1 May 1929

The house breathed a sigh of relief when Jane returned today - it's not itself without a child at its heart. I thought I would be content too, now I can sit here in the nursery again and watch her sleep, but I'm not, and I don't like to think about why.

She stirs, and murmurs in her sleep. I strain to hear, in case she's dreaming of Never Land.

2 May 1929

There are pirates again! There's even another Hook. There are lost boys and fairies and mermaids and Indians. Tiger Lily is now chief of the tribe. There are new things too - dinosaurs and aeroplanes and German spies. And there is Peter.

She notices what I noticed: the translucence of his skin, the way the light shines on his curls, those eyes that see through you straight to your heart and mould it into what they want it to be. He still has all his baby teeth. The way he stands with his hands on his narrow hips when he crows; his little sword; his cruel laughter. Peter running, Peter swimming, Peter flying, Peter sauntering across the isle. She has a way with words, my Jane, but there is much she doesn't say.

3 May 1929

I gobble up her stories, and the more she tells me, the more I want. When she is exhausted I bribe her with sugarplums, and remind her of all the things I do for her.

I feel horribly guilty, of course. All bmy/b mother's words about motherhood and love and loyalty and self-sacrifice hang over me. It is wrong to need her so.

5 May 1929

I want to see him again.

A child's desire blazes bright and quick and is extinguished in no time flat. A grown-up's desire smoulders more gently, but it does not go out so easily. My desire swells like a forest fire, and I fear it will overpower me.

I will go to Never Land. I am too old to chase after fairy dust and happy thoughts, but I will find a way. Second to the right and straight on 'til morning. I will fly on the wings of my desire.

6 May 1929

On second thoughts, I will fly in the cockpit of Lord Slightly and Lady Priscilla's 'plane. I've arranged to visit them on Saturday.

8 May 1929

Slightly scoffed, of course: none of the boys who are left believe in Never Land any more, but Lady P. was absolutely marvellous. She said it sounded like a 'ripping jaunt' and offered to fly me herself.

I'm ashamed to admit how much I disliked Lady P. when Slightly first brought her home. She was twenty years older than him, and so different from anyone else I knew: a tall, big-boned aristocrat with wild silver hair and the kind of wrinkles you get from laughing too much, and the kind of laugh that makes everyone turn round and look at her. Unrestrained. So different from Ann and Alice and the other Lost Boys' wives. So different from me.

Now I envy her. My face is a mother's face - bmy/b mother's face: kind and calm and lovely. My hair is neat and brown, my nose small and slightly turned up. The only irregularity is my mouth, which is slightly crooked. She moves with the ease of a man or child. I feel foolish when I try to imitate her, and besides, she doesn't imitate anyone.

It will be different in Never Land. I will be myself again.

12 May 1929

I've said my goodbyes. Tootles knows I'm travelling with Lady P, but I didn't mention our destination. It's the first time we've been properly apart since... I have a horrible feeling it's the first time we've been apart since we got back from Never Land. He held me so tight that Peter's kiss pressed against my chest and left a mark.

I love him, of course - he is my own dear Tootles and there is no-one like him. But do I love him as a wife ought to love her husband? I don't like thinking about that.

What am I doing? What am I looking for? Am I trying to escape my duties here, or am I tying up the loose ends that prevent me from fulfilling them?

It is a cold night. I am out in the park, watching her ladyship doing something unfeminine with a wrench. 'Final preparations,' she says, giving it to me to hold. I catch myself admiring my hand, free of the restraining band of gold that I have worn every day of my adult life.