Neverland, Never a Lady
''N-No… Stop it… Leave her alone!''
''Listen, boy, Wendy and I have a score to settle… I'm sure I can find a tomb for you alongside her in the bay if you'd prefer?''
''… I…. Wendy…''
….
''No!''
Peter woke violently, his thin cotton sheets damp with cold sweat. That nightmare again. That memory again.
He looked around the room, searching for a trace of something material, something to ground him in reality. Solace was eventually found in a stuffed animal, 'Nana' the Saint Bernard. Peter was given 'Nana' by his grandmother for his second birthday; now sixteen, Peter still found the stimulating warmth from the toy comforting and soothing. He felt it was a little ridiculous, but its sentimental value was known by the household. 'It was just a dream…. Just a dream… She's not real, stop being so stupid!' He tried to convince himself. A knock came at the door.
''Peter… Peter, can I sleep with you….? I had a nightmare…''
''Of course you can, come in…''
The door opened, revealing a six-year-old boy standing on the landing.
''Come on Benjamin, it's okay.''. Soft footsteps fell on the wooden floor as the small boy walked over to his brother's bed and tried to climb up. Peter reached down and lifted him up beside him, with Benjamin crawling under the duvet and sitting between his brother's legs, leaning against him sleepily, clutching a yellow and blue baby blanket embroidered with a darker blue elephant; their Mother hadn't the heart to throw it away, and now it was the only thing with her smell preserved on it.
''You've brought your blankie with you?''
''Yuh-huh… I sleep better with it.'' Was the innocent reply.
This brought a pang to Peter's heart; their parents had both died in a carriage accident near the Old Vic, returning home after viewing a late-night performance. Five people died, another six injured.
It affected the boys terribly, so much so that Peter had ceased attending his tuition and Benjamin barely slept. This was a routine now; midnight creeping about, to share each other's company. They were as reliant on each other as brothers could be, though Peter would never admit that the small figure of his brother brought him consolation, comfort, even. Benjamin was to be cared for and moulded into a sensitive boy, as Peter had been himself. No-one would get between them.
''Do you want to talk about your nightmare?''
''No… I just want to go to sleeps…''
The younger brother laid his head in the lap of his older sibling and pulled the small fleece to his chest, slowly drifting into a natural sleep.
How I envy you…
Pulling the duvet over Benjamin's body, stroking his dirty blond locks absent-mindedly, Peter calmed the pair of them and attempted to go back to sleep, but found himself haunted by memories, visions, and dreams, all blurring into one another and becoming indistinguishable from one to the next. A girl, the colours white, red, a young gentleman- a pirate- only a few years older than himself, and a ring… The ring with no meaning. He sighed, and sat back into the bedhead, resting his eyes momentarily.
It was just a dream…. Just a dream… Tomorrow will be better…
A gentle breeze blew through the open window, carrying scarlet skeleton leaves on its back.
''Peter…!''
…
The brothers woke the following morning to find that the windowsill held a thin layer of red leaves; Peter assumed they were from the creeping ivy that clung to the walls of the house. Except… He knew the leaves weren't red. He stretched his arms, seeing his younger brother still curled up in his lap from the night before. Smiling to himself silently, he stroked Benjamin's hair again, and looked out into London wistfully, wondering what the day might bring. He did not have to wait long for an answer.
''Benjamin, how many times have I told you, you are not to sleep in with Peter! Maria told me, when she came in to stoke the fire for the morning, that she saw him in there with you again! This is your last chance, Peter, to stop mollycoddling the boy.''
Peter looked at his brother mournfully. They both knew who the disembodied voice belonged to.
Aunt Agnes.
Since the death of their mother, the boys had been in the custody of their aunt, who had moved in to assume a full-time role as ward. Aunt Agnes was a strict woman, reasonably educated, with high expectations of her nephews, and an authoritarian view on child-rearing, despite only having had one child, the boys' estranged cousin, Charles, who was a few years older than Peter. Sadly, this meant they were expected to be more mature than they were, with Benjamin suffering more than his brother. Agnes believed young boys were more impressionable, more easily 'fixed' than those older than Benjamin.
''Boys should be independent, not reliant on comforts!'' she often commented when Benjamin was sighted with his blanket around the house.
Benjamin climbed out of the bed and hugged his brother; ''I'll see you at breakfast Peter.'' he mumbled, and walked over to his aunt, who was glowering in the doorway, one gloved hand on her hip, the other batting away Benjamin's hand. ''Peter, don't let me see this again. I'll hold you responsible next time.'' she glared, and then departed the bedroom with the poor younger boy in tow.
Reclining back into the pillows and sighing heavily, Peter closed his eyes and delved back into his thoughts.
That wasn't a dream… Be honest to yourself, Peter… You love her… No. No, I promised myself. I won't love again…
Her face still haunted his memory, his heart. Those soft chestnut eyes, and glossy brown hair… No. He wouldn't allow her to permeate his thoughts today. No, today, he was going to finally resume his studies. A return to History, Classics, Literature and Physical Education would prove a good distraction. Secretly, Peter baulked at his own faux delight to return to schooling. The dust from the classroom books tickled his nose, his glasses (he felt) didn't flatter him when he wore them to read, and worst of all, it was November; it was Games season. Rugby, football and that ilk were bound to top the list of the villainous Mr Lasch's Games Timetable for the Winter Period.
Perhaps I'll stay home and read…
A soft purring came from the side of the bed.
''Thomas…'' Peter whispered, smiling gently to himself. ''Come up here…''
The cat joined Peter on the bed, and they sat momentarily before a frantic knocking broke the peace of the room.
''Master Peter, it's time to come down for breakfast! The Mistress has told you before, tardiness is an unacceptable quality in a gentleman!''
He sighed. ''Yes, Maria...'' He rolled his eyes at the doddery maid; she was Aunt Agnes' maid from her own apartments who she had brought along to help run the household. No-one liked her.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Peter stood up and walked to his wardrobe to get dressed. A plain white dress-shirt, navy blue trousers and a plain blue tie. The jacket followed, being of the same woollen suit fabric, a pastel blue kerchief being fluted into the pocket. Brown Oxford boots. And lastly, the starched collar, with a small metal chain strung across it.
How unremarkable I look… he thought to himself, combing his hair and straightening his tie in the mirror. To anyone else, he looked quite handsome- not quite a man, but the rough lines of his jaw were there, and his body was starting to grow more toned. Even the champagne-gold of his soft, long hair could be considered attractive, if not cherub-like. But his eyes held such pain, sorrow. He looked down at his shoes, polishing them against a small felt block in front of the mirror. He'd noticed once or twice when he'd done this same action (the head-drop, that is), in front of the young lady working in the bookshop, she'd blush. She wasn't unpretty, he simply was unfeeling; Peter had no time for romance. No time for love. He saw himself as a bookish, unattractive and ungainly young man whose sexual or physical appeal was less than that of a street-dog.
Looking back up in the mirror, Peter noticed a small gold figure with smouldering crimson hair standing on his shoulder, leaning up to his ear.
''Peter…! Peter, listen to me… It's Fireflyer! Wendy needs you!''
He dropped his comb on the floor and ran to the window.
''No… No, I can't. I promised myself!'' he cried, leaning against the window-frame. The window was half-open; a harkening back to his younger years. Leaving windows open would always let the good dreams, good thoughts, in.
And her…
The boy was conflicted- break a promise made to himself, or revisit the heartbreak of over two years ago?
''Peter! Breakfast, now!''
Heavy footsteps began up the stairs. Agnes was on the warpath. One final toe out of line and he'd be sent to a finishing school at the coast.
Ten seconds to make a choice.
Nine.
Eight.
To fly or not to fly? He couldn't face Agnes' bitter face again.
Six.
Five.
'Happy thoughts… Happy thoughts…'
The gold light shook itself over Peter's head, sprinkling dust down onto the boy, prompting him to hover just high enough to squeeze out of the window.
''Don't let go!''
…..
''The second star to the right, and straight on 'til morning!'
It kept ringing in Peter's head. 'Straight on…' Beneath him, the London skyline seemed almost toylike; Westminster palace looked like wooden blocks, and the Thames like a long, blue silk scarf laid out, winding on a floor below. 'Just keep thinking positive…'The gold light flew a few metres ahead of Peter, staying just in eyeshot. ''Fireflyer, slow down!'' he yelled forward, struggling to keep up with her. He rolled his eyes, and flew back, sitting on his shoulder. ''You need to head for that star,'' he directed him, ''that one, on the right!'' Peter kicked his legs, determined to reach the light. A warm sensation flowed over his body, as he bathed in the magic of the portal to that place. They entered a tunnel of golds, greens and blues, speckled with black. ''Almost, Peter!'' Peter and Fireflyer screamed as they picked up pace, and began to fall.
''Oh God! Oh God! 'Flyer, what… Help me!''
The pair fell, spiralling downward, towards the bay.
Waves swept over Peter's exhausted body. He didn't emerge.
…
Something cold lapped at Peter's feet. There was a grainy surface beneath him, his hands gripping at something he couldn't hold onto solidly. As his senses slowly came back to him, shapes became clearer, sounds crisper. ''What the hell is that?! 'Flyer, I told you, no Boys are allowed in Neverland!'' the voice declared, somehow audible over the waves drawing over the bay around him.
Peter was perplexed. A place with no boys? That was impossible, surely… Why, to have a place without any male influence would be… well, it'd be uncomfortable, to say the least. Wait. That must have meant that the speaker was a girl? The voice did sound soft enough, though it was still authoritarian.
The voices continued to talk, seemingly in conflict; Peter wasn't sure what to do at all. His head was dull, body numb from the cold of the sea. He had to move.
''Excuse me… Uh… I'm terribly sorry to interrupt… Um, but could I possibly have some help…?'' He asked in the general direction of the voices, hoping to receive some assistance. 'No reason I can't be a gentleman... Especially if there are ladies present'.
One of the voices stopped suddenly, completely silent. The figure turned, a foot heavily planted on a rock mere inches from Peter's face. ''Help you? Help you?''
''Wendy, don't…'' Fireflyer flickered, hovering by the girl's ear. ''He's here for a reason… Just… Just help him… Please''.
The woman sighed, exacerbated, and trod into the sea, reaching down and gesturing for Peter to take her hand. He did just that, and found himself sitting on a rock shortly thereafter, taking off his shoes and socks in some vain attempt to dry them.
''So… Where am I, exactly?''
The woman looked at him, appraising him, incredulously, then moved to adopt a stance, legs slightly apart and hands on her hips. Fireflyer sat on her left shoulder, beaming up at his Princess, then back down at the soaked wool-wrapped boy on the boulder below them.
''You're in Neverland, Boy. My Neverland.''