CHAPTER ONE

Old Memories and Endless Futures.

James watched as the children sat silently at the table that morning. All that could be heard was the scraping of plates and cutlery with the occasional readjustment of a chair now and then. James sighed and rested his chin on his palm. He had been left with the children whilst Madame du Maurier was out on one of her 'socialite escapades' as James liked to call them. What appalled the playwright most was that her daughter had passed for just a week and already she was out and about, rather than spending time with the boys. True, people had differing ways of grieving, but that was just absurd.

In the week since Sylvia's death, James had since relocated his belongings from his home to where the boy's were. When he had first set foot into his former residence, James was flooded with memories of his life with Mary. Everywhere he turned he would see her face. The last months of their marriage had not been the happiest, but James still felt an overall feeling of loss as he collected his coats from the cupboard. Mary had now taken time with Gilbert Cannan at the summer home she and James had once shared. At that same summer abode, Sylvia had slipped into sickness one afternoon whilst Peter debuted his play.

James had now left his old life behind, a life he shared with one woman and no one else. Now his existence was far more important. Now he had the wellbeing of four young boys to see to. Now he had to face the reality of his life with his new family.

'May I please be excused?' a small voice asked from James' side. Michael had set his cutlery neatly on his plate and a small, but obviously forced smile sat on his lips.

'Yes, Michael, you may.' James replied quietly. James detested the way the boys asked to leave the table. He found it pointless. Why could they not just leave on their own accord?

Peter and Jack soon requested that they leave the table and James replied that they could indeed leave it and that there was no reason for them to take the table with them. The two boys missed the small pun, but George, who still occupied his seat, resisted the urge to smile.

James looked at George and took a small sip of his tea. He and George had not spoken overmuch in the past week, actually, James had not spent much time with any of the boys. The one child James found who took up most of his time, was Peter. The young boy had requested on many occasions that he spend the night with James in his room. James had complied with Peter's wishes, but the rumors still circulated about James' time with the boys, and obviously the fact that on some occasions Peter spent the night with him, did not help his cause.

Those hurtful and awful rumors. When Arthur had first mentioned to James the words that had been circulating around social circles for some time, James had given no credence to them, but deep down he knew that on some level they affected him. People could be so cruel, especially when you were at your happiest. Looking back on those times, James decided that the summer spent with the Davies was the happiest summer he had been part of in his life.

So now James sat, his hands clenched around his tea to keep them warm. George did the same, blowing the steam off the top of his drink for something to do. He had grown up over the past months and James knew that it was the end of the boy-George.

'If you wish to leave, I shall not stop you.' James said to George as he took another sip of his tea.

'I do not wish to leave.' George said quietly. His voice seemed so sincere, so truthful. Somehow it made James feel better to know that there was someone who was comfortable with his presence and did not wish to leave him on his own.

There was a moment's silence between the two. They just sat there, obviously deep in thought about the same thing. It was odd, James often did not like stark silences, but for some reason he felt at ease just sitting with George and not having to speak.

'What will happen to us, Uncle Jim?' George finally asked. It was obviously a question that had been plaguing his mind for some time after Sylvia's death.

'Well,' James began, un-wrapping his fingers from around his teacup. 'You boys shall go to school when the summer is over, and I will go back to my work. Emma –er, your Grandmother – will do whatever it is she does and we shall all live in this house.'

George seemed content with that answer. He was glad that his Mother had not just left him and his brothers alone with their Grandmother. It was so much more comforting to have James there with them.

'Uncle Jim, can I say something?' George asked, blowing the steam off his tea once more and looking back at James.

'Absolutely, say what you will.' James replied. He was soon going to sit down with these boys and tell them they did not have to ask permission to speak nor to leave the table. There was no need for such nonsense. They were children and children should not be restricted.

'Well, I would just like to say,' George paused unnecessarily, 'that if I wanted anyone to take care of us, it would be you. Mother had made the right choice.'

James smiled. He could not have hoped for better words. Peter had told him this one night when he had not been able to sleep and James had gathered the boy in his arms and told him that he would not want anyone else looking after them either.

'And,' George continued. 'I want you to know that Mother told me to tell you that she hoped that one day you would join her in Neverland, but not until it is your time.'

'Your mother said that?' James asked. He smiled and sipped his tea. Sylvia had gone to Neverland. She was happy there amongst the magical world that James had created for her.

George simply nodded and smiled slightly, but the smile was tinged with pain and loss. James could see that these next few years would not be easy at all, he had endless work ahead of him, but he could not think of a better way to spend his life.

James looked at the clock on the wall. It was ten o'clock and by now he would normally be out with Porthos in the park, writing whatever crossed his mind. He did indeed feel the need to write, it was strange, and he felt he just needed to sort his mind out onto the paper before him. Perhaps he should take the boys out for the day.

'George,' James said, tilting his head at the boy. 'What do you say to you and I taking to boys to the park for the day?'

'Oh, Uncle Jim, I'm not sure. I mean Peter-.' But James cut the boy off.

'Come on, it will be fine. Go and get them, I believe they are in their room. Bring them back down, Porthos and I shall be waiting.' James replied, standing up and ushering the boy upstairs.

George stood from his chair and slowly walked up the stairs towards their room. He sighed before knocking lightly on the door. He was met by no sound so tried again. No answer. George shrugged. The room belonged to him as much as it did to the other three, so he twisted the doorknob and walked in uninvited.

'Have you ever heard of knocking?' Jack asked, scowling at his older brother. The boys had been less than civil towards eachother this past week. One could not blame them, stress had been high and each of them had their different ways of grieving.

'Have you ever heard of listening?' George retorted. 'I knocked twice. Now, listen, Uncle Jim wants us to go to the park with him.'

This comment was met with a collective groan from all in the room. Peter buried his head underneath his pillow, as did Michael and Jack just stared at his brother, an appalled look on his face. It was as if a walk in the park was the children's worst fear imaginable. It was as if they would rather die than walk between the trees.

'George, I really –.' Peter protested but was cut short as his brother held his finger up at him in a silencing gesture.

'Now, we are all going to go with Uncle Jim. He wants us to, so we will. This is just as hard for him as it is for us.' With that, George turned around and began to walk out, stopping at the door. 'It will be fine.'

Jack, Peter and Michael were somewhat shocked by the authoritative tone in their brother's voice. They all knew now that he had grown up, he was no longer the child he used to be.

George made his way back down the staircase and saw James with Porthos by his side. The dog was panting heavily and obviously excited about the prospect of going to the park. James looked up at George and smiled slightly, patting the Newfoundland absent-mindedly.

'They will be down in a moment.' George announced. Just as he finished speaking, three young boys stood on the staircase, each of them trying their best to look happy and willing to go to the park.

'Good.' James said, taking Porthos' leash and leading him out the door. 'I think it is about time we all got out of this house.'

It was true. The boys had hardly left the confines of their room for a week. They would occasionally sit out in the yard, but they would never play no matter how hard James had tried to coax them into his games. The way James saw, it was going to take a while for the boys to get used to their new lives, and he would just have to do his best to be patient. Perhaps this morning in the park would do them some good, after all it could not hurt.

They all walked out of the door and began their trek to the park. It was conveniently close, offering no excuses for not having the time to walk. In a matter of fifteen minutes, the party had arrived at the park. James smiled slightly as he saw the bright green lawns and tall trees. That park was where James had first met the Davies', with his magical bear, Porthos. That day was the beginning of something great, something great that would end in tragedy.

James unclipped Porthos from his leash and allowed the dog the freedom he had been pining for. The boys just stood there, watching the dog run up to a tree and begin sniffing its trunk. James knew they all wished to run free the way Porthos did, but he knew that each of them felt guilty out of even having the slightest amount of fun. James sighed, he knew that Sylvia would have wanted the boys to be happy, but it was hard to even get them to smile.

James sat down on a bench and pulled out his journal along with a pencil. He knew he should probably not be doing this, but there was no other way to clear his mind. It was up to the boys whether they just sat and watched him or whether they themselves attempted to make the most of the beautiful sunny day. Slowly, James began to write in his book.

The boys are finding it difficult to adjust to the death of their mother James wrote, glancing up and catching eyes with Jack for a brief moment, as am I. They will not smile and hardly speak to me. I feel, somehow I have failed them. I know Sylvia would tell me that I haven't, but she is not here with me. I only wish she were. Everywhere I turn in that house I see her, I hear her among the rare words that the boys speak. Things were never supposed to be this way, they were always supposed to be perfect. We would spend merry afternoons in the park flying kites and going on grand escapades through the Amazon jungle. I knew this was all too good to be true, deep down I knew something tragic would have to happen to bring me back down to reality, but I never thought it would be this.

I need another play, but have no idea where to look. My inspiration is gone and I am but a shell of my former self. I hope these feelings pass soon because otherwise I fear I may not be able to care for the boys as well as I could. They need their mother, but they cannot have her. Each time I glance at them I see the pain in their eyes as if they wish to die and be with Sylvia once more. Sometimes I find myself thinking the same. No matter how much I discourage these thoughts, they seem to become more apparent with each passing moment.

Suddenly, James was distracted from his work as a strong wind blew past. The pages of his journal turned rapidly, causing him to lose his place. He sighed and thumbed through the pages trying to find his place when someone appeared before him. James looked up only to find a young woman before him.

'May I help you?' James asked, still trying to find his place in the book.

'Yes, actually, your dog has just taken off with something of mine.' The woman stated matter-of-factly. She crossed her arms over her chest and watched James.

'Oh, and how, may I ask, do you know it is my dog?' James asked, giving up on finding his page and closing the book with a snap.

'Because I have seen you here with it before. A Newfoundland I believe?' the woman sighed, obviously tiring with the banter between them. 'If it helps, my name is Odette.'

'James Barrie.' James replied, slightly tempted to say that knowing her name did not help. He looked at the boys who were avidly watching the exchange between the two. James sighed and stood up. 'And where has Porthos got to?'

Odette looked briefly at the boys before leading James away from them and toward a picnic blanket, obviously only for one person.

'I was here when the dog came up to me.' Odette stated, gesturing to her setting.

'The dog's name is Porthos.' James hissed under his breath. He hated it when people addressed Porthos as the dog or 'it'. As far as James was concerned, Porthos demanded as much respect as anyone else did.

'I'm sorry?' Odette asked, wishing to hear what James had muttered.

'Oh, nothing.' James replied hastily. He looked around the park, spotting Porthos lying down by a tree, something between his paws. James whistled for the Newfoundland and the dog quickly came bounding back to its owner.

'Is this what you were looking for?' James asked, wrenching what seemed to be a silk scarf from Porthos' grip. Unfortunately for the scarf, it was riddled with holes from Porthos' teeth.

'Oh, my!' Odette exclaimed, snatching the scarf from James' grasp. 'It's ruined!' Odette looked at James briefly. 'I do hope you intend to replace this.'

James knew that was coming. He sighed and absently petted Porthos' coat. 'Well, to be honest, no.' James replied, beginning to turn around.

'I'm sorry? What did you say?' Odette frowned, following James as he continued to walk.

James turned around and looked at her. 'I said, no. If you wish to know why, I shall tell you.' Odette motioned for him to tell her why. 'Well, if you must know, I have just been left with four boys to care for and their Grandmother who is more of a burden than a help. Their mother has died but nine days ago and here you are demanding a replacement for a scarf. I am sorry, but unless you intend to replace the boy's mother, then the answer remains as a no.'

With that, James turned around and began to walk back to the boys, ready to walk them home. He had had enough of the park for one day. Thinking back, James knew he should have replaced her scarf, but the reality was he did not have the time or effort to go scarf shopping with a woman he did not know. He had over-reacted and he knew it, but it was done and he definitely had no intention of going back to face that presumptuous woman once more.

Once he had reached the boys, he clipped Porthos' leash back onto his collar and sighed. 'We are going home.' He said simply, motioning for the boys to follow him.

'Why?' Michael asked innocently, watching James walk.

'Because we are.' James replied. It was not up to discussion and he did not wish to speak at the moment. That woman had ruined his day. He had come to the park with a clear mind ready to write, and now he had to face a house with four depressed boys.

Finally, all five of them had reached the house. James let Porthos go and the boys slowly walked into the house, their heads hanging low.

Guilt. That was the feeling that washed over James so suddenly. He watched George lead the boys up to their room, only to sit there for many more hours in silence. He was selfish and he knew it. When the boys were out in the sunshine they had looked different, it seemed they actually might have been happy whether they showed it on the outside or not. He sighed and hung his coat upon to rack. He would talk to them, yes that was a good idea.

Slowly, James began his ascent up the staircase. He made his way to the door of the room the boys shared and opened it without invitation. The site that met his was one of deep solemnity. All four of the boys sat on the end of their respective beds, doing nothing, just sitting in silence as James had predicted. As James opened the door wider, Peter looked up from staring at the floor and offered a small encouraging smile to the Scotsman.

'Boys,' James began, closing the door behind him. 'I have a few things to say.'

This conversation was inevitable. James knew he would have to have it with them sooner or later, and James would prefer it sooner rather than later. He pulled up one of the boy's toy chests and sat on it, trying to make eye contact with each of them.

'I just want you all to know that I understand what you all feel. I loved your mother very much and only wish she were here with us this very moment. But the reality of the matter is that she is not. She has entrusted me with your care and I only hope to be able to offer you as much love as she gave you.' James paused, letting his words sink in. 'I hope that we can come to accept our new circumstances and I hope that you all will grow to love me as much as I do you.'

James watched the boy's reaction. Michael stood up and made his way towards James slowly. He smiled slightly and before he knew it, James had Michael in his arms. The young boy buried his face into James' neck. James smiled and stroked his hair and looked at the other boys who slowly left their beds and also came over to him, wrapping their arms around him best they could.

It was silent, but each person in the room knew what the other was thinking. James smiled as the boys embraced him. This was how it was supposed to be. This was how he had wanted it.

(A/N: Well, there we go. I know this has taken a long time, but I just re-read my reviews and found them to be quite agreeable. So, here I am, the first chapter of "Just Believe" formerly "The Park Bench" thanks for reading and make sure you review.)