Every Thursday at four o'clock the beginning ballet class let out at the Calloway Creative Center on McFarland Street, the steady stream of little girls trickled out of the studio and into the waiting room where they were picked up by their mothers. Some of the girls went to the loo and changed out of their leotards and into their street clothes when they knew their mothers would be late.
One five-year-old, Angie Woodham, who knew her ride would be late but had forgotten to pack a spare dress, sat in the lobby swinging her legs over the side of the chair as she watched the clock. She saw the last of her classmates being walked out by her mother at ten past four, leaving her alone with the dance teacher Miss Julia. Her teacher never minded that she was there late because she had to prepare for the 4:30 tap class anyway. Miss Julie found Angie to be a peach, her blonde hair always in pigtails and her thoughts always jumbled and occupied. She could sit by herself and didn't need much to entertain herself, often nodding her head and singing silently to herself.
Insistent knocking at the studio window was the only signal Angie needed to know it was time to go. Her sister Moira never walked inside because she didn't like to leave her bike on the sidewalk unattended. Angie hopped off the chair and ran outside, "Bye Miss Julie."
Moira, who was twelve, picked up her sister from dance class every Thursday after she was done with art club at school. Their parents both worked late shifts on Thursday and didn't want Angie to walk home by herself. Moira eyed her sister as she walked outside in her pink leotard and tutu.
"Where are your regular clothes?"
Angie shrugged, "I wore this to class when Mummy dropped me off. I'm wearing my sneakers though."
Moira saw that Angie was in fact wearing her favorite red converse sneakers that Moira had passed down to her when she outgrew them. "Aren't you cold?"
"Oh, I left my jacket inside!" Angie rushed back inside and came out wearing her winter coat, her little stocking-clad legs sticking out from underneath. Mum must have thought she had her clothes on underneath her coat, Moira thought. It was the middle of December and tomorrow was the last day of school until Christmas Break began, but it had yet to snow despite the frigid temperatures.
Moira coaxed Angie towards the bike. "Well come on, we have time to meet Jake and get some hot chocolate before we meet Gram."
And like any other Thursday Miss Julie watched from her desk as Moira helped her little sister sit on the handlebars of her bike, minding the tutu away from the front wheel, and carefully pedaling down the street towards their favorite café.
Jacob was the middle Woodham child, who at age nine considered himself the next Paul McCartney and went to guitar lessons every Monday and Thursday at the local music teacher's house. When the lessons ended at three he would ride his bike to the local café, the Porcelain Jug, and either buy a drink or look through the magazines. When it was warmer he and Moira could be seen sitting at the tables outside doing their homework and sipping milkshakes.
Sitting on the bar stool at the very end of the counter, Jacob eyed a group of girls from his school at a booth nearby. He glanced at the café entrance and didn't see Moira's bike appear from up the hill through the window so he decided today was the day he would put his skills to the test.
He pulled his guitar from his case and carefully plucked a few notes to make sure that it was still in tune. He didn't want to play too loudly in case he would be asked to leave by the lone waitress who was on duty.
Jacob's music teacher had him practice the first few bars of the intro to "Wouldn't It Be Nice" by the Beach Boys and he thought that would be enough to grab the group's attention, especially since he noticed Pretty Mandy was among them.
The first few cords were shaky but they steadily grew as Jacob got near the end of the introduction. That was all he knew but he figured he could sing the rest. The girls had stopped chatting and had turned to look at him. This is it, he thought, my moment to shine.
He opened his mouth sucked in a big breathe, "Wouldn't—"
"WOULDN'T IT BE NICE IF WE WERE OLDER, THEN WE WOULDN'T HAVE TO WAIT SO LONG!"
Jacob spun and saw his sisters standing in the doorway, Angie belting her heart out with Moira jumping in on the next verse.
"AND WOULDN'T IT BE NICE TO LIVE TOGETHER, IN THE KIND OF WORLD WHERE WE BELONG."
At the site of Jacob's red face, the group of girls began to giggle and Jacob started to put his guitar away. Some of the girls immediately stopped and egged Jacob on to take it back out and keep playing. Jacob didn't take them too seriously until they began shouting requests like 'California Dreamin', 'Secret Agent Man', and even some Christmas carols.
Jacob had reconsidered murdering his sisters when he saw Pretty Mandy was looking at him. He cleared his throat and straightened his back after pulling his guitar strap back over his shoulders.
"Any requests ladies?"
A lean voice startled them. "Yeah, I request you get out before I give you the hiding of your life."
Ms. Beatrice, the café manager, had emerged from her office upstairs after hearing the music and singing. A cigarette hung from the corner of her mouth as she struggled to say, "I don't need you scaring customers away during my busy season. Now bugger off unless you gonna be quiet and buy something."
Jacob was out the door and unlocking his bike before she could finish. He had nearly knocked his sisters clear out the way but he figured that was the least they deserved. Moira was still giggling as she approached him. "Oh come of it, the girls thought you were good. It was us they were laughing at."
Jacob didn't look at her as he huffed, "Can we just leave now?"
Angie's eyes got wide, "But I didn't get any hot chocolate!"
"Well I'm not going back in there after what you two just pulled."
Moira rolled her eyes, "I'll go in and get them." She turned to Jacob. "You got any change?"
He fished some coins out of his school trousers and handed them to her. Angie stayed outside with him and begged him to play his guitar again, saying that they could earn some money for more sweets. He said no because the cold wasn't good for musical instruments, and that if he earned the money he wouldn't waste it on sweets.
"What if I helped you get money?" She asked, not understanding Jacob's under appreciation for candy.
"What could you do to help?" Jacob narrowed his eyes at her, wondering if she thought that holding a collection hat up for donations counted as help.
But she thought no such thing. Angie stuck up her lower lip and attempted to look sophisticated as she tried to do a pirouette she'd learned in dance class. "I could dance while you play music. Do you know Swan Lake?"
Jacob stared. "No."
He didn't stop Angie from clumsily twirling down the sidewalk with her eyes closed, only opening them to make sure she didn't dance into oncoming traffic. She only stopped when she'd almost turned the corner and spotted a vagrant selling something from a cardboard box. Jacob walked towards them and groaned when he saw the box was full of kittens.
They already had a dog, Nana III, back at home. And despite that Nana III had never bitten Angie and she got all the pony (or doggy) rides she could want, she insisted that she should have a pet of her own that she could exhort her own authority over. Both their parents had both said no and had even gotten Gram to side with them. As much as Gram loved Nana III and all her ancestors, she felt that devoting your time to other people was more important.
That was how Uncle Tootles had come to live with them.
Moira came up behind Jake struggling to carry three take-away cups of steaming hot chocolate, Ms. Beatrice bellowing at her not to come back until after New Year 1967. She was about to ask where Angie was when she spotted her manhandling several kittens, comparing them to see which one she would love best. Jacob looked at Moira hopelessly, imploring her to take care of getting Angie quietly away from the stall. Moira huffed and shoved his hot chocolate to him.
She pretended she was on a wild hunt when it came to approaching Angie, as if she were trying to sneak up on an elephant on the verge of rampage. Angie tightened her grip on a helpless kitten as she saw Moira out the corner of her eye. Moira immediately pretended not to be interested in Angie and took a long sip of her hot chocolate, drawing out her satisfied, "Mmmmmmm."
Moira could see Angie was eyeing the other cup in her hand. Perfect. Moira extended her arm with Angie's cup and held it towards her but just out of her reach. Angie tried to reach for it but Moira moved further away. Angie eyed the cup, the kitten, and then the vagrant who was pleading with her to buy the kitten or leave already. Angie sulkily put the kitten down and walked towards Moira, who continued to egg her on and keep the cup out of reach until they got far away from the kittens, the whole time Angie pleading, "Give it here, Moira!"
The siblings walked uphill on Canhan Street with their bikes, chatting about their day at school before Angie brought up her idea with Moira on how to make money with Jacob's guitar. Moira pretended to be very impressed but as soon as Angie was a few steps in front of them Moira glared accusingly at Jacob.
He looked at her worryingly, "What?"
"Have you been telling her about the money troubles?" She hissed.
"What? No, she wanted me to earn money to get more candy for her. She doesn't know anything about what we heard Mum and Dad talking about."
Moira sighed in relief, thankful that Angie at least remained oblivious to the financial qualms that had come up recently. To be fair, their parents didn't even suspect she and Jacob knew anything, having only discovered it accidently when they overheard their parents arguing one night about money.
It had been no secret that when their grandfather died four years ago he had racked up a lot of medical bills, which came out of most of his and Gram's savings. The Woodhams had lived in a tiny apartment back then but Jane visited regularly to help take care of her father and Tootles pitched in whenever he was on leave from the navy. Their uncle Daniel and his wife Adrienne used to help out too, but they had to move France when Adrienne was offered a better job position back in her native Paris, taking their uncle and cousins with her.
It was their uncle Daniel and his family who had lived with Gram to help her with bills before Adrienne was offered her job. Their cousins, Michelle and Basile, were three and six months old respectively. Daniel had trouble finding a job in France so he brought Basile and Michelle home for a long visit after Basile was born and so Adrienne didn't have to take off work, becoming the first stay-at-home dad they'd ever seen. Sure they'd seen dad's who were out of work and had their wives work when they could, but they hardly did any of the housework or shopping, so minding the children was out of the question.
But Daniel did all those things in Adrienne's absence, though he needed help in the beginning which is where their mother Jane and Gram came in handy. Gram didn't mind, that was around the last time she had the whole family back together since Daniel moved two years before that, which was around the time the Woodham's moved in.
Insight into their money troubles came when Moira and Jacob were fighting over the bathroom a week earlier and thought they heard a soft cry come from their parent's bedroom. The door was open a crack, enough to see their mother slumped across the bed curled up and sniffling into a pillow. Their father, Jack, was sitting up next to her and rubbing her shoulder whispering, "It's alright sweets. We'll be okay, you'll see. I'll get us through this."
Jane wiped her eyes as Jack brushed her short cropped hair away from her forehead. She sat up and Jack took her into his arms as she buried her face in his chest. "How will you fix this Jack? We're barely paying back the second mortgage and we didn't see half these bills coming our way."
Jack shushed her. "No we didn't, but I'll talk to my boss and pick up some extra shifts at the dock, and with you working as long as you can we can stay afloat."
"Barely," Jane scoffed.
"Hey," Jack smoothed. "I know we didn't plan on this but you know what they say: things will always get worse before they get better. You of all people have proven to me that anything's possible."
"How?" Jane asked.
"Well I got you to marry me didn't I?" When that secret crack of a smile creased on Jane's face, Jack let out a small laugh and rubbed her shoulder. "There she is, I was wondering where that spunky girl I fell in love with was hiding. Where has she been?"
Jane let out a long sigh and looked at her husband of 15 years, "I think she grew up Jack."
"Well grow back down," he paused. "I know you've done it before."
Jane stopped breathing, taking in her husband's words and trying to shift through exactly what he meant before she responded. When looking back on this night years from now, Jacob and Moira realized their father knew of a flying boy named Peter Pan who was the object of stories their mother told them, and was under the notion his existence may have been more than just the subject of the Darling's imagination.
Jack seemed to know what had upset his wife. "I'm sorry sweets. It's getting to be around that time of year isn't it? I shouldn't have brought it up."
Jake looked up at Moira and mouthed 'brought what up?' Moira shrugged and shook her head.
Their parents just held each other for a few more minutes before Jacob and Moira decided to go back to their rooms, on their way making a vow never to tell Angie about their newly discovered money woes.
When they got to the top of the hill the children mounted their bikes. Grabbing Angie under her arms Moira lifted her up and made sure she was safely sitting on the handlebars with her feet in the basket and leaning back against Moira. This was their favorite part of taking this way home when they made it to the quarter mile downhill stretch once they hit the hardware store. Sometimes Jacob and Moira would bet the other would be chicken and hit breaks first but Angie would always hold her arms out and pretend she was flying. After getting to the bottom Angie would say, "I flew faster than Mummy." Referring, as always, to her favorite story.
As far back as Moira could remember she heard the stories of The Boy Who Wouldn't Grow Up, who whisked her grandmother and mother away to Never Land with their siblings in tow to play all day in the sun and live endless adventures. Back when Moira had a crib she would think she saw him in the corner of the window. When Jacob and she shared a bed they would stay up to wait for him and fall asleep telling each other what they would do when they got to Never Land and wake up the next morning thinking it really happened. By the time Angie came along Peter Pan had become as common as Father Christmas.
It wasn't long before they rode up to their home of two years, Number 14, parking their bikes on the side of the house near the garden and going in through the back door. Moira called out for Tootles but they got no answer.
"He's left a note," Jacob picked it up from the counter and read it aloud. "'Gone to pick up Wendy, dinner will be made when we get back. Tootles'"
Gram had few passions in her life: family, gardening, and charity work. The Great Ormond Street Hospital had known Gram since she was a teenager when she volunteered to read to sick children and when she was a volunteer nurse during WWII. These days she helped lobby for better treatment of abandoned and orphaned children going as far as picking them up off the streets and getting them checked out by doctors. Gram was often up writing letters to adoptions agencies and putting ads in newspapers to find parents or homes that would take them in.
On the fridge where her grandchildren put up drawings and good grades, there were also drawings and letters sent by grateful children thanking Gram for finding them homes. It was a normal sight for the family to come down for Sunday breakfast and see a youth sitting at the table for their first real meal in years.
It was that way of thinking that brought Uncle Tootles to them. Though it wasn't Gram who brought him home, it was their mother.
At age 13 and one year after the war ended, Jane came home from school with a 5-year-old boy in tow that she claimed to have found rummaging around one of the demolished homes destroyed during the Blitz. The boy wouldn't speak but Jane said that his name was Tootles, though a birth certificate later dubbed him 'Thomas' for political reasons. He was Gram's first orphan, teaching him to speak and then to read, eventually finding a family nearby to take him in. Tootles was the only one who addressed Gram by her given name, Wendy.
He lived with them now in one of the converted offices since getting out of the navy a year ago. He was still in touch with the couple, now divorced, that took him in as a child but he had always felt at home with Gram and the family.
The children ran to the lounge with the TV and started watching their new favorite show 'The Monkees'. Jacob's favorite member was Micky Dolenz, while Moira's was Davy Jones. Jacob chided her by saying she only liked him because he was cute. "And come on," he added, "He doesn't even play an instrument."
"He plays maracas and is the only English bloke in the band. I'm just being patriotic." Moira crossed her arms and sat back deep in the couch.
Angie peeped up from behind the couch, "Is that why you kiss his picture sometimes before we go to sleep?"
Jacob turned up the volume while Moira pummeled Angie with a pillow until she landed on the floor. They heard thumping coming down the steps and their St. Bernard, Nana III, came bounding towards them. She walked along the couch and received her pets and greetings from her charges before settling down on the floor in front of the TV.
Angie popped back from behind the couch and ran towards Nana III. She stopped just behind the dog and lunged at her, landing on top of her and giggling in her lowest sinister voice. Nana III didn't even flinch and let the small child remain on top of her, murmuring to herself and fisting the dog's fur.
An hour later the TV had become little more than white noise. After having changed out of their school clothes the children had drifted into their own worlds for the time being. Jacob was doing math homework on the floor where Nana III had previously occupied before she wandered off with Angie along for the ride. Moira was sitting upside down on the couch and reading a magazine.
That was how Gram and Tootles found them when they arrived back from none other than the Great Ormond Street Hospital. Tootles carried a bag of groceries with him, proclaiming that he was to make his infamous shepherd's pie for dinner. Jacob and Moira stopped what they were doing to look hopelessly at Gram, imploring her to talk him out of cooking again.
"Didn't Mum say she wanted to cook when she gets back?" Moira asked desperately.
Tootles, who took no notice of his honorary niece's despair, emerged from the kitchen wearing their mother's apron. "Nope, she won't be off work until seven but she'll be home just in time for dinner. I'm so excited to try this new recipe I found; you'll love it so much you'll just burst."
He disappeared into the kitchen again. Gram merely shrugged after Jake raised his eyebrows at her. "What?" She asked hopelessly. "You want to be the one to break his heart and tell him his cooking stinks? Be my guest."
Angie appeared from wherever she was hiding with her stuffed rabbit in tow. "Grammy!" She ran towards Gram. "Muffy got a cut on her arm. Can you fix her for me?"
Muffy was Angie's pride and joy, the one 'pet' she had that her parents couldn't make her throw out. It was falling apart almost every week the way she dragged it everywhere since she was a baby. This week stuffing was falling from a rip at Muffy's elbow. The family had lost count how many times Jane had re-stuffed the rabbit.
Gram inspected the extent of Muffy's injuries. "She'll need some minor surgery. Nothing serious, just some stitches." Gram loved playing these games with Angie whenever a toy got broken or ripped. "Fetch my sewing bag upstairs Angie; we shall operate immediately."
"May I have her back a moment?" Angie asked.
"Of course dear." Gram handed Muffy back and Angie walked over to the couch, rabbit in tow.
She stopped in front of Moira, staring up at her with her hands clasped behind her back. Moira glanced at her, waiting for her to speak, sing, anything but she just stood there and looked at her older sister. Angie was in no way unintelligent despite what her age suggested and if anyone knew that it was Moira. Little Angie was up to something.
Looking suspiciously at her sister, Moira slowly lowered her magazine
"Angie, what are you—"
WACK
Angie had pulled a fast one. Muffy had become a makeshift weapon for that moment and was used to beat Moira over the head as payback for her pillow assault earlier. It only took one hit to stun Moira and for Angie to run for dear life. Moira shot off the couch after her only to be blocked by Gram, whom Angie was hiding behind.
"Girls, this is no way to solve your problems!" Gram was stuck between the two girls, one trying to grab at the other and yelling childish insults. Gram finally got a few feet between the two of them and tried to get them to calm down.
"She hit me!
"She hit me first earlier!"
"She embarrassed me!"
"Why do YOU kiss pictures of boys? Aaaahhh, she's going to hit me again!" Angie ducked back behind Gram when Moira lurched forward. Gram grabbed Moira's shoulders to keep her in place.
"Margaret Jane Alice Woodham. Do not hit your sister again!"
Moira froze at her given full name. She was hardly called that unless she was being scolded, having to go by her nickname after they found there were several 'Margaret's in Moira's playgroup as a toddler. They ended up christening a Margaret, a Maizy, a Maggie, and a Moira to avoid confusion when the children were called in by their mothers. Jane decided on Moira since it was Gram's second name and it stuck with her after that. Angie was named after one of Gram's middle names, Angela, as well.
Gram turned to her second namesake. "And Angie, it is rude to embarrass your sister on crushes she has on celebrities."
Angie tilted her head in confusion. "I thought she said she was being patriotic."
Gram stood up straight and made the girls look at one another in the eye and demanded they apologize. She was immediately belted with whining of, "She started it," and, "what did I do?"
"Enough, the both of you." The girls got quiet again. "If you cannot find a way to work this out you can go upstairs right now and go without supper."
Angie got excited, "You mean it!"
Gram was about ready to give up, but she could be as stubborn as her granddaughters. "Apologize. Right. Now." Her stern tone left no more room for argument or persuasion.
It would be delightful to say that the girls owned up their responsibilities and acted mature enough to admit they both were wrong and that Gram taught them a valuable lesson on sisterhood and what it meant to always be there for one another. But Gram never got her apology and the girls didn't remain enemies for much longer, for at that moment Jacob had decided to explode onto the scene with the biggest pillow from the couch.
"PILLOW FIGHT!"
It is a little known fact that all qualms between sisters are instantly forgotten when a male becomes a threat to one or both of them. For when Jacob came rushing at his sisters nothing else mattered except for escape. The girls hightailed it, shrieking and hand-in-hand, from their brother and into the kitchen, leaving a very shocked and bewildered Gram in the hallway.
Poor Tootles, who was peeling potatoes while reading out loud how much ground meat he'd need from the cookbook on the counter, suddenly had three children piling on the floor hitting at each other with faux violence and whatever soft objects they could find. This terrified him slightly, hating having to break up conflicts no matter how innocent, and tried to get them out of the kitchen.
"Come now, suppers' never going to be ready at this rate." He couldn't understand why that didn't get them to stop. In fact, it only seemed to ramp up their volume and aggression. Gram walked in to see a flustered Tootles who was in the midst of manually trying to separate and remove them. He held Moira under one arm like a package, while she was in a tug-of-war over the pillow with Jacob. In the other arm he dangled Angie by one leg and she proceeded to laughingly pelt at Tootles with Muffy.
Tootles struggled out of the kitchen and back into the TV lounge with the girls in his arms. Jacob, having refused to let go of the pillow, was dragged across the floor the entire way. He deposited all three of them on the couch, landing with an 'oomph', and pointed at them in a regrettably non-threatening manner. "No violence in my kitchen!"
He could still here the children laughing as he limped back into the kitchen.
