"I am not to speak to you, I am to think o
you when I sit alone or wake at night alone,
I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again,
I am to see to it that I do not lose you."

-Walt Whitman

Train rides, the greatest source of productivity. The gentle vibration of the carriage against the rails put Alan into a focused trance. One was not disturbed, as everyone was minding their own business – mainly out of fear of being robbed. The ever-varying panorama was the cherry on top. The meadows with grazing sheep had meanwhile given way to a hamlet of red cottages. He recognised the town of Guildford, where he had grown up. This meant they were getting close to London.

The pile of papers slid further and further away from the small table, even the observant Chris did not notice. His gaze, like Alan's, was dreamily focused on the little bridge that roared past them. Perhaps the view was just a little too distracting after all.

The smack with which the papers hit the ground told them otherwise. The boys jolted awake and scraped their result of two hours' work off the ground. It was a satisfyingly thick pile full of calculations. Alan insisted that the train had quadrupled their work rate, to which Chris laughed in agreement.

"Though I am not sure what to do with these calculations. They will most likely end up in the bin anyways." Chris let the pages slide through his hands, as if they were a baby he had to say goodbye to. "It was fun making them with you though," he quickly added, when he saw Alan's long face.

That face was not meant for the scribbles that were supposed to represent numbers. Although he would keep the papers, just like he did with everything Chris had written. Alan deftly slid the papers into his leather satchel and patted it as if he had just stolen the King's crown.

The real reason behind his grim look was right in front of him. As much as he admired the blonde-haired boy's positive attitude, it also horrified him. When a star absorbed so much positive energy and never the negative, it created an imbalance. You could probably guess what happens to such a star. It turned into a supernova in a magnificent explosion that was far from safe. Sometimes an all-destroying force was left behind, a black hole in the universe or in your chest. He could never let that happen to Chris, he would not allow that to happen.

Whether he would actually get those words across his lips – like so many others – remained a mystery. The cheerful bell brought an end to his dark thoughts and the train ride.

Only then did Alan notice that Chris was no longer sitting in his chair. He was just about to jump up in panic, when a thump was heard.

Chris came out from under the table, one hand on his aching head. In his other hand, he was holding the wombat figurine he had placed on the stack of papers in a failed attempt to keep them from falling.

Alan wondered why the boy took the little statue everywhere.

"Mother made it for me," Chris answered his stare. His thumb stroked the wombat's head. With a grin, he added, "Do you know that wombats are the mathematicians of nature? Their droppings are cubes."

The conductor stepped into the corridor with firm strides, escorting everyone out. Like the flock of sheep the train had just passed by, he shepherded them out of the train. The man's thick black eyebrow crept high up his forehead. "What are such young lads doing on a train? Have you lost your mummy?"

Alan's mouth fell open in exasperation.

His friend's quick tongue already had an answer ready. "Certainly not kind Sir, we are Prime Minister Baldwin's advisers. Now, if you would be so kind as to let us pass, we have an important assembly." Chris triumphantly straightened his shoulders as he saw the mixture of shock and incredulity on the conductor's face.

They were still roaring with laughter when the boys left the platform. Slightly hidden behind a grey pillar, a woman was waiting for them. Her searching gaze brightened when Chris crossed her gaze.

The boy pushed his suitcase into Alan's hands and wrapped his arms around his mother, who was even smaller than him.

Distantly, he watched the duo. Her short curly hair was nicely tucked away behind a hat. However, the small tufts of hair betrayed from whom Chris had inherited his blonde locks.

When the awkward hugging moment was over, the woman's gaze also landed on him. Preferring to become invisible, he wondered if Chris had even told her he had smuggled a classmate along?

"You must be that Turing boy to whom my son writes countless letters? How nice to meet you." She held out her hand in a noble manner, the tinkling bracelets on her wrist giving away her high standing as well.

Alan did not know whether to be delighted that Chris had mentioned him, or sombre because she only referred to his surname. Though his uncertainty about what to do with the outstretched hand was also growing. Should he give a kiss on the back, maybe she was of nobility.

He smiled uneasily and shook her hand a little too brusquely. "Likewise, Mrs Morcom."

She withdrew her hand and smiled courtesy, "Oh, you can call me Frances. All those formalities are wasted on me." She took the suitcase from him and hooked her arm in Chris'.

Alan nodded, though the name had already left his mind by now. He followed the clicking sound of her shoes against the marble floor. His head turned towards the majestic dome high above them. They were obviously in London. The setting was beautiful, the golden bells radiated the time of the ages. As long as you didn't breathe in too deeply, or the stench of the Thames or equally ancient factories invaded your nose.

"How nice of you to accompany Christopher on the train ride," Frances said, casting a curious eye at him, "that makes such long rides a bit more interesting."

Chris chuckled with the same smile as his mother. "It was certainly fascinating. Turing and I calculated pi up to thirty-six decimal places with a clever formula of his."

Behind the backs of the two Morcoms, Alan cringed at hearing his surname and the way Chris pronounced it. With detachment.

He also expected a scolding from his mother, that they could have done better reading instead of doing useless maths. That someone would finally express what a bad influence he was on Chris.

On the contrary, Frances clapped her hands excitedly. "You are two young Grienbergers, very impressive." She gave the duo an approving nod as they walked out of the Victoria station. A faint sunshine welcomed them to London.

Alan was shocked by the woman's enthusiasm. Not only did she encourage sciences, she also mentioned the name of a sixteenth-century mathematician like it was nothing. He thought back to his own mother, who sometimes tried to figure out what her son was up to. He had attempted to explain it to her once, she had growled disapprovingly when she did not understand and dismissed it for useless work.

He bumped into Frances, lost in his thoughts. The woman only gave him a smile and then kissed her son's crown.

"Doctor Koch is expecting you, do you remember the route?"

Chris' pained look made it clear that he knew perfectly well where his doctor lived.

With a steady pace, he started walking purposefully. Alan also set the pace, but was stopped only after one step by an outstretched arm.

"Christopher prefers to do this alone, I'm sure you understand." Not noticing the woman's friendly smile, Alan stared at the brown speck in the distance that represented his friend. "My flat is just around the corner here, do you like tea?"

He heard his own voice rise to a higher pitch as he answered that unnecessary question. He tried in vain to quell his embarrassment, but without Chris by his side, that seemed a lost cause.

When he spoke again, he was able to keep his voice under control. "Chris told me you lived in Worcestershire."

The woman looked at him briefly upon hearing her son's nickname, but quickly lifted the corner of her mouth. "Ah yes, the Clock House, I imagine Christopher has told you a lot about the small mansion. He would so much rather live there than here in the city." Her gaze wandered dreamily over London's towering apartments.

He hesitated. "I myself have never liked living here either. The countryside seems much nicer to grow up in."

"I live here occasionally; as an artist, the city is the beating heart of culture. Besides, I am not strong enough to drag statues from the countryside to here with my own hands." She raised her arm in the air and tighten her muscles.

A genuine and indecently loud laugh slipped past Alan's lips. "He did indeed tell me about the big mansion you renovated yourself. Certainly the laboratory makes it a dream house."

She stopped at a white door. "Then you should definitely drop by," she said in the most motherly way possible.

Alan could hardly contain his enthusiasm as he followed her inside. "That sounds great, thank you for inviting me."

She brushed off the thank-you and began to climb the curved staircase. It soon became clear that Chris' irrepressible curiosity was also hers.

"You just mentioned that you grew up in London, do you still live here with your parents?" Her hand drew circles on the bannister as they reached the top.

Alan shook his head briefly, weighing how much information he would provide to this overly curious lady. "I was raised by Sir John Ward, whose house is not too far from here. My parents then lived abroad with my brother." He pressed his lips together and looked at the lone crack in the tiled floor. It didn't matter that his father belonged to the Indian Civil Service and considered India too minor in terms of education for his newborn son. Alan pushed those idiotic words away. He would have been pleased to see the very country where mathematics had its origins.

Frances' mouth almost fell open; he could not guess whether she was surprised or astounded. "Colonel-Lieutenant Ward? Why yes, I've heard of him – the ladies of the town gossip like crazy. You much resemble him; he's a very distinguished, intelligent man."

He wasn't.

Alan soon forgot his worries about unpleasant foster parents when Frances opened the door.

Her flat was bathed in light, even when the sun hid behind a thick layer of clouds as it was now. The dividing line between her living space and studio was non-existent. There were white and bronze sculptures hidden between bookshelves and armchairs.

Frances deftly manoeuvred between the artistic obstacles, heading for the kitchen. "Feel free to look around," she called after him.

Alan let his hands slide over the white stone, some of the rough, crumbled pieces felt like powder against his palm. The statue slightly resembled Michelangelo's David, but with a younger model. Quickly he shifted his gaze.

The drawings on the wall were a little less revealing. Sketches of Buckingham Palace, Tower Bridge and other buildings in London passed him by. Alan stopped at an inconspicuous drawing in charcoal. Before his mind could fully grasp what he was looking at, Frances suddenly appeared behind him, glowing.

"Of all the artworks here, you are drawn to the one that has something to do with science. I can see why my Chris is fond of you." She pressed a cup of steaming tea into his hands.

"Thank you, Mrs Morcom."

Even as she corrected him to call her Frances, her eyes continued to shine.

He turned his attention back to the wall. "That's the inventor of the light bulb." That wasn't a question, Alan would recognise that shaggy long beard anywhere. The real conundrum was why there was a drawing of him hanging here.

"The late Joseph Swan." At that moment, a change was noticeable in her demeanour. Much like Chris' mask showing the exceptional crack. "I am his daughter."

Alan coughed up the hot tea. "My apologies." He tried to sound sincere, but his enthusiasm took over.

Frances offered him a smile, her face brightening again. She settled herself in the only free settee.

Alan stared at her incredulously. Beneath the dull hat and dress hid a true artist and scientist. He hoped one day people would look past his disreputable appearance and see him in the same way. Like Chris did.

How he envied Chris. Who wouldn't want an inventor as a grandfather?

Frances patted the empty seat next to her and took out a folder from under the table. "Maybe this might also spark your interest."

Alan shook his hands, preferring to remain standing. He did, however, put his cup on the side table and reverently accepted the notebook.

Cream-coloured pages filled the book, but they were blank. Not understanding, he looked into the woman's blue eyes.

"Since you have such an interest in mathematics, this seems like an appropriate gift." When he could not grasp what she meant, she took a handful of pencils from a cupboard. "The sciences and everyday life are intertwined. Although most will say otherwise. The splendour of mathematics can be found everywhere, more so, nature wants to reveal its secrets only to those who embrace it."

Alan involuntarily thought back to the pine cone. He nodded, dazed, and gratefully accepted the drawing tools.

"Or that's what my father used to say anyway, in recent years he was just rambling." She pulled a goofy face and Alan laughed again.

Before he realised it, he was sitting on the sofa next to Frances, ranting about the subjects at school and its insufferable headmaster.

Sipping her tea, she pointed out how the headmaster's IQ was pulling down the average of the entire school.

He was startled by the loud bang echoing in the flat. A red-headed Chris stormed into the room. The lack of seats made him plop down on the carpet.

Frances cleared her throat and stood up abruptly. "I'll make some more calming tea." After a meaningful glance at Alan and her son, she left the room.

"The vanadium in the cutlery is absolutely lethal, I wouldn't drink tea here," Chris said jokingly, though his voice was as morbid as his facial expression.

Alan pressed his lips together and pushed his cup a little further away from him. He waited patiently for his friend to speak, even if it was in the form of lurid jokes.

His lips remained sealed.

Alan gave in. "What did the doctor say–"

"The drugs seem to have no effect," he immediately interrupted him. "Of course they don't, they keep promising everything will be fine." There was no hint of a mask now, he saw tears bubbling up in the boy's eyes.

Alan fixed his gaze on the ground and clamped his jaws together. "Rupert was looking for a cure, wasn't he? He is a brilliant scientist and–" Again he was interrupted, this time even more abruptly.

"Do you really believe everything I say? My brother is busy with his own research, he doesn't make time for me." Thick drops of water rolled down his cheeks, he hid his face between his knees. "Not everyone can afford to live in a safe fantasy world like you."

Alan dug his nails into the sketchbook that lay on his lap. His world was far from safe, but Chris couldn't be bothered by that now. He sighed and stood up as calmly as he could.

"You're the best chemist I know from your age." Alan positioned himself next to the sobbing boy. He balled his fists lest Chris could see how badly they were shaking.

A small smile formed around Chris' lips. "You keep saying that."

"And I mean it." He put his hand on the boy's curved back, which relaxed slightly. "If anyone can find a cure, it's you. You don't even need your brother."

Two glassy eyes turned to him. They were like two mirrors to the ocean, rimmed by tears. Alan wished he could step through that mirror like Alice. "If you help me, there's a possibility it would even work."

Alan nodded. The hopeful Chris had returned.

"Sorry about what I said. You're the only one I can escape reality with." Chris' words went straight from his ears to his heart, as always.

Again and again, he had to remind himself that he could not utter certain words. I love you. As weird as that sentence sounded, he was convinced of it.

Alan swallowed those words when the moment was broken by a coughing fit.

Chris recovered and wiped his sleeve past his eyes. "I just need to get out of here, out of this polluted city. Breathing is almost impossible."

His prayers were soon heard. Frances came back into the room, enthusiastically waving two letters. She had clearly already forgotten about the tea.

"The post brought news from Sherborne." Alan stood up, interested. Would the headmaster blame him for fleeing the school over a weekend? "You two have a chance to gain a scholarship to Trinity College." He read along over her shoulder, dumbfounded.

Now Chris came to read along too. The frown had given way to a smile. "Seems like we're going to Cambridge."

Alan did not believe in fate, but this had to be a harbinger of good fortune.