The attic had grown unusually quiet after Cedric’s story — the kind of silence that settled in the bones. Beatrice sat curled up, arms around her knees, and Jonathan was absently chewing on his thumbnail. Even Alice, who was rarely ever still, seemed rooted in place.

Cedric cleared his throat and leaned forward slightly.
“Would you like to hear a funny story?”

Alice narrowed her eyes. “That’s a strange follow-up to a cursed dream mansion and bone-spines.”

He smirked. “It’s about you.”

Her eyes widened. “Cedric—”

“It’s from when we were eleven,” he said innocently, stretching his legs out. “You remember the village fair?”

“I swear to everything in Epping, Cedric Blackhill—”

“Oh! This’ll be good,” Jonathan grinned, instantly intrigued. “Do go on.”

Cedric ignored Alice’s warnings — which were increasing in volume — and launched straight in.
“She entered the jam tart eating contest, thinking it was a violin competition.”

Lilith gasped. “No!”

“She dragged her poor violin case across the field, hair a mess from the wind, completely oblivious. When they told her it was a pie-eating contest, she looked insulted. Then she spotted the trophy. It had little golden strawberries on it.”

Alice buried her face in her hands.

“And what did she do?” Cedric continued, basking in the moment. “She sat down next to six red-faced boys twice her size and announced she’d win for art.”

Beatrice burst out laughing.

“She made it through four tarts before the sugar hit her like a freight train,” Cedric said, “and she stood up, raised her arm like a conductor—”

“No—!” Alice groaned. “Don’t say it.”

“—and shouted, ‘I am the dessert queen of England!’ before promptly throwing up behind the tent.”

Jonathan fell sideways with laughter, clutching his stomach. Lilith was in tears.

Alice turned red. “It was a very artistic display. I was trying to embrace the dramatic.”

“Oh, you embraced something,” Cedric said. “The bucket, mostly.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

She threw a pillow at him.

To ease Alice’s embarrassment, Lilith wiped her eyes and said gently, “Okay, in her defence — we've all done embarrassing things.”

Alice folded her arms. “Oh? Go on then.”

Lilith looked down, sheepish. “When I was nine, I thought birds came from tree branches. I cried when someone trimmed the hedge because I thought it was bird-murder.”

The room cackled.

Beatrice smiled and added, “When I was ten, I tried to run away from home because my sister told me orphans got free chocolate every Sunday.”

“Did you get any?” Jonathan asked.

“No,” she deadpanned. “I got halfway down the road and remembered I couldn’t cross the street alone.”

Jonathan was next. “Alright, fine. I once told a teacher my name was Lord Banana because I thought it sounded cool. I had to live with that nickname for two years.”

Alice perked up. “Lord Banana?”

“It was a moment of artistic bravery,” he said with exaggerated dignity.

The laughter died down into a warm hum, like the last flickers of a fire. Everyone was still smiling, the air lighter now, their shadows just a little less heavy.

Cedric leaned back, watching them all. “See? Embarrassment is the great equaliser.”

Alice raised a brow. “Oh no. You don’t get to drop my tart story and walk away unscathed.”

Cedric blinked. “I shared the story in the spirit of—”

“Oh hush,” she said sweetly, already shifting into storytelling mode. “Would anyone like to know what happened when Cedric was twelve and tried to impress the village girl he liked?”

Lilith perked up. “Yes, absolutely.”

Beatrice clapped her hands. “Do tell.”

Cedric went pale. “Alice—”

“She was older,” Alice said, ignoring him, “probably fifteen. Long blonde curls. Wore that hideous pink bonnet, remember?”

“Stop—”

“He saw her reading poetry by the lake and decided to impress her by pretending to accidentally bump into her. Only—”

“Oh no,” Jonathan whispered, grinning.

“—only he tripped on a tree root before he even got there, flailed like a dying bird, and fell straight into the lake.”

The room exploded.

“He climbed out like a soggy cat,” Alice continued mercilessly, “moss in his hair, bleeding knee, and tried to act like it was intentional. He told her, and I quote, ‘It’s a metaphor. For love’s sudden depth.’”

Cedric covered his face. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” she echoed with a grin.

Jonathan wiped a tear. “You hopeless, poetic fish-boy.”

Lilith was laughing so hard she had to hide her face in a pillow. Beatrice leaned against her, breathless with giggles.

Cedric finally smiled, shaking his head. “Fine. I deserved that.”

“You really did,” Alice said. “But I’ll still share the tart trophy with you one day.”

“Deal.”