Thanks to purple-roses-words-and-love for betaing!
"Mum can't have disappeared," Timothy said.
"Well, she isn't here!" his father said, slashing his hand through the air to underline his point.
"She was here not so long ago," Timothy said. He had been asleep until Angela had started howling; they had all been sleeping. Teddy still woke often at night, and even though their mum did her best to pick him up and quiet him as fast as she could, Timothy would still wake from his mewling. Tiredness had knitted itself in their bones, and this picnic combined with full stomachs and a warm spring sun had made them all drowsy and ready for a nap.
"Mummy got taken by the fairies," Angela said, and started to cry hysterically again. Her skin was blotched, her eyes swollen.
Teddy started to scream in earnest, eyes shut and mouth open wide, toothless gums as red as his face.
"No such thing as fairies, Angel girl, but damn them anyway," his father said, picking Teddy up and rocking him.
"Don't worry, Angela," Timothy said, pulling her into his embrace. She slung her arms around his neck and clung to him like a barnacle.
"Hush, Teddy. No need to cry," his father murmured, kissing Teddy's forehead and blowing on his hands. Normally, the baby would scrunch up his face in delight and open his curled hand the way flowers unfurl their petals; now, he hiccupped, then continued crying at an even louder volume.
"Teddy is upset, so now I'm upset, too," Angela sobbed.
"Well, we can't get Teddy to be quiet just yet, not now that his dinner has walked away," Timothy said.
"Speak with a little more respect about your mother!" his father barked, eyes dark as a storm, wagging his finger at Timothy as if he was still a little boy that he could scold accordingly.
"No need to yell at me!" Timothy snapped. Anger coiled in his stomach. He pushed it down, telling himself that his father was frightened, terribly so, even. Doctor Patrick Turner only adopted this harsh tone, this authoritarian finger wagging, when he felt insecure, unsure of what to do.
"I'm sorry, Tim. I'm sorry," his father hastily apologised, rubbing his eyes.
Timothy repressed the urge to roll his eyes, and turned his attention to his little sister instead. "Look, Angela, everything is going to be just fine. Mum will come back in a little while, and that scary thing you saw is nowhere near," Timothy decided, cupping Angela's face so she could look at him.
"That's not why I'm crying. Not just that," Angela whispered, tears pooling in her eyes, spilling over, dripping down her cheeks.
"Is it because your knees hurt?"
She shook her head, and held out her wrist. "Ivy took your charm. I threw it at her so she would let me go," she said, voice cracking on the final word.
Well, there goes the money from my paper round, Timothy thought. For a moment, he was tempted to scold her for losing his gift, for throwing it at something that didn't exist. If it had been a squirrel, he could understand; she had been terrified of them before she could talk. To throw the silver charm at something that only existed in her mind, though, a gift he had worked hard for so he could buy it…
But it was real to her, Timothy realised, and what good will getting angry do?
He had spent hours with his legs tucked under him and a teacup in his hands whilst Angela told him about the adventures of Cuthbert the Second, about the gnomes she believed had hidden one of her shoes, about the fairies in their garden. She had even told him about the thing that lived under her desk, and a monster that lived under her bed, eyes huge and a nervous smile tugging on the corners of her mouth. What good could it possibly do if he scolded her for having a lively imagination?
"Don't cry about that, Ange. I'll get you a new one, alright?"
"Right after we find your mother," his father said, bouncing Teddy in a vain attempt to get the child to calm down.
"How will we do that?" Angela asked, wiping her moist eyes with the palms of her hands.
"We'll call her name, and walk a bit into the forest," Timothy suggested.
"She could be too far to hear," his father muttered, pacing between the gnarled roots of the tree.
"I don't think so," Timothy said.
"Why?"
"Her glasses are still here." He pointed to the metal frame that lay glistening next to the picnic basket.
"But why would she leave them?" his father asked, shifting Teddy and absent-mindedly kissing the baby's forehead.
"Because the fairies…" Angela started.
"No such thing as…" his father said.
"Ange, I know you are afraid Mum got snatched by fairies, but I don't think that is very likely," Timothy said. He squatted in front of her so he was at eye-level, and gently took her scraped hands in his. "Think about it. Have you ever heard of someone's mother disappearing because fairies took her?"
Angela scrunched up her face as she thought, then slowly shook her head.
"See? So don't you worry; she's going to come back, or we'll find her."
"Alright," Angela murmured, and sat down on the picnic blanket, next to her mother's coat. She pulled it over herself like a blanket, pressing the fabric against her mouth and throat, like she would have done with her toy rabbit if she'd brought it.
"Thank you," his father mouthed at him. He sat down next to Angela and stroked her hair with the hand he didn't use to keep Teddy pressed against his chest.
007 on duty again, Timothy thought. It felt almost like the old days when his mummy had died and his mum had not been a permanent part of their life yet. He felt the same amount of responsibility on his shoulders, maybe even more so now that he had not only himself and his dad to look after, but his little sister and baby brother, too.
"I'm going to see if I can find her," Timothy decided.
His father opened his mouth to say something, but Timothy spoke before he could. "Don't worry; I won't go into the forest, alright? I'm just going to call Mum and see if she answers."
"Here," Angela said, holding out a crust of bread. He shoved it into his pocket and trotted downhill, to the periphery of the woods. If his mother heard him call and shouted back, all this worrying would be for nought, and everybody could calm down again. If there was no answer…
"At least we know she must have gotten lost, then," Timothy mumbled, skirting the fairy ring and stepping in the trees' shadows.
The wind whistled through their branches till they swayed. The old wood creaked and groaned, moaning like one in pain.
"Mum? Mum, can you hear me?" he yelled. The wind threw his words around like a handful of leaves. He cocked his head and listened, but there was only the rustling of budding leaves, and the sighing of wood.
No birds, Timothy thought. He rubbed the back of his neck; the hairs there had risen, and gooseflesh rippled over his arms.
Timothy liked to consider himself an adult, but the nights when he had left the light on to protect him from things that lurked in the shadows and prowled the hallway were still fresh in his mind. He curled his fingers around the crust of bread Angela had given him, and suddenly didn't think her fear misplaced anymore.
"Mum?" he called again, stilling the need to run away as best as he could. "Mum? We're worried about you!" Still no answer.
Timothy did his best not to sprint back up the hill, to where his father and siblings were waiting. He didn't want them to think he was scared, even though he was.
"I don't think she heard me, or at least I didn't hear her answer me," he said.
"Bloody hell," his father muttered as Teddy's wailing picked up in volume.
"We need to get Teddy something to eat, and we need to get him and Ange out of here. We can't search for Mum with them around," Timothy whispered.
His father put the tip of his finger in Teddy's mouth, which provided them with a blessed quietude as the baby sucked furiously.
"I know, but I don't want to leave this place yet. What if Shelagh comes back, and we aren't here? It would take time to drop the children off at home and make sure there's someone to look after them."
Timothy felt a little thrill whisper through his veins at the words 'the children'. Did his father no longer place him in that group? He tried to stand a little bit straighter.
"I would go into the woods and look for her, only what if I get lost, too?" Timothy said.
"We could leave a note here, I suppose," his father said, knitting his eyebrows.
"How is she going to read that without her glasses? Deciphering your handwriting is hard at the best of times, and Mum is practically blind if she doesn't wear her glasses," Timothy pointed out.
"Damn," his father whispered.
His finger left Teddy's mouth with a loud pop and the baby started to holler for its lunch again.
"What if you drive Ange and Teddy home and get someone from Nonnatus to look after them, and leave me here? I'll stay in this spot, under the tree. This way, if Mum comes back, I can explain everything to her, and she won't have to worry," Timothy suggested. He tried not to shiver at the thought of those trees in the distance whispering, devoid of birdsong.
"We'll wait here for another bit, alright? Maybe she heard you calling. Maybe this is all just a stupid misunderstanding and we're all overreacting," his father said. There was fear in his eyes, though. It didn't mar the dark brown like it had done when Mummy died – not yet, anyway – but it was definitely there.
Timothy nodded and flopped down next to Angela. She wriggled under his arm so she could curl up against his side.
"What if Mummy did get taken by the fairies? Ivy said her mother had died. What if she wants our mummy, Tim?" she whispered, eyes huge as saucers.
"Then Dad will go and get her back, or else I will," he promised, though those words sounded a lot braver than he actually felt.
Mum, please come back, he thought. He repressed a shiver as he looked at the forest, the trees swaying ominously, the wood rattling, almost as if it was laughing at them.