Darling Girl: A Novel of Peter Pan(21)

“It’s okay, Mama,” Eden said. “I can watch him.”

Holly hesitated. Since he’d come home from hospital, it was rare for her to let Jack out of her sight. She’d even put a bed for herself in his room those first few weeks. But how much trouble could he get into, in the short time she’d be gone?

So she left them and ran to the house, breathing in the sharp, sweet scents of spring. She’d grabbed the thermos off the counter and hurried out. She’d been gone for what, maybe five minutes? She’s been over it so many times in her head, but the outcome never changes.

When she’d come back, they were both sitting on a branch of the elm, tucked into the crook, the book open between them. Ten, perhaps twelve feet off the ground. Sunlight dappled their faces, tiny bits of gold. There were no steps, no easy handholds, no ladder to explain how they’d gotten there. How had Jack, who could barely walk unsupported, managed to climb that high?

“Jack, Eden!” Holly called, not thinking. They looked down, startled, and Jack wobbled precariously before regaining his balance.

“Mummy, Eden says she can fly,” he said, excitedly. “She can, can’t she?”

“Don’t move,” Holly said, trying to keep the panic from her voice. “Stay there. How did you even get that high?” She searched the trunk for a foothold. Nothing.

“I have him, Mama. I have him,” Eden said, stretching her hand toward her brother. The branch swayed.

“No, don’t. Sit still, do you understand me? Both of you. Please, just sit still.”

She could run to the house, find a chair or a ladder, but what if they fell while she was gone? She kicked off her shoes, wrapped her arms as far around the trunk as she could, and shimmied up. She managed to get a foot, then two, off the ground. She kept going, gritting her teeth, the rough bark ripping into the soft flesh on the underside of her arms, her bad leg cramping and burning. But she was reaching them. She was almost there. Jack turned to her, smiling, and as he did, his arm jarred the edge of the book. It fell, plummeting toward the ground.

“I’ll get it,” Eden said happily. The faintest sound beneath her voice, like laughter or tiny bells. She leaned forward, as if to push off, and Holly shouted. Fiercely. Terribly. And Eden looked down and saw her face.

All these years later, Holly can still see it, the way the smile, the happiness drained out of her. Her fingers not quite brushing Jack’s as she fell. The horror of her scream. The sickening thud. Then silence, broken by Jack’s cries.

In shock, Holly managed to snag the end of his jumper. She swung him to the ground before tumbling down herself. She left him on the grass and ran to Eden.

“Eden, can you hear me?” No response. Holly felt for a pulse. It was there, but faint and erratic, and there was a horrifying amount of blood.

Oh, God.

“I’ll be right back,” she said to Jack, as calmly as she could. He nodded, crying. She raced into the house to call 999, her fingers trembling as she punched the numbers. “This is Grace House. My daughter’s had a terrible fall. She’s breathing, but not conscious,” she told the voice on the other end, then let the receiver drop.

She grabbed a clean tea towel to stanch the blood, wrapped ice in another one, and pounded back, willing her damaged leg not to collapse.

She sank onto the grass next to Eden.

“Eden, honey, it’s Mummy. I’m going to put something on your head that will make it better, okay? Can you hear me, Eden?”

Still no response. Jack’s breath was coming in hiccuping sobs. He’d left the edge of the blanket where she’d deposited him and crawled closer. He was stroking Eden’s hand, kneeling in a puddle of blood. Holly tried to move him back, but he clung to Eden even tighter, so she gave up.

Carefully, she wiped the blood away from Eden’s head, assessing the swelling and the source. The cut was so deep she could see bone. She placed the towel with ice on the large bump that was developing and held it there with one hand. With the index finger and thumb of her other hand, she carefully pried up Eden’s eyelid. The pupil contracted. She did the same with the other eye, uttered a short, silent prayer of thanks when the same thing happened.

“Is Eden dead?”

“What? No, honey.” She took a few precious seconds to reach out and wrap her free arm around Jack. “She’s hurt, badly hurt, but she’s alive,” she said, hugging him and not letting herself think beyond that. “You know what I bet she’d like? If you talked to her. I need to try and find out where else she’s hurt, so maybe you could tell her a story while I do that, okay?” She gave him a final squeeze, then let him go.

“Can she hear me?” he asked doubtfully.

“Of course she can,” Holly said. She turned her attention back to Eden. She didn’t want to move Eden’s neck—she didn’t have anything to brace it with—so she contented herself with feeling along the length of her limbs. Eden’s left arm was twisted at an odd angle, clearly broken. Holly tickled her toes—Eden never would keep her shoes on—and at the reflexive curl away, relief flooded her so hard she gasped.

Jack had been whispering to Eden, but at Holly’s exhalation he stopped, eyes wide and frightened.

“It’s all right,” she told him. “It’s good—she can feel her feet, can move her toes. See?” She did it again, and again Eden’s toes curled. “If . . . if everything else is okay, it means she’ll most likely be able to walk.”