He said he'd come back for me. Silly boy, he said he'd come back. Every year for spring cleaning, that was what he said. Every year I've been sitting here, collecting dust, watching the open window. He's doomed me sit here with a thimble by my side and a happy thought in my heart. Silly boy.
In the room, surrounding the lady, hung years of hope and neglect in every item. A precise and orderly eye had kept watch over her family home, but for the lady, a loose thread on a rug, a pinch of dust at the back of a bookshelf or an askew piece of paper, were all uncharacteristic, were overlooked. The red furnishings of the room were tasteful and surveyed often, but once a year the order that had been upheld lapsed just slightly, only to be restored with a fierce spirit. Outside, the grand oak door creaked.
Oh not again. How many times must I walk away from this window to talk to her? Last night for one. There was also that night two weeks ago - or was it three? Oh silly girl, don't give me that look.
The silly girl looked at her lady with a twinkle in her eye, loving the strand of hair that was so out of place on Mrs Darling. She watched her lady's face soften and revelled in the kiss she had uncovered and stolen so easily.
Oh how sweet, I remember him smiling like that.
I'm sure his shadow is following me.
No, oh she knows that is not the proper way to act.
Jane giggled and ran back down the corridor barefooted and slipped into her bedroom revelling in the kiss that she would give back in the morning. She took a large wooden box off a clean, white shelf and carried it to her bed, reaching up to touch the mobile of floating stars above her head. Lifting the heavy lid she reached into the box, picked out another box and laid it on her bed. After closing the first box she opened the lid of the second box. She reached into that box and pulled out a lighter third box. After closing the lid of the second box, opening the lid of the first box and placing the second box back into it where it belonged, she opened the heavy lid of the third box to reach in and lift out a lighter fourth box. She reached over to where the first box was laying with its open lid, opened the lid of the box inside and put the third box back into its place, making sure the lid was closed. She turned to her fourth box and flicked open the clasp, letting its lid fall back.
Was that the window creaking?
No, no it can't close. I almost trip as I run up the stairs. No, the window, it is closed. But how can that be? How will he get in? What if someone sees him waiting by the window? I imagine him being stamped and sent off to an orphanage, or worse... a dentist. I imagine him sitting there in that silent, small waiting room all alone.
The window's open, it's okay now. I sit back down. How silly of me; a lady does not run up stairs and certainly not without the proper footwear.
Jane Darling opened the slightly less heavy lid of her last, small wooden box and carefully lifted out a piece of paper. Holding it in the palm of her hand, she took a small sharpened pencil. As the pencil leant on the paper for the first time the tip broke and scattered small pieces of lead over the page. Jane wrote the date and the place in her careful child's handwriting. The pencil scraped across the page as she rules a line beneath that entry. The pencil came to a halt and she lifted it off the page to place it on her bedside table. Smoothing out the edges with the finger tips of her other hand she read through the different entries noticing how her handwriting had so steadily improved with time. She reached this latest entry, smiled to herself with pride at her achievement and placed the paper back into her last box. Closing the lid she placed it back into its place in side the box before it. Sliding her hand over to each larger lid she pushes each of them to close them with a soft thud. She closed the last heavy lid with a hand on either side of it and smiled, proud with the knowledge that she has stolen her mother's hidden kiss more times than any other can fancy themselves to be able.
The candle by the window is flickering again. That must be him this time; the shadows behind the candle moved out of the way the second I had lit it. How silly of me not to realise it then, they were making way for him. He must be coming now, it only started flickering when I moved it by the window. It must be a sign; candles don't just flicker by themselves. Just a little longer now, just little longer.
Jane reached up and placed her box on the shelf. She turned around and looked about the room. Satisfied that not a thing was out of place, she turned the corner of her bed, walked over to the light switch and flicked it off. She went back to her pull the covers back the rest of the way and climbed into her bed, watching her twinkling stars above her.
Oh what to do! I wonder if he'll bring any of the boys with him. I suppose none of them will be wearing jumpers; they'll just come along in the dead of night, and arrive complaining of the freezing cold, I just know they will!
Jane closed her eyes and thought of her mother. She thought of her day spent with her and held each memory tight knowing that they were all good ones. Nana seemed to think of Jane as a lady already, she would tidy away her charge's playthings with no problem and go through bath time without fuss. She would always take her medicine and would never forget an umbrella. Jane smiled to herself, knowing that she was never out of Nana's good books and knowing that she was never out of her mother's heart.
He'll be here soon. He will want to know what I've been doing, how my life has been. He left me when I was a child and he has never left my mind since. Maybe I shouldn't tell him how hard it's been... no, I needn't think of it. I have held the house together respectably. Not a day has gone by without Nana and I have kept the place in good order. Not a day has gone by without me having been prepared for when he may fly back into my life. Not a day has gone by without him filling my mind with stories for him. He needn't know. He need only know that his thimble forever lies in my heart and my heart is forever kept in a thimble.
Jane fell asleep believing faithfully that the next morning her mother would be downstairs ready and waiting for her to come down with the tick of the tock. Her mother would have brushed every surface, clearing it from the dust that settled during the night. Her mother would have checked behind every bush in the garden for a fresh weed. Her mother would have every glass polished with a gleam. Her mother would be waiting for her to be ready for the day ahead. She would be seated at the table ready to continue a story never finished. Letting me be patient and wait for the advancement of the day ahead. Knowing that the story is never going to end for her mother. And hoping that her mother will let her live just a bit more with her. But always scared. Jane was scared that her mother wasn't telling these stories to her. Jane was scared that her mother was telling these stories to someone far away. To someone who, in her mother's mind, had stolen her kiss hidden in the corner of her mouth long before Jane ever first found it. Jane was scared that to her mother, there was no story, none but the one she was living. Jane was scared that her mother was waiting for something else, ever waiting, but was never with Jane. And never was even saw her. Her mother scared Jane, and she never even knew.