A note from me:
To the followers of this story I apologise for being away for so long! I have lacked motivation to come back to this story but recently (cheesy but it's true!) had a dream about another chapter idea for this story and suddenly the inspiration that I originally had for The First Star came flooding back. Hopefully I shall be posting another chapter very soon. If you have stayed with me and continue reading, thank you! You shall be hearing a lot more from me now. I hope you enjoy this chapter!
- Thimblekisses xoxo
Chapter Four
"John dear, how…nice to see you," says Wendy, forcing a smile as she picks up Danny and comfortingly rubs his back to stop his tears. John, his thinning hair neatly combed and his beard trimmed, receives his sister's kiss. He leans heavily on a thick wooden cane. It still seems strange to Wendy that her younger brother will now never walk without it and when he is at his most disagreeable, it is for this reason that she tries her best to forgive him his coldness. John Darling was one of the countless soldiers to be wounded in action in the first few months of the war. His injury proved too severe to keep him on the front line and he was forced to return to London and serve his country from home. As well as leaving his childhood and imagination behind and thus isolating himself from his siblings, John is left a bitter and guilt-ridden man who now depends on a stick to get him from place to place. Wendy cannot bear to imagine the horrors her family have seen overseas but she does wish her brother would try a little harder not to take it out on his family quite so much almost four years on.
Audrey, or "Average Audrey" to Wendy, sticks close to her husband's side and allows herself a small curt nod to her sister-in-law. Audrey's face is set in an expression similar to one if you constantly had a bad smell under your nose. Her piercing blue eyes and pointed nose give her rather a severe face, and this is highlighted further still with a mop of ash blonde hair pulled firmly into a tight bun. Wendy cannot recall ever seeing her smile.
Her twin daughters, Matilda and Maude sullenly trail in after their mother, clearly having been cajoled into attending the family dinner. The girls are alike in every way except for the elder-by-two-and-a-half-minutes Matilda's glasses, which are oversized for her petite, upturned nose. They resemble John's spectacles that he wore when he was a young boy. Both girls have their mother's fair hair pulled into tight pigtails but don't have the cheery addition of a bright piece of ribbon like Jane used to wear when she was their age a couple of years ago. Matilda and Maude have been raised in such a strict, story-less way so different from her own that it seems to Wendy they are growing up to be shadows of their mother and altered father; surly, unimaginative girls who pick a fight at every opportunity they are given.
At the back of the party, quietly observing his grown up family, stands George Darling. Now largely dependent on his children since the loss of his wife, Mr Darling keenly feels both her absence and that of his youngest son but rarely complains. He has mellowed into a shell of his old domineering, cantankerous self. Wendy finds that she gets on better with her father now but deeply feels his melancholy in missing her beloved mother and little Michael.
"Good afternoon, niece. I presume your studies are coming along well?" John breaks the uncomfortable silence and extends his hand for Jane to shake, which she reluctantly takes and nods mutely. Little Danny runs to his uncle and tries to hug his good leg but John quickly untangles himself, giving his nephew a distracted pat on the head. Feeling rejected, Danny clings to his mother as his Aunt and cousins also coldly greet them.
"How is work, John?" Wendy asks, knowing this is a topic in which her brother enjoys talking about. Anything to diffuse the usual tension these visits bring. Jane rolls her eyes and waits for hours of boredom where her uncle rambles on about his all-important work at the bank and how he is "assisting with the War Effort" even though he is at home. To her, it just always sounds as if he is trying to justify why he isn't fighting overseas like her father. Mother told her the story of John's terrible injury and his despair over the loss of their younger brother. Maybe he carries some sort of guilt, she thinks. Silly really Uncle Michael's death wasn't his fault.
"Oh work is okay thank you, Wendy," says John, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with the edge of his jacket. A sign of nervousness, notices Wendy, worriedly. "It's all very busy and a lot of which I am not at liberty to divulge to persons outside of the company. But what I can say is that we are doing all we can to assist with the War Effort," John adds proudly, putting his glasses back onto his nose. Wendy notices a slight shake to his hand but chooses not to say anything.
Audrey stands by her husband's side but does nothing to ease her husband's discomfort. She merely looks around Wendy's kitchen and wrinkles her nose. "What is that smell, dear sister?" Wendy is irked by the way that Audrey says "dear sister", exaggerating the "dear" in such a false way that always makes Wendy feel like she is being belittled or patronised. "Well," she says through gritted teeth, "I've been saving our rationing coupons so we could have a nice joint of beef and we have vegetables from our allotment that Jane collected this morning." Wendy smiles as she remembers her surprise for after the meal. "Oh and we have a special treat for dessert too. I have managed to collect the ingredients to make a small Victoria sponge!" There is an audible excited gasp from all of the children, including the po-faced twins. Even Audrey's lips twitch slightly at the thought of a sponge cake.
"Well dinner will be ready very shortly so I suggest we head into the dining room to have a sit down." Wendy ushers her guests into the large dining room, which is one of her favourite rooms in the house, and this is not just because of the way it is decorated. It is the room in which her mother hosted many a delicious feast before the time of rationing. It is the room where Mary Darling would encourage the family to speak about the events of the day and share stories. These stories were often about Neverland but after their adventure, John and George huffed and puffed when the subject arose and so Wendy stopped telling her stories at the dining table. That is until thirteen years later when her children came along of course.
The dining room is beautifully decorated in forest greens and cream, with handmade flower and leaf garlands hanging from the curtain pole made by Wendy and Danny the previous day. The warm May sunshine streams into the room, illuminating the natural beauty of Wendy's colour choice. Audrey sniffs as she takes the seat with its back to the pretty garlands. "I have always thought this room is far too bright," she informs Wendy, as her eyes slide over the room disdainfully, "and its colours really aren't in fashion. Such vile shades of green. Reminds me of that horrible park near to this house." Wendy has to bite her tongue before responding with something cutting to her vile sister-in-law. She is used to Audrey picking fault with her house and her choice of décor, and she is also used to putting up with her. Anything for a simpler life and less distress for her aging father. Plus, she must set a good example for Jane. She is already far too hot-headed for her own good, Wendy thinks.
"Actually Aunt, these shades of green are all the range in Vogue." Jane was quick with a response to her Aunt's unkind comment. Jane knew how fond of this room her mother was as she had clearly taken inspiration from a special place and if there was one thing that Jane Henley couldn't stand, it was unnecessary mean remarks that upset her sweet mother. She knew that Audrey had a subscription to Vogue as when it launched in the UK two years ago in 1916, she boasted for weeks that she was one of the first in her circle of society ladies to be reading it. Keeping up with the current trend was one of Audrey's few delights in life. It gave Jane immense satisfaction to throw it in her Aunt's face… even if she had no idea if it was in fact true or not!
Not even looking slightly abashed for her comments, Audrey huffs that she had obviously missed an issue as she didn't recall seeing anything about putrid greens. "When is the dinner going to ready Wendy, my dear? I am quite ravenous," George asks, mercifully breaking the awkward silence. He pretends not to notice the glares between Audrey and his feisty granddaughter. "It won't be long now, Father," Wendy smiles gratefully. "How are they feeding you at the Home?"
George huffs. "Well it's not bad. It's a bit rubbery and nothing like your Mother's wonderful –"
"Oh Father we have been through this," John interrupts, sighing dramatically. "You are in the best home in most of London. I am sure the food is perfectly tolerable for you."
Wendy senses the revival of a topic that has been disputed many times between father and son prior to this particular Sunday, and she hastily changes tack. "Don't you remember Mother's Christmas dinners, Father? The endless roast potatoes, the stuffing, her secret recipe brandy snaps?" At the head of the table, George seems to be dreaming of the past, a small and sad smile on his face as he wistfully remembers a time when the table had more people sitting around it.
"Oh Wendy not you as well," huffs John again, with a frown. "There's no need to go upsetting our father unnecessarily."
"Actually Uncle," Jane speaks out before Wendy has a chance to reply, "I think Grandfather sometimes likes telling stories about Grandmother."
"Yes!" pipes up little Danny, who really doesn't fully understand the conversation but wants to have his say. "We should always tell stories. Like when Mama tells me and Janey stories of Peter Pan!" Wendy inwardly cringes at Danny's words as she knows what will come next.
"Not this again, sister dear," says Audrey, "We all know those stories are make-believe nonsense and just fill your children's heads with silliness."
"They're not silly!" shouts Danny indignantly, his lower lip wobbling.
"Silly silly silly!" taunt Matilda and Maude. When Audrey doesn't say anything, John silences the twins and says, "Wendy, I think dinner might be ready now. I can smell burning."
Wendy is stunned by the twins' behaviour and their mother's lack of interest in their taunting of her son. Infuriated by her brother's embarrassing curt reminder about the dinner, Wendy takes a deep breath, stands and leaves the room to collect the lovingly prepared dishes of food.
Jane watches her mother go and is sure she hears a sob come from the direction of the kitchen. Her grandfather and uncle begin speaking once more about the bank and work and Aunt Audrey chastises Matilda and Maude about sitting properly without their elbows on the table. Danny sits slumped in his chair muttering to himself. Probably talking to Peter Pan again, thinks Jane, fondly. He often talks to Peter Pan whenever he is upset or when playing a game. Jane used to join in but has recently lost the interest in pretending everything is a happy game when they are all stuck in the midst of a war. A war which has taken her daddy away.
Before she can get upset (she refuses to give her spiteful aunt the satisfaction), Jane excuses herself under the pretence of needing to go to the bathroom. She leaves the room quietly, unobserved by her family.