I didn't write Peter Pan, Barrie did. Just though I'd clear that up J
The Happy Home
'Every boy had adventures to tell; but perhaps the biggest
adventure of all was that they were several hours late for bed.'
'James! James! James!' James looked up briefly from his work, a frown burrowed across his forehead,
'What?' He yelled irritably, suppressing a yawn and glancing at the clock beside his bed,
'James!' A childish voice rang out once more, louder now, and accompanied by the patter of small feet in the hallway outside his bedroom door. Suddenly the door was thrown open and large chocolate eyes peered out from beneath a tangle of blonde curls, and a boy of 9 grinned cheerfully at his brother from the hallway.
James suppressed a small smile, and instead hardened his face, for you see he was very protective over his little brother and had noticed it was half an hour past his bedtime,
'Why are you still up Francis?' Francis screwed up his nose in distaste,
'I can stay up if I want! I'm old enough to stay up until at least 10.' James pushed his chair away from his desk, and unknowingly allowed a faint smile to cross his lips. Brushing a stray strand of auburn hair from his face, he leaned against his knee,
'You think so?' he asked, eyebrow raised as his brother nodded enthusiastically,
'Sure!' he replied, scurrying into James' room and sitting heavily on the floor,
'You think you could stay awake until 10?' James continued, calling scepticism to his face and looking down affectionately at his brother,
'Easy!'
'Well, you'd better stay in here until then to prove it. I know Nan's fast asleep downstairs and if she comes up… well, we can say you're sleeping in here tonight. But remember, if you hear her coming upstairs you've got to pretend to be asleep, extra quick. Are you up for the challenge kid?' Francis looked up at his brother a moment, his expression a strange mix of excitement and distrust, because he knew that his brother, no matter how much he loved him, often played tricks. He was wondering now what his brother was thinking, and whether this would be a good game
'Yeah, ok,' he said finally, smiling broadly.
'Feeling tired yet?' James dropped his pen beside his essay, and glanced back at Francis, who was sitting on his bed, his eyes drooping slowly and his head lolling.
'No!' was the determined reply as Francis forced open his eyes and grinned, 'I'm wide awake.' James smiled and turned back to his work, a faint sigh escaping his lips as he realised how little he'd done that night.
'What you doin?' said a voice beside his shoulder, as Francis climbed sleepily from the bed,
'Homework,'
'What's it about?'
'Maths, equations and stuff,' James replied wearily, faintly amused as he caught his brother's face frown in confusion,
'Gee, that sounds hard…' Francis yawned dramatically, leaning his elbow on the desk and glancing about at his brother's room.
'It's boring that's for sure,' James replied, following his brother's gaze to the sheets of school notes piled neatly on the bed, and then to the nearby forest of books stacked orderly on endless shelves; a harmonica placed carefully beside his bed; a rack of CDs all alphabetically arranged and a grey, dishevelled cat lounging across his schoolbag.
'You're room's so tidy,' Francis stated in disbelief, kneeling down and peering cautiously under the bed, sceptically noting that all the boxes were neatly labelled – miscellaneous; magazines; school reports; photographs; music tabs and so on - all but one that is; a single blue box remained unlabeled. 'What's in the blue box James?' Francis asked innocently, trying to stretch his arm to reach it. James quickly paled, grabbing his little brother, and swiftly sat him on a chair,
'Oh, something very boring Fran, nothing you'd be interested in.'
'Tell me!'
'How about I tell you a story instead?' James replied shrewdly, 'there's some time left until 10.00.' Francis screwed up his nose again; a constant habit which suited a multitude of emotions. At the moment he was expressing outrage,
'James! I'm way to old for stories' James smiled knowingly,
'You're never too old for stories Francis. I'll read to you from my favourite book,' Francis shrugged, to tired to argue, and watched as James crossed to his bookshelf and picked out a worn, tattered book.
'What's it about?' Francis asked, interested suddenly as James motioned for him to sit beside him on the bed as he lit a candle and switched off the main light.
'It's about pirates,' James replied softly, opening the book carefully, smiling in the half-light, 'and Indians, and lagoon's with flamingos flying over, wigwams and boats, mermaids and great battles. It's about lost boys who go to bed whenever they like and have adventures every day. It's about a world without parents, where you can fly with the wind.' Francis leaned against his brother's shoulder, and looked down at the book as his brother began reading.
'All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this. One day when she was two years old she was playing in the garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother. I suppose she must have looked rather delightful, for Mrs. Darling put her hand to her heart and cried, "Oh, why can't you remain like this forever!" This was all that passed between them on the subject, but henceforth Wendy knew that she must grow up. You always know after you are two. Two is the beginning of the end.'
Later that night, with Francis fast asleep on a futon nearby and the dim light of a candle dancing across the ceiling, James closed the door to his room and threw himself onto his bed. Staring lazily at the ceiling for a minute or two, a faint smile crossed his features, and, climbing nimbly from his bed, he reached searchingly beneath his bed for a moment as silently as he could, not wanting to wake his little brother. He hunted around until his hand fell on a familiar box, which he hurriedly withdrew.
Sitting back onto his bed cross-legged, James placed the box on his bed, and opened it slowly, a far away expression on his face. Inside, was a piece of torn moss green cloth, and a piece of someone's shadow, a shadow from their hand to be precise. James stared at this shadow for a moment, then carefully took it between finger and thumb, and held it up against the light where it disappeared completely, though he knew it hadn't gone since he still felt a soft, feathery substance within his grip. His head cocked to one side, James moved the shadow from the light, and stared at it, chewing his lip absentmindedly until his gaze lifted to the open window of his room.
It was dark outside, and a slate sky was dotted with bright stars high above the urban mist that collected like a clot above the skyline; scarlet and occasionally broken by a skyscraper reaching blasphemously towards the heavens. The curtains at his window fluttered with a faint breeze, and the city sounds drifted through the open window, shaking James back to reality as he dropped the shadow back into its box, and replaced the lid. He paused, his eyes glancing towards the window as a shiver ran along his spine. Quickly reaching under his bed once more, he pulled a label from another box, and stuck it onto the blue box, before returning it to the darkness beneath his bed.
Later that night, as the clock's hands were turning towards 12, a breeze that smelt of spices, gunpowder and far away lands sent the curtains billowing wildly into his room, blowing out the candle while James shifted uneasily in his sleep. In the distance, the stars seemed to shine brighter despite the mist of streetlights, and litter scurried about the roads, lifted by the breeze that snaked its way throughout the city until it came at last to one particular window and a pair of soft soled feet landed nimbly and silently onto the sill. A figure leapt from the sill, and landed soundlessly on the bedroom floor, keen eyes glancing about in the darkness. The wind had ceased, and the world was eerily silent as the figure crept deliberately further into the room, not a sound lifting from each footfall as moss green eyes dropped from James to the silent, happily sleeping figure on the floor. Striking a dramatic pose, with his hands on hips, the figure seemed to ooze self-satisfaction as he returned to the window, and gave a low call up to the night sky. As if one of the stars themselves had descended, a tiny light suddenly burst into the room, leaving a faint trail of stardust on the windowsill. A sound very much like the tinkle of bells rose from this little firefly as it suddenly swooped onto one of the posts at the end of James' bed, and sat, stretching out long legs, and pouting sullenly.
'Shush Tink, you'll wake them,' Peter admonished, for it was that same young boy that had swept through the window moments earlier, who was now opening drawers and searching frantically about the room. An irritable, short tinkle replied to this, but Tinkerbell had duly lowered her tone, and now sat examining her nails, her disdainful nose high in the air.
'Don't just sit there, help me look!' a harsh whisper suddenly broke through the silence, and Tink duly jumped a centimetre or two from where she sat, and sent a glare towards the boy. A barely audible tinkle was uttered as her eyes narrowed, and she began lazily darting about the room, half-heartedly lifting a sock and checking underneath.
Peter, meanwhile, was growing increasingly annoyed, pulling clothes from drawers and throwing them about the room in anger, while the two boys nearby slept silently, James shifting slightly, obviously lost in dreams. Suddenly Peter threw up his hands in anguish, and sank cross-legged on the floor, burying his head in his hands, a soft moan of despair escaping his lips into the darkness, as a wild mop of auburn hair fell about his features. Tinkerbell meanwhile had sat back down on the bed post, and was now pointedly ignoring the boy, glancing at him now and again as she proceeded to entwine her silver hair about her fingers. A faint tinkle escaped her mouth, and Peter looked up, fires burning in his eyes,
'No! We can't go. I haven't found my shadow yet!' James muttered something in his sleep, and turned over at the words, and Peter promptly slapped a hand across his mouth, noticing at the same time with a twinkle in his eye, that there were boxes under the bed. 'There's words on these boxes Tink,' he suddenly whispered, 'do you think one of them has my shadow in it? Look, that one hasn't got words on it, I bet my shadows in there! How clever of me to find it!' With a wide, cocky grin, he reached under the bed and retrieved the box, then set it on his lap, and in a low tone, began talking excitedly to Tink, ignoring the fact she was ignoring him completely, 'I told you I'd find it, how could you ever doubt me Tink? I'm the best at hide and seek in all of Neverland. I'm the best at everything!' He opened the box, and on finding only sheets of paper, let out a loud cry of despair, tearing James and Francis from their sleep as their eyes flew open wide, and James sat up suddenly, his hand struggling to switch on the lamp.
'You!' James roared, clambering from his bed as Peter, now lit by lamplight, jumped nimbly to his feet, his dagger un-sheaved in a flash. The boy stood, clothed completely in green, his dagger flashing with what little light that could catch it's surface, his eyes narrowed threateningly as Tinkerbell flew from the post and perched on his shoulder, a comrade once more with the promise of battle and an enemy near at hand.
'Me!' Peter shouted back boldly as James pushed a now wide awake, frightened and wildly excited Francis behind his back protectively
'You're not taking my brother,' James replied coldly, stepping towards the dagger bravely and meeting the level, moss green gaze of the boy, while keeping a tight grip on his brothers hand behind him,
'I don't want your brother, I want my shadow!' Peter snapped back, 'you stole it! And now I have come to retrieve it,'
'Quiet Francis,' James snapped suddenly, as his instincts told him that his younger brothers mouth was framing a question. His brother's mouth snapped shut accordingly, and his wide blue eyes turned to the older boy in front of them both, who's brow was burrowed with uncertainty,
'Well?' Peter said suddenly, 'are you going to fight me or not? I won't fight an unarmed man, it isn't good form' his lips curled into a faint smile at his own words, 'or are you too afraid to fight?' James bristled,
'I'm not afraid of anything,' he replied, 'especially not of you. But I won't fight you, unless you try to hurt my brother.' Peter wrinkled his nose, an expression not unlike one of Francis' pouts, and sheaved his knife suddenly
'Well, if you won't fight me, then just tell me where my shadow is!' Peter whispered something to the fairy on his shoulder, and accordingly Tink let of a little more light, casting his shadow onto the floor. The boy lifted his hand and sprayed his fingers, but on the floor his hand displayed no shadow, only ending abruptly at his wrist, 'I'm bound to turn into Hook if I don't have it back!' Peter continued, his eyes wide at the thought, 'and then I'll have to grow up and be a pirate…'
'James…' a small hand tugged at his brothers hand, 'is that…Peter Pan?'
'The one and only!' Peter interrupted, bowing with a flourish, 'and I've come for something that's mine.' Francis moved to his brothers side,
'Haven't you come to take us to Neverland?' he asked softly, puppy dog eyes wide and sad, while Peter just stared
'To Neverland? No! I only take mothers back to Neverland. I came for my shadow,'
'You took John and Michael!' Francis whined, and James flinched, recognising the tone of his younger brother, 'I wanna see the pirates!' was the consequent whine, as Francis tore his hand from his brothers and stepped forwards, 'James! Make him take us!'
'We're not going anywhere,' James replied coldly, while Peter leaned languidly against the wall, his eyes narrowed,
'You'd be no fun to take to Neverland, and he's to old,' he replied, 'besides, he's as bad as a pirate, stealing things that are mine. No one steals from Peter Pan and gets away with it.'
'You want to bet?' James snapped, trying to push his brother behind his back once more, but the boy wasn't co-operating
'He's not too old! He's about the same age as you I bet! He just acts like he's old sometimes!'
'Francis…' James began, but the boy has stepped right up to Peter, and had begun tugging at his shirt,
'He tells really good stories, and he's brave like this one time he climbed up this really high tree coz I said he couldn't… oh! and when I fell of this cliff onto this ridge thingy and hurt my arm he climbed down after me with a rope even though it was really high and he saved me! And he's fun, like when mum left he showed me the attic for the first time and we spent hours playing cowboys and Indians and he told me aliens lived up there which was scary… And he can fight! He's been taking fence lessons…'
'Fencing,' James corrected automatically, rolling his eyes
'…Fencing lessons in school,' Francis continued, 'and…' his nose screwed up again as he tried to remember something, 'oh and he can sow! That's what you wanted Wendy to do right?'
'Like hell I can!' James shouted, 'and I'll tell you something else Pan…' Suddenly, a hand was clapped over his mouth,
'Listen,' Peter whispered simply, ignoring the fires burning in James eyes, and forcing him to be silent. There was movement downstairs,
'It's Nan! she's coming upstairs!' Francis said with a yelp, suddenly jumping back onto the futon, and wrapping the sheets around himself protectively, leaving James to glare at Peter a moment longer,
'Hide!' Peter ordered, removing his hand, and before James could reply, he found himself being pushed roughly onto the bed just as the door opened.
'What's going on in here?'
'Sorry Nan, did I have the TV on too loud?' His Nan stood in the doorway, shooting a disapproving look from beneath a wrinkled, stern gaze, while James inwardly congratulated himself on the lie,
'It's past midnight James Darling! You shouldn't be watching television at this time, this comes from not having a mother around I bet.' James winced, then suddenly his eyes travelled about the room in confusion, 'and what are you looking for? Are you hiding something in here?' She stepped a little further into the room, her grey eyes narrowed and accusing as her arms folded sternly,
'Of course not Nan…' James began, but her eyes had fallen on an apparently slumbering Francis,
'He really shouldn't be in here James,' his Nan chided, her tone a little softer now her eyes fell on the child, 'I want him back in his bed by morning,' she continued, before her eyes hardened once more, and she waved her finger at James strictly, 'and if I hear that television once more tonight I will confiscate it! And your father will be hearing about this when he returns. And switch that light off!' with that she swept from the room, leaving James to softly climb from bed, and shut the door as silently as possible behind her. Spinning around, he almost cried out again as Peter reappeared at the window, a mischievous grin on his face as Francis uncovered his face from the covers, and looked out nervously
'Has she gone James?' he asked, while his brother nodded, lighting a candle, before extinguishing the lamp and sitting down on his bed with a sigh. Peter meanwhile had hopped back into the room, bringing the smell of fir trees and spring with him, and was standing with a silly smile on his face, his dishevelled sun-blonde hair dishevelled and his eyes bright,
'What a good game!' He cried, then laughed silently; a light, good humoured laugh that seemed to chase away all shadows from the darkened room as he brought his finger to his lips, 'but we should be quiet now,' he then whispered, 'I don't want that old lady coming back in. Imagine being that old! She looks like something Pirates have disturbed from a tomb while searching for treasure!' Francis giggled childishly, while James just scowled, leaning heavily against a bedpost, when suddenly Tinkerbell proved true to her name, as, having remained silent for all too long for her tastes, she began tinkling madly, flying about the room like a tiny firefly.
'What's it saying?' Francis asked, staring up at the fairy as she landed on the top of a cupboard, and sat, still tinkling like the playing of tiny bells
'She's saying - not it - that she's bored, and that you're both stupid, and that she wants me to hurry up and get my shadow so we can go home. I'm afraid she isn't very polite, but that reminds me!' The dagger was withdrawn again, quick as lightening, 'I came for my shadow and I will get it back.'
'Not if you can't find it you wont,' James muttered, his eyes blazing once more, while Peter groaned in exasperation
'It's mine! You stole something that was mine!'
'And so did you! You stole my sister!' At once, a silence pervaded the room, while James, now on his feet, met Peter's steady gaze.
'I did not!' Peter replied haughtily, but uncertainty flashed beneath his confidence. James' fists had clenched tight, as he fought against the tears brimming in his eyes, experience proving the victor as not one tear dropped as he advanced on Peter
'You did,' he said quietly, 'a week before you took her, she was ill again…' he ignored Francis, who had retreated half way back under the covers of the futon, peeping over the edge of a sheet and watching the two boys mirror each others defiant stance as James continued, 'you came then, though the window mum had left open. You tried to take her then but I stopped you…'
'You stopped me?' Peter replied incredulously, but James continued, ignoring the remark,
'And your shadow got caught in the window when I closed it. I was going to give it back to you if you left my sister alone… she was too ill to go to Neverland, you should have known that!' Peter still stood with his dagger ready, but his eyes were glazed, as if he stared far away, his brow knitted
'I don't remember that…' he mumbled, before his eyes focused and his hand tightened on the handle of his dagger, 'and if I don't remember it, then it never happened!'
'It happened.' James replied emotionlessly, 'and then the next week you took her away. My parents couldn't cope… it was your fault they divorced!' James was shaking now, his eyes bearing into the boy in front of him, filled with hatred. 'Everything went wrong then, Dad got a new job and now we hardly ever see him and then Mum moved away and we never see her, and now Nan's always looking after us and she's awful! And I miss my sister and it's all your fault and you're going to pay for it…' James suddenly launched himself at Peter, knocking him to the floor, the dagger slipping from his grip and sliding across the room.
The two boys fought violently then, Peter – furious that he'd been caught of guard – striking hard blows as James tried to pin him to the ground, knocking the breath from his stomach. Francis, meanwhile, had pulled the sheets completely over his head, but kept darting covetous looks from underneath, eyes brimming with fear and hands trembling from excitement.
Suddenly, as this commotion was bound to cause a racket, heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway and both boys fell apart, eyes wide and panting for breath.
'Fine, I'll prove I didn't take your sister. Come to Neverland with me and find out for yourself! And if we find her, you have to swear you'll give my shadow back!' Peter cried, no longer caring about what noise he made, while the present danger loomed so irreparably close. Francis couldn't help but smile at his words, while James, his ears fixed on the sound of approaching feet, his eyes wracked with indecision, suddenly nodded. Darting to the door, he pushed a chair against the handle, and then turned to Peter.
'Fine… I swear I will.' he hissed, while Peter jumped to his feet and looked to Tink who had abandoned her viewpoint on the cupboard, and was now darting about the room in a state of panic. 'Tink!' Peter yelled, and the fairy stopped, tinkling excitedly, 'you know what to do,' Peter continued, and the fairy nodded, spreading her wings wide as she flew above James and Francis, scattering a shower of glimmering dust about their heads.
The door handle was grasped as Nan tried to enter the room, her voice lost on the boys as Peter beckoned them to the window where he stood ready, in silhouette against the night sky.
'Happy thoughts right?' James muttered, the scorn in his voice undermined by the wonder that shone in his eyes as he stepped onto the sill.
'Adventure, staying up late, pirates!' Francis cried happily, grinning from ear to ear until he noticed that his feet had lifted from the ground. His eyes filled with fear, and his nose firmly scrunched, he would have fallen down once more if peter hadn't grabbed his hand and swept him out of the window,
'Come on!' Peter shouted, as the handle was tried again, more forcefully this time, while James stood, staring in disbelief, staring at the two, suspended outside his window.
'Think happy thoughts James,' his brother cried, while James glanced back at the door,
'I haven't any,' he replied coldly, while Peter rolled his eyes,
'Well find some!' he suggested hurriedly, 'you have to hurry or we'll go without you.'
'Not with my brother you won't!' James snapped, 'but I've got to get some things first,' he continued, grabbing his harmonica from his bedside, then scrambling under the bed until he withdrew, a blue box in hand. Then, taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, and after a moment his feet lifted from the ground, and none too soon for a second later the chair fell from the handle. The door flew open, revealing a now empty room, and curtains falling back softly into place, as if a soft breeze had lifted them then passed, leaving the faint smell of spices, gunpowder and pine trees in its wake.