'Peter!' Wendy raced from her bed to the windowsill and hastily opened the catch with trembling fingers.

Like a gust of wind, he swooped through the space between the window and the frame and landed gently on the carpet. Wendy eagerly encased the familiar figure in a crushing embrace.

'Oh, Peter! It's so good to see you! I can't – I can't believe...After all this time! You look –'

She pulled away from him and gazed up at him in sheer delight. Peter, however, did not appear to share her joy and looked distinctly alarmed by her proximity. He coughed awkwardly and looked around the room, avoiding her gaze.

Wendy blushed and stepped away from him, stumbling on the rumpled corner of the rug. He was still a boy and, like all young boys, he was very uncomfortable with displays of affection – especially from the female sex.

'You've...changed,' he stated bluntly once she had put several feet between them.

Wendy did not miss the accusatory tone in his voice.

'I grew up,' she replied simply, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, feeling more ashamed than before when she had embraced him. 'I didn't have a choice.'

To her eighteen year old eyes, Peter seemed much younger than she remembered. He looked even younger than John and Michael.

The silence that followed was awkward and uncomfortable. Wendy straightened the rug with her foot as Peter examined the floor beneath his dirty toes.

'I can't believe you're here,' she murmured as she raised her eyes to his face. 'I hoped – I dreamed, but you never –' Wendy trailed off biting her lip foolishly.

'I – I'm sorry that I never came back for you,' he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, as he kept his eyes fixed to the carpet. 'I did come and visit. Quite often, actually...'

Wendy waited for him to continue.

'I came for the stories,' he continued with a smile and a tentative glance in her direction. 'And to see you. You seemed so...happy, I didn't want to...'

His sentence vanished into nothing and Wendy felt the tension in the room rise. It made her feel old and awkward even though this reunion was one she had fantasised about for years.

'Why are you here, Peter?' Wendy asked after a long pause. 'Why, tonight? Why, after all this time?'

The question roused Peter and he glided across the room and sat cross-legged on her bed. She knelt on the floor, staring up at him in silent disbelief.

Although she could not suppress the shame of growing up that he made her feel, Wendy could not have asked for a better souvenir from her childhood adventure.

'I – I didn't know who else to go to...' he mumbled as he picked at the embroidery work on her duvet. 'You might look older, Wendy, but I do hope that you haven't really grown up. You still believe in Neverland, in magic, in fairies, don't you?' he asked, staring at her beseechingly.

Wendy thought of her fading memories of Neverland and felt a lump form in her throat, before nodding her head determinedly.

Peter did not raise his eyes and continued tracing the patterns of her bed-cover.

'Neverland has changed.'

Glancing upwards to where he sat, Wendy noted the resolute concentration on his face, but she did not fail to notice the way he bit his lip or the way he swallowed every couple of seconds. It was hard to reconcile this new perception of him with the one she nurtured in her memories.

She had always thought of him as a stoic and knowledgeable leader, who had taught them to fly and guided them along their journey. But, now, several years later, as she watched him struggle to shield the emotion on his face, fiddling incessantly with the needlework on her duvet, Wendy realised that he was still a little boy in need of guidance and comfort.

'Changed? What do you mean?'

'Well...disappeared,' he said, swallowing.

Wendy caught the emotion in his voice.

'Disappeared? But, how? How is that even possible?'

'I don't know,' he muttered with a sad shake of his head. 'I was flying around the island and I couldn't spot Never Land Plains, you know, where the Indians live...So I flew lower to the ground and it just...wasn't there.'

'What do you mean "wasn't there"?' asked Wendy.

'I mean, it wasn't there,' he repeated emphatically. 'There was just water.'

'Perhaps, there was a tsunami?' she suggested with a slight shrug.

'Who's Sue?' he asked as his features creased in bewilderment.

Wendy suppressed a chuckle.

'Don't laugh at me!' he cried indignantly.

Wendy sobered immediately as she glanced at the scowl on his face.

'I meant...Perhaps there was a tidal wave? The land would be covered with water. However, if that were the case, I don't know how the rest of Neverland would remain untouched...' She trailed off into silence. 'What about the Indians? Where have they gone?'

'They've vanished, too!'

'It is certainly is curious,' she murmured to herself. 'Is the Indian camp the only place that has gone?'

Peter shrugged.

'I can't be sure. I asked the Lost Boys...Not that they were any help,' he grumbled. 'I thought that – maybe – you could help,' Peter admitted. 'I didn't know who else to go to.'

As Wendy pondered his words and the mysterious disappearance of Neverland, she was forcibly reminded of her encounter earlier that day with the bo'sun of the Jolly Roger.

'Wait, there is something...' she began. 'I don't know if it could have anything to do with the disappearance of the Indian camp, but –'

She lost no time in telling Peter the details of her chance meeting with Mr Smee that afternoon. Peter waited with bated breath and, when Wendy finished speaking, he continued to wait expectantly.

'So?' he asked once she had finished her anecdote.

Wendy was less than enthused by his lacklustre reaction.

'So...why would he be in London? He's the bo'sun of the Jolly Roger! He belongs in Neverland!' she explained.

'Hmmm...' Peter scratched his bare chin as he mulled over her words. 'Now that you mention it, I've not seen any of Hook's old crew in a while...Or the Jolly Roger, for that matter.'

'So...all of the pirates from Neverland could be milling around London?' asked Wendy incredulously. The thought filled Wendy with both terror and excitement.

Peter shrugged his shoulders and plucked a fallen leaf from his hair.

'But, Wendy, I need your help. Neverland is my home! If it disappears completely, where will I go? What about the Lost Boys?'

'Shh, Peter,' soothed Wendy. 'Everything will be all right. We will figure it out –'

'But, if Smee has turned up here,' he pondered aloud, rubbing his head, seemingly oblivious to her attempts to comfort him. 'Maybe others will turn up as well? Tiger Lily! Maybe even the mermaids! You could ask them, Wendy. You must help me find out what's going on!'

Having grown up parentless among the Lost Boys on the island of Neverland, Peter had missed a few crucial lessons on manners and politeness and Wendy felt her spine stiffen.

She wondered briefly if her sudden change in mood stemmed from Peter's concern for the chieftain's young daughter – especially given the spiritless greeting that she had received from him. But she quickly dismissed the ludicrous thought as soon as it had come.

'But, Peter, you must remember, I have a family and I – I cannot be seen approaching all sorts of strangers and peculiar folks in the street! My mother would go demented. It's just not the done thing. What would my father think?'

Peter regarded her sullenly.

'I was right – you have changed.'

'So have you...I don't remember you being this petulant,' replied Wendy in a clipped tone. 'What would my mother say if I insisted we take a stroll along the Thames to look for a school of mermaids? I'd never be allowed out of doors again!'

He glowered at her as they sank into silence.

'Please, Wendy, I'm sorry. I – I really need your help.'

Wendy raised her head to meet his earnest, pleading gaze. With a curious sensation in her stomach, she noted with absolute certainty that the eyes she had seen the morning before did not belong to Peter. But this realisation merely fuelled her own curiosity even more.

'Please,' he repeated, reaching for her hand.

His hand felt small and childlike as he wrapped his small fingers over her knuckles.

'If you see Tiger Lily or...or anyone – even that yellow-bellied bo'sun Mr Smee – will you ask them what is happening? Please, help me, Wendy, you're the only one that can help me to save Neverland.'

For the first time in many years, Wendy felt the same thrill that she had done when she sprung from the window ledge that fateful night and, as the memory swam in her mind, she nodded.

'Thank you,' he whispered with a grin.

He floated towards the window, holding onto her hand. Yet, before she knew it, he had let go and Wendy's heart ached as she watched him leap out of the window into the night, leaving her behind for a second time.

Wendy awoke on the morning after Peter's visit with a feeling of dread in her stomach. It had nothing to do with his tidings. On the contrary, she feared their reunion had been nothing more than a particularly vivid dream.

But as she rose from her bed, she noted a crisp leaf tinted with shades of autumn lying on the rug.

Anyone else would have reasoned that it blew in through the ajar window during the night. Wendy, however, distinctly remembered Peter plucking it from his hair and letting it cascade onto the floor.

Her smile split into a huge grin as she stooped to retrieve the leaf and stored it carefully inside her jewellery box.

As if sensing her new mission, however, Mrs Darling did not venture outdoors with her daughter again after their latest jaunt. Their outings were restricted to visiting friends and family members, who resided in the local neighbourhood. Wendy's suggestions of going into town or, even, for a walk in the park were dismissed instantly on the grounds of bad weather, despite the fact that they were in early November and the worst of the frosts had yet to come.

A fortnight passed, during which, Wendy sorely missed the world outdoors. Her mother, on the other hand, seemed to be susceptible to the drop in temperature in spite of their constant shelter and developed a rather vicious cold. Upon the Monday of their third week indoors, Mrs Darling was so ill that she could barely get out of bed.

Nevertheless, with the family doctor's promises that she would recover with plenty of rest and hot tea to soothe her chesty cough, Mrs Darling retired to her bed and relinquished her domestic duties to her daughter. Although Wendy gladly accepted her mother's burden to allow her to rest, the mission that Peter had assigned to her constantly plagued her.

While she attended to her chores, mending her father's and brothers' clothing and helping Nana, Wendy mulled over Peter's plea, wondering how she would ever fulfil her promise if she was kept indoors all the time.

It was not until one Wednesday afternoon that Wendy's wishes were answered. Mrs Darling's cough had worsened overnight to such an extent that the remedial effects of hot tea were rendered ineffective.

'Shall I go to the pharmacy, Mother? You could do with something a bit stronger to help your throat.'

'No, my dear. I won't have you wandering about town on your own, I – ' Mrs Darling's sentence was interrupted by a loud coughing fit.

'Oh, Mother, you really do need medicine for that nasty cough. Please, let me go.'

'No – Wendy – I –'

'I'll take Nana with me – I'll be perfectly safe,' she insisted. 'Please, Mother, I'll be back before you know it!'

Mrs Darling, unfortunately, was in no fit state to argue with her daughter and, once her coughs subsided, her head fell weakly onto the pillow.

Wendy could not dismiss the pangs of guilt that she felt as she closed the door to her mother's bedroom and tiptoed down the stairs. But, amid the twinges of guilt, she felt the slightest thrill of excitement.

Tying her hat under her chin, Wendy decided she could afford to spend half an hour in town in search of anything, or anyone, peculiar or out of the ordinary without arousing her mother's alarm.

'Come on, Nana. We're going for a walk,' she whispered as she opened the front door.

Fortunately, the pharmacy was empty when she entered and, within minutes, she had purchased a bottle of cough syrup with the chemist's well-wishes to pass onto her mother.

Nana growled quietly as she sloped alongside Wendy, knowing perfectly well that they were not walking in a homeward direction.

'Hush, Nana. We won't be too long. I just want to check for...something,' said Wendy cheerily.

They made their way along the cobbled streets and Wendy's eyes strained with the effort of scrutinising every passer-by. Nana's growling grew louder as they ventured into the more central, busier part of the town.

It was not completely out of the ordinary for a young girl to walk unaccompanied along the streets mid-afternoon and Wendy presumed her canine companion to be the source of the attention. But the truth was that Wendy had blossomed into a very attractive young lady. Her hair and eyes were brown in colour, her skin was very fair and she was slim of figure, but there was a spark and a joyfulness about her that could coax a smile from most women and a double-take from almost any man.

To Wendy's dismay, however, there was nothing out of the ordinary about the strangers she spotted. In truth, it was not the strange faces she looked for, but the familiar ones. Her search, however, was to no avail.

She resolved to make a visit to the bookshop before returning home in the hope of finding one, little clue. It was there, after all, that she had encountered Mr Smee. The memory was clouded with shock, but Wendy could recall that he had been looking for a book that they no longer stocked. Her eyebrows furrowed together as she pondered the significance of the book.

Pirates were not known for their interest in literature as most of them had never learned how to read, which was, Wendy reasoned, the explanation behind their keen interest in recruiting a story-teller.

Nana gave another whine as Wendy patted her head and instructed her to wait outside. But, before she could open the door, her attention was diverted by a sign pinned to the noticeboard beside the shop window:

STORY-TELLER WANTED

If interested, we would request that you enquire in-store for further information.

'Oh, Nana!' she murmured, clasping her hands together. 'Look! A story-teller! What do you think?'

Her eyes widened as she reread the sign.

Since their birth, John and Michael had been her sole listeners minus her brief period as 'Mother' to the Lost Boys. Although they enjoyed her tales, to share them with other children would be a dream come true.

Nana whined loudly, rousing Wendy from her thoughts and calling her back to reality.

She felt a sinking sensation in her stomach as she thought of her father. It was extremely unlikely that he would permit it.

But, on the other hand, Wendy thought, if she was earning her own living and contributing to the household, perhaps she could stave off the imminent future that he had planned for her. The position would also give her more time to devote to her detective work, without being subjected to her mother's suspicion.

Wendy's hand trembled as she reached for the door-handle and entered.

'Wendy, where were you? You were gone for ages!'

'Sorry, Mother. There was a queue at the pharmacy.' Wendy blushed at the lie and, even her mother did not seem convinced. She knew that it was not the right time to reveal her news and so, turning her back to her mother, Wendy began to unpack the contents of the paper-bag, babbling incessantly as she did so. 'I saw Margaret Wiggins when I was out too, goodness how big she is! She's looks ready to give birth at any moment!'

'No wonder!' exclaimed Mrs Darling. 'She must be due any day now. Were the twins with her?'

'Er...Yes – they've grown so much since the last time we saw them! She'll certainly have her hands full with another one!'

With a brief glance at her mother, Wendy noticed that her features were not entirely devoid of suspicion, but, before Mrs Darling could interrogate her further, she was seized by another coughing fit. Wendy hastily opened the bottle of cough syrup and spooned the mixture into her mother's mouth as tenderly as if she was her own child.

'There, there, Mother. Just breathe...'

The coughing soon ceased and Mrs Darling smiled weakly at Wendy.

'You'll make a good mother one day, dear,' she murmured kindly. Her daughter gave her a quick smile that resembled a grimace, more than anything, before turning her attention to the handkerchiefs piled on top of the night-stand.

Wendy had not yet planned how she would tell her parents of her new job. The owner of the bookshop, Mr Heavey, had kindly offered to tell her parents for her, but Wendy knew that it would only evoke suspicion if she sought his help in breaking the news. She decided that she would wait until her mother had made a full recovery before announcing her new employment as a story-teller.

However, as if the fates had heard her decision, Mrs Darling remained bed-ridden for a further two days before she was back to her old routine and the time had come for Wendy to inform them.

'A story-teller!' her father exclaimed in alarm, causing his pipe to fall out of his mouth and land in his lap. 'Don't tell me you are still entertaining this ridiculous notion of becoming an author...'

'Father, please,' implored Wendy. She looked at him beseechingly and gradually his anger seemed to ebb. John and Michael had been nudged up the stairs by Nana into a bath, leaving Wendy alone with her parents in the living room. Mr Darling was enjoying his pipe and book and Mrs Darling was absorbed in her embroidery work.

'It's only twice a week for a few hours – it shan't interfere too much with mother's tutelage. It means I'd be able to earn a bit of money and help with the finances and...' She let her sentence trail off into silence as her father's face turned red. The Darlings were not what you would call a wealthy family and this was a source of great embarrassment to her father.

'No. Absolutely not. I do not need money from my daughter. What a preposterous idea! Can you imagine what the neighbours would think if they thought I was sending my daughter out to work to help with our financial circumstances? Absolutely not, Wendy. I forbid it.'

'But Mr Heavey has already given me the job,' Wendy admitted, biting her lip guiltily. 'It's for the children at the orphanage. It is an opportunity for them to go outside and visit different places instead of being cooped up inside the orphanage all day...'

'Yes, but, Wendy...' he began, rubbing his forehead wearily with his hand.

Wendy sensed her father's resolve begin to weaken.

'Oh, please, Father. I am begging you.'

'George, dear, I really don't see the harm in Wendy spending a couple of hours a week reading to orphans,' Mrs Darling said gently as she glanced up from her sewing. 'Besides, she's so good with children and it would be good practice...For when she has some of her own.'

Wendy rose from the futon and embraced her mother. She had never been more grateful for one of her mother's interjections.

Mr Darling's mouth opened and closed as he considered her words and let his head tilt to one side.

'True, Mary...That's quite true,' he mumbled. 'Very well, then. You may go, Wendy. But I will not take your money. Those are your earnings. If you wish, I shall set up a savings account at the bank for you to keep for when you are older and...settled.'

Wendy did not miss the meaning behind her father's words, but she nodded enthusiastically and hugged him. In truth, she cared very little for the thought of money, but the chance to escape the house for a few hours a week, even if it was only to the bookshop, filled her with delight. With extra time out of the house and of her mother's sight, Wendy hoped she would be able to investigate Peter's Neverland crisis.

She made towards the stairs to inform Michael and John of her news, but her father raised his finger in the air and she resumed her position by the fire.

'Nevertheless, Wendy,' her father said. He removed his glasses and tweaked the leg. 'I do have one condition.'

Wendy swallowed nervously and nodded.

'One of my colleagues – Mr Herd – You met him last summer, Mary, dear. He mentioned that – well – he's got a lad, the same age as you, Wendy. He thought it might be quite nice for us all to...get together at some point. A sort of party, if you will. I'll agree to this story-telling business,' he said, gesturing vaguely with his glasses. 'If you agree to attend Mr Herd's party in a fortnight's time.'

Wendy nodded her consent.

She understood her father's intentions – as well as those of Mr Herd – perfectly well, but with the precarious position of her new job and the ease with which her father could withdraw his permission, Wendy knew that she would be obliged to devote her attentions to the mysterious son.

'Excellent!' he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. 'He's a smashing chap, Wendy. Recently graduated from Cambridge with a degree in Law. Very clever boy. Rather handsome, too. You remember him, Mary? He was there too. Blonde chap, quite tall, very agreeable young man.'

Wendy did not miss the fleeting expression of doubt on her mother's face. To her husband, however, Mrs Darling murmured a noise of assent before gently adding: 'Though there will be plenty of other young men there, won't there? That's not to say that Wendy won't like Mr Herd's son,' she said hastily, before turning to Wendy, 'but you mustn't feel like you're being coerced. Your father and I won't force your hand one way or the other, will we – George?'

Mr Darling did not seem too enthused by his wife's input.

'Ah...Well, yes, you're quite right, dear. Wendy, it is ultimately your choice in the end...mostly. But I think you'll find him to be quite an amiable suitor –' he blustered. Wendy and her mother remained silent as Mr Darling extolled the virtues of Mr Herd and his son.

Her head nodded meekly in response to her father's raptures, which failed to excite any kind of enthusiasm or anticipation on Wendy's part.