I awoke before him. The skin on my back hurt from dozens of little scratches and a

few bigger ones, yet the arm that encircled me ended in no iron claw, no strong hand, nothing but a rounded wrist, shiny and misshapen with scars. It did disgust me, as he had been afraid it would, but it was a delicious, thrilling sort of disgust, and I delighted in the fact he trusted me enough to let me see him in such absolute nakedness.

He grunted and turned, letting me go, and then I could observe his face in the morning light. I tried to trace Peter's features onto his, and thought I recognised something in the angle of the cheekbones, something in the eyes. His wig was on the floor along with the hook, so I saw for the first time his own hair, brown and grey, cropped very short. He looked much older without his finery, but no less handsome.

Then there was shouting outside, and he woke at once. His cutlass was in his hand before I had even registered that something was going on.

"Captain!" Smee burst in, then, seeing me, burst back out again, red as a beetroot.

"Smee! Come back. What's happening? Is it Peter?" He had grabbed the hook from the floor along with its leather harness, and started fumbling to buckle it on. I helped him, which he tolerated because of the obvious need, but clearly did not enjoy. There were voices outside, Smee and other pirates and... and a strident, deep female voice, which was very familiar to me.

"Get out of my way!"

And then she was in the doorway: leather aviatrix gear, silver hair flying everywhere.

"Lady Priscilla!" Slightly was on her left side and - oh dear - Tootles on her right. Slightly stepped forward, brandishing a sword heroically.

"Don't worry, Wendy! We're here to save you." His wife pushed him out of the way, and strode over, wrapping me in a blanket and pulling me away from Hook.

"Wendy, my darling, let's get you out of here. Oh, my poor love, has he hurt you?"

Tootles stayed in the doorway. He spoke very quietly, but everyone listened. "It's all right," he said, "I don't think Wendy needs saving, and I don't think anyone's hurt her. We should go now."

There was a horrible silence, then Lady P stood up.

"Is that true, Wendy? You're here of your own accord?"

Before I could answer, there was another commotion outside, and that unmistakable cock-crow that heralded the arrival of Peter the boy. Meanwhile, Peter the man had donned shirt, wig and breeches. With a fury that I suspect had been partially occasioned by the necessity of going into battle without a coat and waistcoat, he strode through the little crowd (his power was such that even Lady Priscilla made way for him) and went to meet his adversity. Because I couldn't think of anything better to do, I threw on my chemise and ran after him. I was just in time too, for one of the pirates locked the door behind me, trapping Slightly, Tootles and her Ladyship in the tiny bedchamber. Someone handed me a sword. It was years since I had wielded one, but it all came back to me at once. In Never Land you don't have to practise.

"Proud and insolent youth, prepare to meet thy doom!"

"Dark and sinister man, have at thee!"

Did they always say that? Suddenly I got an intimation of what it must feel like to be stuck in that terrible cycle - man and boy, boy and man - hatred and envy and scorn - the thought of it made me sick. But not for long. Soon all was chaos, and I was able to lose myself in the heat of battle.

"Have at thee!" All in all, it was quite even. We pirates were stronger than the boys. They were quicker and always dodged my blows, but our reach was longer and so I kept them away from me.

Then suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my leg - the smallest of them had ducked in under my sword while I was preoccupied with another. I took him by the shoulder and pushed him away. Then our eyes met.

"Jane!"

"Mummy!"

And nothing was except me and her. I wanted to tell her to go to bed, to call Nana, to tuck her up with a goodnight cocoa. I wanted to run her through. She spoke first, in this strange authoritative voice I'd never heard before.

"Go home, Mummy."

"No." I suspect I sounded like a petulant child.

"You can't be a pirate," she rolled her eyes and spoke in the tones of a teacher talking to the class dunce, "it's your job to look after me and Daddy."

"No, Jane, it isn't. I may be a Mother but I'm a person too, and I can have adventures just as much as you can. Go home, Jane. This is dangerous. You might get hurt."

We just stood there and stared at one another. Then Peter's voice broke through.

"Go on Jane, get her! We don't want any silly mothers."

And we were at it again, fighting as furiously as Peter and the Captain ever fought. She was above me, below me, all around me, aiming stinging little blows that usually missed but sometimes hit. I couldn't get her at all, but I knew that if I did, I would probably kill her. Time and time again I missed her by a fraction of an inch. Time and time again she crowed with glee, almost as cocky as Peter himself. I hated her. I wanted to feel my cutlass sink into her delicate puppy flesh, to see her perfect skin marred with blood and worse. We fought on. There was a shout behind us, and for a second she was distracted. I grasped the opportunity with both hands, knocking the tiny sword from hers, grabbing her by the neck and pushing her down to the ground. As I raised my sword for the final blow, there was a second shout, louder than before. It was the Captain.

"Crocodile!"

Somehow, the amazing creature had boarded the ship. Never say you don't believe in dragons, never say the dinosaurs are dead. There are fourteen foot crocodiles in Africa as well as Never Land. Only Peter was unafraid - the rest of us, pirates and boys alike, began to draw slowly back, scared that any quick movement would attract her attention.

"Mummy!" Jane held on tightly to my legs.

"Mummy's here," I said, and I knew I would gladly die to save her.

Then Tootles spoke - in the confusion I had not noticed that the three of them had escaped.

"It's not a crocodile," he said slowly, thoughtfully. "It's an allegory." Everyone stared at him.

"Alligator," incorrected Slightly.

Then suddenly I laughed. "No, Slightly, you're wrong. She's an allegory, and a rather crass one at that." I picked up a bottle from the floor and threw it at her.

Then everyone else started to throw things too - whatever was at hand. Swords and spears, cups and plates, apples, melons, pineapples. The enormous black pirate, whose name I had never quite caught, threw a whole barrel of rum, which broke against her skull and burst.

Only Peter did not join in, loathe to succour the enemy. Yet it looked so much fun! His fingers twitched with frustration. Seeing this, Hook took him by the shoulder and spoke almost kindly to him:

"Don't you see!? She will get you too in the end. It's only pretend that she won't." Peter laughed. "Who are you, Peter? Who am I? Don't you see who I am?" And then I fancied that he did see, or almost saw, but wouldn't admit it. "You're Hook," he said, "and I'm going to kill you." He drew his sword, but Hook knew that even in Never Land it is bad form to engage in more than one Ultimate Battle at a time, so he pushed the boy away.

"Leave it," he cried to us all, making himself heard above the din, "the beast is mine."

I was afraid for him. Terribly afraid. He looked insubstantial as a child before that terrible creature, and as she paced towards him with repulsive crouching gait, eyes fixed on him alone, we knew her for the goddess she was. The air was still - even Peter's eyes were fixed on the scene in front of him. The only sound was that of her footsteps, slow and heavy.

And then she sprang, snapping her jaws and lashing her bleeding tail. I would not have thought such a cumbersome-looking creature capable of moving so fast. Hook dodged to one side, swinging his cutlass, but he had been taken by surprise and his aim was far wide of the mark. Yet he steadied himself immediately and struck again, this time hitting her on the nose. Enraged, she opened her jaws wide, rearing up ready to bear down on the captain. Seeing his chance, he bravely thrust the cutlass upwards into her mouth, wounding her yet again. The jaws snapped shut. He withdrew his hand just in time, but alas! Three rows of teeth bore down on the cutlass, blunting and warping and breaking it until it was useless. She smiled, spat it out and moved in for the kill. The Captain bravely stood his ground, swiping with his hook whenever she came too close. She feigned hesitance, but it was obvious she was only playing with him. She opened her jaws. "Floreat Etona!" he was heard to mutter. Then there was another voice: "Captain!"

Peter, who could have had the satisfaction of seeing his enemy eaten alive, who could have enjoyed inflicting the greater ignominy of saving his life; Peter, who must always be the centre of attention, the bravest and the best; Peter, who, just when you think you finally understand him, always does something completely uncharacteristic; Peter yielded up his own sword, and the Captain was again in with a fighting chance.

The silence having once been broken, we all began to shout for Hook - pirates and lost boys alike; Slightly, Tootles and Priscilla; fairies in the air above us, mermaids in the water around us, Indians on the shore - all Never Land united in cheering its unlikely champion.

The battle then was swift and furious: snapping, hacking, dodging. He was bleeding from numerous near misses, and limping badly. He fought on, but it seemed to me that he was getting weaker with every blow. Then she snapped particularly ferociously, and instead of leaping backwards, he dashed towards and past her. Before she could turn round, he was up on her back, raining down blows on her snout and hard skull. The sword broke again, but this time it didn't matter - he clawed at her eyes with his hook, and must have managed to strike up through the eye socket at the brain, for with a loud cry and horrible convulsive movement, she gave up the ghost.

On the far side of the island, in a sacred grove, the songs of joy and lament began. The Indians were mourning and celebrating the death of their greatest goddess: Manitou, mother and devourer of all.