Chapter Three

Today is now one of those dreaded Sunday afternoon's in late May where Wendy is nervously pacing the kitchen awaiting the arrival of her brother and his family. She anxiously fiddles with a strand of hair that just refuses to stay in her usually neat bun. These Sundays always seem to come around so quickly but then they last for such an uncomfortably long time.

Absentmindedly picking at the sleeve of her pale blue Sunday dress, Wendy sits at the table and lets her mind wander. Oh how she wishes things were different somehow. She finds herself staring at the family portrait that her father had commissioned for her 18th birthday. "20 years ago now… how much has changed," she sighs. A younger Wendy sits in the centre with Nana faithfully at her feet, a spattering of grey furs beginning to show on her muzzle. A shy girl on the brink of adulthood, she looks most self-conscious and like she would rather be anywhere else. A floaty turquoise dress, the perfect mix of blue and green, is beautiful but seems too grown up for the girl with innocence and longing in her eyes. A pair of silver earrings in the shape of leaves hang from her ears; a birthday present from her youngest brother, a reminder of a time maybe not as forgotten as John would like to believe.

To her left, John sits with his chin raised and his chest puffed out trying to seem taller and more mature than his thirteen years. So sad. Thirteen was my age when we first travelled to Neverland, Wendy thinks sadly. But any hint of the pirate-loving child in the too-long nightgown, top hat and trusty umbrella is already long gone.

Mary and George stand proudly behind their daughter, dressed in their best clothes. Now that she looks closely at her dear mother's face, Wendy thinks she can see a slight tiredness in the kind woman's eyes. It had been a long day… no thanks to me, Wendy thinks guiltily, remembering her defiance and anger at the idea of a party celebrating her age. Celebrating the fact that she was growing older… and growing further away from him.

Wendy forces herself to look at the last person in the portrait. Michael. Little Michael sits on Wendy's right, dressed in a suit that is far too big for his 9 years. His little head inclines towards his sister and it is clear to see the adoration in his eyes. The countless times he would ask to hear her stories gave her hope that it had not all been a dream like John always told them.

She turns away from the painting. Three years and seven months have passed since that terrible telegram and yet the pain still feels raw, clawing at her heart with such intensity that she wonders if it might break. Just like her mother's. She followed so quickly. They had barely even started to process losing little Michael and then suddenly in the space of a couple of months, they were to suffer again.

New Year's Eve 1914 was not one Wendy wanted to remember. The day after little Jane's eighth birthday. It had been a difficult one to keep smiling for her daughter. The first family occasion with one member painfully obviously missing. Jane's father Edward at least was able to get a few days holiday from his post overseas and the family pulled together to try to make it a special day for Jane. To be honest they all just wanted the dreadful year to be over.

Mary had been quietly sitting in the armchair watching over her family. Her granddaughter was dancing and playing with her baby brother who was now five months old and according to Jane, much more interesting; John with his sensible wife trying to restrain their six year old twins who wanted to play with the birthday girl; and her lovely Wendy who she knew wasn't fooled, with her watchful eyes scanning her beloved mother's tired face and thin frame.

Wendy sighs deeply remembering the last words her mother said to her. As her parents left the melancholic little party, Mary had taken Wendy to one side and whispered softly in her daughter's ear: "keep believing my darling. You need it. Your brother needs it even though he won't listen. Your father will need it. Keep my family together." She had touched her daughter's cheek and retired early to her bed. At these words, Wendy had realised her mother was saying goodbye and she was not too shocked when she was awoken in the middle of the night to be told by her father that Mary would not be waking up again. Wendy had known in her heart that her mother just could not welcome a new year without her youngest son being a part of it.

A sudden noise brings Wendy back to the present. Jane stomps into the kitchen, dragging a very miserable looking Danny behind her. Nana II trots into the room behind them. Both children were dressed in their Sunday best: Jane in a mint green dress with small puffed sleeves and tiny flowers along the bottom and Danny looking most uncomfortable in his little suit. His Peter Pan hat that Wendy lovingly made for his first birthday still sits on his head, luckily having grown with him three years later.

"Jane and Nana II don't want me to wear my hat, Mamma!" Danny whines, his lower lip wobbling a sure sign tears are a possibility. "But I s-said that Peter Pan never takes his hat off! It is his lucky charm to fight the pirates and win!"

"And I said that even though we will all need as much luck as we can get to get through today, your hat looks silly and babyish," snaps back Jane. "And we don't want to give the twins any more ammunition to tease you."

"It's not babyish!" shrieked Danny. "Peter Pan is a hero and hero's aren't babyish!"

Jane rolls her eyes and faces her mother. "But he looks so silly! And the twins will poke fun at him again and Uncle John will tut that he is getting to big to wear such things like he always does and Aunt Audrey will sneer and –"

"Now Jane," interrupts Wendy firmly. "If any of those things happen again I shall say something okay?" Jane folds her arms unconvinced. "Besides Danny," Wendy kneels in front of her young son. "Peter Pan would not want you to take it off, would he? He would say it's a part of who he is and if the pirates don't like it then they can be made to walk their own plank and then see if they will say anything bad about his hat!" Wendy lifts her son into a huge cuddle and proceeds to fling him into the air, twirling him round and round. Danny stretches his arms out, shouting gleefully: "I can fly! I can fly!"

Jane looks on as her mother "flies" Daniel round the kitchen. "Mother! Do be careful watch out for his head on lamp! Come on this is ridiculous. They will be here soon and heaven knows what they'll say if they see this!" She shouts over her brother's shrieks of delight and her mother's laughter, frantically picking up Danny's toys from the floor. "Mother can you just – OW!" Jane cries out as Danny accidentally thwacks her on the head as he whizzes past. "MOTHER!"

Wendy stops, bringing Danny back down to Earth and sets him on the kitchen floor. "Again again!" he shouts.

"Sorry my love enough flying for today. Let me see your poor old head Janey," she says. Seething with annoyance at the silly childish nickname, Jane stands still with her arms full of toys and lets her mother check her throbbing head. "No broken skin just a bit of a bruise coming there," Wendy diagnoses. "But with just a little bit of pixie dust we can get that fixed up back to normal can't we Danny?" she adds.

"Yes yes let's get the fairies to help Jane!" Danny jumps up and down and pulls at his sister's dress, trying to get her to join in the game.

"No Daniel!" cries Jane, as his tugging causes her to drop everything she was trying to put away. "Oh for goodness sake!" She roughly pushes her brother out of the way, causing him to lose his balance and topple over onto the hard floor.

"Jane!" Wendy rushes over to Danny who is now rubbing his elbow and crying. "Now look what you've done to your little brother. Say sorry this minute!"

"He shouldn't be so annoying when I'm busy!" Jane argues. "And these are all his things anyway… he should learn to tidy up after himself!"

"But Jane he's only –"

"That's no excuse, Mother. He should just grow up!"

Wendy gasps. "Jane please can we just calm all this down and not say such –"

"I'll NEVER grow up!" screams Daniel.

"Why am I not surprised? Dear sister you must stop putting those silly stories into your children's heads." Amidst all the shouting, Wendy, Jane and Danny hadn't noticed John Darling walk into the room.

And so it begins, thinks Wendy, groaning inwardly.