***

"We've got Jaffa Cakes...?"

From the other side of Henry's door, Bea rattles the packaging enticingly.

Henry groans into his hands and yanks his headphones out of his ears, pausing London Boy to scratch at Mr Wobbles' ears. He meows pleadingly up at Henry, who sighs deeply, switches his phone off- the most recent photograph he has of Alex (one from some gossip-filled magazine, in his burgundy suit at the party, cheeks flushed with life and alcohol) fading into a black screen- and shoves the cat off his lap, leaving fur sticking to his pyjama trousers in his wake.

"Fine," He calls to his sister. A murmur of relief filters through the wood, as Henry pulls it roughly open, and lunges for the Jaffa Cakes.

Nimbly, Bea darts back and out of his way, holding them above her head even though he's been taller than her since he turned eleven. She pouts up at him as he makes another desperate swipe.

"Uh, uh. Not yet."

Abruptly, she darts past him, inside the room, a blur of neon that is Pez's outfit today follows her. Bemusedly, Henry spins on his heel and heads back inside, and-

Then Pez slams the door.

He locks it, twists the key in the lock, then promptly runs over to the window, tugs it open, and throws it outside. Appalled, Henry races over in time to watch it drop silently into the midst of the gardener's favourite patch of flowers.

"No escaping now, Hen," He says gleefully. "You can't just avoid us again."

"I talked to you like last week," Henry points out. Mr Wobbles begins weaving between his legs, pawing impatiently at him when Bea tosses the packet of snacks over his way. "Not now, you fat lump!"

"Excuse you, Your Highness! Watch your fucking language." Pez winks and smirks.

Henry just sighs again.

"What d'you want?"

Steepling her fingers, Bea leans towards him, almost conspiratorially.

"We want to set you free."

And that's how, a few hours later, all free of them have commandeered the top storey of a crimson London bus.

They trundle slowly through the crowded roads, but to Henry, it feels like flying.

A pair of tiny sunglasses are perched on his nose- "Disney Princess? I'm not seven!" he'd complained, to which Pez had taken great offence- a floppy tourist hat droops over his face, even though it's not even sunny today; more a watery grey that hangs over the whole city like a veil; and he's dressed in something he hasn't worn in years.

A plain shirt and jeans. No suits or ties or fancy collars. Just scuffed trainers and a black hoodie tied around his waist.

"Pez! Can you at least sit down?" He hisses, but can't help the laugh that escapes his mouth as his friend balances precariously atop one of the seats, wind rushing through his hair, picking out random strangers in the confused crowd below; firing finger guns and winks off faster than Henry can yell at him to stop.

Really, it's a miracle they haven't been recognised yet. Or hunted down by Phillip.

A dozen missed calls from various family members decorate his notifications, but he only glances at his phone to put London Boy on loop again, and then to pass the second earphone to Bea- who makes a face and pulls them clean out of the socket.

Taylor Swift begins to blast tinnily out of the speakers, and Henry facepalms and sinks slowly down in his seat.

"Oh, c'mon, Hen! I thought we were gonna have fun?" His sister wheedles, grabbing his hands and forcing him to dance softly to the music. Henry keeps quiet, but grins all the same and begins tapping his foot awkwardly along.

"No one knows who you are today," Pez chimes in, "Oi- looking mighty fine today, madam," He adds on, cupping hands around his mouth and waving excitedly at an eighty year old woman- who winks back and continues hobbling along. "See? Zero shame!"

"....Fine."

Bea lets out a whoop of joy and seizes Henry by the shoulders, bodily forcing him out of his seat and whirling him into the aisle to dance terribly with her.

It's not ballroom or a waltz or anything they've been taught before, but it involves a lot of laughing and jumping up and down and singing along to the chorus, and it's infinitely better than any stuffy royal choreographer could come up with.

When the song finishes, they bound down the bus steps and out into the streets, to inflict their terror on the people down below.

Henry snaps a shot of an old red post box; another of Pez on his knees proposing to a statue of some dead person; Bea balancing along the edge of a pool of water, a fountain spitting in the middle; a pigeon shitting on Pez's new haircut; Henry with the best ice cream he's ever tasted (even though it's only January); Bea getting chased by someone's dog. The three of them, slumped on a bench in a shady park, Bea steadily drifting off on his shoulder, Pez pulling faces by his other.

They call a taxi for the way back, and Henry pulls his knees up to his chest and scrolls through the pictures for the entire journey. When he gets through them all, and finds the photo of Alex among his recent screenshots, he doesn't even feel a twinge of sadness.

He grins- broad and wide and genuine- and traces one finger down the lines of the pixelated face.

Alex would love this.

He'd love this side of London- this side of him.

And you never know, maybe one day Henry will take him to this city, and kiss him until their lungs burn for air.

***

Back at Kensington, Henry adjusts the collar of shirt, draws the hat off his hair and ruffles it up, then goes to retrieve his room key from the flower bed.

When he gets back, Pez is already attempting to pick the lock, but he waits a few moments before saving him the bother.

On the threshold, Henry lingers, one hand raised in farewell. Something begins to sink inside him at the thoughts of spending another night locked all alone up here with just his thoughts and the ghost of a love for company. So instead of goodbye, he says-

"Star Wars marathon?" Pez's face splits into a grin, and Bea bounds inside the room immediately.

"Thought you'd never ask."

***

Phillip bursts in when they're halfway through Return of the Jedi. His face is almost as red as the bus they took, and in one fist he clutches a balled up newspaper.

"What the hell were you thinking?" He explodes. Henry flinches, pausing the film immediately, and tucked up beside him under a thousand blankets, Pez hastily suppresses a smirk.

"What were we thinking? Please remind us." Bea blinks up at him innocently.

"You- just look at this!" Slowly smoothing out the crumpled paper, Phillip thrusts it in Henry's face, dropping it so that it floats slowly down to sit in his lap.

On the front cover is a blurred photograph.

Blonde hair, wide grin, ridiculous hat, Disney sunglasses. Beside him is Pez, seemingly engaged in a fearsome battle with a pigeon. In the background, Bea is doubled over with laughter, her own hat caught mid tumble off her head.

Henry's finger pokes hard into Pez's side, and his laughter shuts off immediately. Closing his laptop and sitting up straighter, Henry glances once at Bea, who smiles encouragingly at him, then he curves his lips into the most winning press-grin he owns, and says-

"Why, you must be mistaken, dear brother. We've been here all day."

"Just watching...whatever this rubbish is."

"Yep," Henry flutters his eyelashes and Bea snorts loudly. "Didn't you know there are fifty-seven Star Wars films?"

"I- of course I knew that." Phillip snatches back his magazine article, and takes an uncertain step backwards.

"Yep. We've been watching it for ages. Haven't taken a shit all day. It hurts, man," Pez moans dramatically.

"Then- then what's this?" Henry's brother gestures to the picture then folds his arms, his face darkening to purple now. His voice gradually climbs louder and louder.

"Someone else. There are plenty of people who hate pigeons in London."

"But I know this is you- Henry, it's just the sort of thing you'd do; undermining my authority, disgracing the crown- it's- it must be-"

"Well it isn't," He says coldly. "Now if you don't mind, we've got fifty more movies to get through before Pez pisses himself."

"But you- but I-" He starts to protest, but Mr Wobbles leaps from Bea's lap and hisses ominously at him. Warding his razor claws off, Phillip stumbles backwards a few steps, but holds his ground. "I'll tell Gran about this- and Mother, too! They- ah you stupid cat- They'll never forgive you-"

"Out," Henry orders, clambering out of bed to slam the door on his brother's back. "Goodbye, Phillip," He murmurs under his breath, sinking down to the ground with his back still against the wood. Slowly, the other two untangle themselves from the duvets to crouch beside him.

"Wow." Pez is the first to break the silence. "That was quite something." Then they all start laughing.

"Did you see his face-" Bea chokes out, "It was like- like a tomato!"

"And when he left- oh I hope Mr Wobbles scratched him up badly!"

"Good cat," Henry whispers to the creature in question, tossing him a spare Jaffa Cake in thanks.

"There aren't really fifty seven Star Wars movies, are there?" Pez twists around to ask.

"No, of course not. But Phillip knows nothing about pop culture."

"Huh," Pez shrugs, "disappointing. I could stand to see Han Solo's ass a couple hundred more times."

"Pez!" Bea shrieks, and slaps his arm hard.

***