Darling Girl: A Novel of Peter Pan(47)

The only thing that gives Holly the self-control not to roll her eyes at her mother is the image of Jack doing the same thing to her. She bites her tongue, takes a too-big sip of tea, and manages to stay silent.

But her efforts aren’t lost on Jane. “Oh, I know what you’re thinking,” she says. “That I’ve been obsessed with Peter from the time you were a little girl. But that’s not the truth. Not entirely.” There are silver tongs and a sugar bowl on the table, and she takes a single lump and drops it into her cup, watching it dissolve as she swirls it with her spoon. Silence stretches between them.

“Do you remember your grandmother?” Jane finally asks. Her voice is wistful.

“Of course.”

“By the time you met her, she was quite old, and worn from taking care of Uncle Michael for so many years,” she says. Jane, of course, makes no reference to the song. “Caretaking wasn’t really in her nature, at least not by the time I was born, no matter how Mr. Barrie portrayed her. She found children, especially her own, quite dull. But she did tell the most wonderful stories sometimes, especially when her guard was down.”

Jane sees the look on Holly’s face and frowns. “About Peter, certainly. But also about traveling as a young girl and seeing the world, rebelling against her parents by working during the war, finding your grandfather and having adventures with him. About living.”

“But you—” Holly starts to say, but Jane cuts her off.

“I never did any of that. Oh, yes, I danced for a few years,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “And I was good. Just not good enough to be one of the greats, the ones whose names go down in history. So I waited and waited for Peter to come, for it to be my turn. I thought that’s when my life would start, like it had for Wendy. But he never did. And then I met your father and had you, and my chance to meet him was over. I kept house and I raised you and I joined all the organizations that a rich, titled lawyer’s wife should. But it’s only since your father died that I’ve really begun to live, to discover what I want. And now I find, as I reach old age, that I don’t care to stop.”

For one heart-stopping moment Holly thinks Jane has guessed her secret, that she wants the youth and vitality that comes from Eden’s blood. To buy herself time, she reaches for the charcoal sketch of Wendy, John, and Michael that rests on the table, pretending to study it. But her mother sees her face and shakes her head.

“I don’t know for certain what you were up to with Eden, and I don’t want to know. I see what you’ve done for Jack—it’s a miracle. But I don’t want eternal life—how terrible would that be? I want to experience life, really live it, before I die. I want strange new countries and whatever comes with them, whether it be late-night flying lessons, pirates, or fairies. I want the moon and the silver stars and the midnight sky all to myself, when everyone else is asleep. I have no husband now, no small children, so perhaps it is my turn at last.”

She looks away for a moment, then turns back to Holly and smiles. “When I say it aloud, it sounds crazy. But finally seeing Peter would count as an awfully big adventure, wouldn’t it?”

“He’s not who you think he is,” Holly says. “He’s dangerous.” She makes her voice forceful, her tone certain. If she told her mother the truth, would Jane believe her? She hesitates. It’s not a chance she wants to take right now. But at least Holly can try to disabuse her of the idea that Peter is still some kind of hero.

But even before she’s finished speaking, Jane is leaning forward, intent on her point. “But even that’s an adventure, don’t you see? He’s not like the storybook. In a sense, he’s become someone completely new, someone Wendy never met.” Jane smiles again. “I think that sounds terrifically exciting.”

Holly shakes her head. Jane will never believe her. “What do you want from me?”

“I want to help,” Jane says promptly. “Surely you must see you’ll never find him the way you’re looking. It’s too random. And driving through all the seedy neighborhoods of London at night—no, don’t deny it, I know that was you—it’s too dangerous.”

Holly exhales hard. “What about you?”

“I’m perfectly safe, my darling. I’m a woman over a certain age. I might as well be invisible.”

Holly starts to protest. Her mother is still beautiful, and even if she weren’t, she’d still be vulnerable, especially in that neighborhood. But Jane puts a hand up. “You can’t understand what I mean. Not yet. You’re too young. But if you’ll let me help you, I promise to curtail my . . . nocturnal adventures. For now. How’s that?” She sips her tea.

“What do you propose?”

“I’ve been searching for him for years. No one alive has studied Peter more than I have, and I swear, I’ve been within a hairsbreadth of him more times than I could count. He’s been at the window—I could feel him there—but he didn’t want me. Once, he must have wanted you. If we work together—if we go to the places I’ve found, together—perhaps he’ll show himself.”

“And what do you want in return?” Holly asks. With Jane, there is almost always a quid pro quo.

“To see him. Talk with him.” Jane looks out the window, although it is so dark out there’s nothing to see. “Perhaps to ask him why he never came back. Not for me.”