group followed them.
The staff member who had first greeted Regulus came forward immediately.
Her eyes moved across the teenagers and then towards Regulus.
He was no longer sobbing.
His face remained swollen and tear-streaked, but he was standing.
His birthday badge was back on.
His hat had been repaired.
He held Noah’s hand tightly.
The staff member’s expression softened.
“Are you going to try the attractions?”
Regulus nodded.
“The AirGlider first.”
“That sounds exciting.”
“He says he isn’t going to scream,” Noah said.
“I’m not.”
“We shall see,” the staff member told him.
“I won’t.”
“All right.”
Walburga stepped closer to the desk.
“These young people are joining Regulus’s birthday party.”
The staff member blinked.
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
The teenagers gathered behind Regulus.
He leaned slightly against Noah’s leg.
“They’re my guests,” he said.
The staff member looked at him.
A smile spread slowly across her face.
“Then they are very welcome.”
Walburga’s tone remained controlled.
“We paid for the original number of guests.”
“Yes.”
“They will use those places.”
The staff member looked at the teenagers.
“That should be possible.”
“They are to have access to everything included in the package.”
“Yes, of course.”
“The attractions, the food, the games, the cake and the party area.”
“Absolutely.”
“They should receive the same wristbands or whatever access is required.”
“I can arrange that.”
“And the session begins now.”
The staff member hesitated.
Walburga’s eyes hardened.
“My son’s booked time began while he was sitting in there waiting for guests who did not arrive.”
“I understand.”
“He is not losing those minutes.”
“No,” the staff member said immediately. “He will not.”
Orion came to stand beside Walburga.
“We would like the full party time restarted from this moment.”
The staff member nodded.
“I’ll reset it.”
Regulus looked up.
“What does reset mean?”
“It means your party starts now,” Orion said.
Regulus stared at the clock.
“Not before?”
“No.”
“So I didn’t waste it?”
“No.”
His shoulders relaxed slightly.
The staff member tapped quickly at the screen.
“I’ll move the food time as well.”
“And the cake,” Walburga said.
“Yes.”
“And the games.”
“Yes.”
“Everything.”
“Everything.”
The woman looked at Regulus.
“You will have all the time you were meant to have.”
Regulus sniffled.
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
She began preparing new wristbands for the teenagers.
Another staff member came over to help, already gathering the necessary equipment and checking the package details.
The original guest list remained on the screen.
Names of children who were not there.
The staff member quietly closed it.
She created a new list.
Noah Bennett.
Maya Patel.
Luca Reyes.
Priya Shah.
Theo Carter.
Ruby Collins.
Aisha Khan.
Max Turner.
Leon Hughes.
Chloe Martin.
Jamie Park.
Erin Walsh.
Dylan Price.
Sofia Bell.
Regulus watched every name being entered.
When the staff member finished, she looked at him.
“Are these your party guests?”
Regulus glanced back at the teenagers.
Every one of them smiled at him.
Some gave small waves.
Max gave two thumbs up until Ruby lowered one of his arms.
Regulus’s lower lip trembled.
But he did not cry again.
Not quite.
He nodded.
“They’re my guests.”
The staff member printed the final wristband.
“All right, birthday boy.”
She fastened it gently around Regulus’s wrist.
Then she opened the gate.
“Your party starts now.”