Darling Girl: A Novel of Peter Pan(55)

“I did, actually,” Holly says. She takes a sip of tea and forces herself to ignore his tone.

“Yeah, well, sorry. You weren’t here when I went out. And I’m not really in school, am I.” It’s not a question and he doesn’t sound sorry at all.

He starts to leave, but she’s not done. “Sit down for a moment,” she tells him, and hears echoes of Jane in her voice. Well, too bad. This is different.

He comes back into the room reluctantly, slides into the seat farthest away from her. She takes a deep breath, tries to hold on to her patience. “Look, I know this is hard, being away. But I have some important work I need to finish here,” she says. “I’m hoping we can go home soon, but I really need you to stay on track in the meantime. That means getting your work done and keeping to the plan. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I get it,” he says sullenly.

“Good,” she says. “Next time, if you want to stay out past curfew, you need to check with me.” She stands up and walks around the table, thinking she’ll kiss him good night. But when she gets to him, she smells beer.

“Have you been drinking?” she says in disbelief.

“No.”

“Jack, I can smell it on you.”

“Somebody spilled their drink. Some of it must have landed on me.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

She leans in to smell his breath, but he turns his head away. “Jesus, Mom. You’re like the police!” He stands and backs out of her reach.

“Jack, listen to me,” she says. Anger mixes with fear, and the fear is winning. “The cells you’re injected with—they’re very sensitive. I don’t know if alcohol affects them, but if you’re drinking, you could be damaging them.”

“Big deal. You can always inject me with more.”

“No, I can’t.” She tries to sound calm. “The supply, the ones that match . . . you have a rare blood type and the source isn’t—I can’t get more of it right now.”

He stands still and looks at her. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I’m trying to figure it out. But you need to be careful for the next few weeks, okay? Only until I find a way to get more.”

“Can you?” For a moment, he looks less like a young man and more like the child she remembers, wide-eyed and scared. It tugs at her, and the last of her anger slides away. Unthinkingly, she reaches out to tousle his hair. He doesn’t move away.

“Of course,” she says, instilling her words with a confidence she does not come close to owning. “It may take some time, but of course.”

She’s relieved when he doesn’t ask anything else.



* * *





She decides to keep the windows open after all, just in case, and wakes at every little sound. She finally falls into a fitful sleep as dawn is stretching over the horizon, and stays in bed past her normal time. When she comes downstairs, Nan is in the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Nan says. “Can I pour you some tea?”

“That would be lovely, thanks.” Holly sits down and takes the tea gratefully. Her head feels as if it’s stuffed with cotton wool. “Where is everyone?”

“Your mother is in the library. She got a call about a charity dinner she’s helping to plan.”

“And Jack?”

Nan grins broadly. “Ed picked him up. He’s taking him to lacrosse practice. Jack was totally chuffed.”

Holly sits completely still. The anger that disappeared last night roars back, white hot, and every word, every thought, is acid. What is the matter with him that he can’t listen? Even after their talk last night. She tries to tell herself that it’s not all his fault, that she’s never explicitly forbidden him from playing, but then she thinks of Eden in that hospital bed in Cornwall and her stomach twists. Jack has so much, and he’s throwing it away. And for what? A stupid game.

“Dr. Darling?” Nan is hovering over her. “Are you all right? You’ve gone pale.”

“Where did they go?”

“The boys? The field is about fifteen minutes away. It’s walkable, but Ed drove them there.” She rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry—he’s an excellent driver. His dad taught him when Ed was ten, mostly to upset our mother. They’ll be fine.”

“No, they won’t.” Dimly, Holly realizes her hands are clenching. She makes an enormous effort to unfold them.

“Excuse me?”

“Jack has a . . . a condition. He’s not supposed to be playing sports right now.”

“I’m so sorry,” Nan says, looking horrified. “He said nothing to me.”

“I want you to give me the address of that field, and then I want you to leave.” Part of her knows she’s being unreasonable, that it’s not Nan’s fault, that she’s overreacting because she hasn’t had a solid night’s sleep in weeks and she’s holding on to hope for Eden by a thread, but the other part doesn’t care. She wants Nan gone.

“Are you . . . are you firing me?”

“Luckily it’s not up to her,” Jane says, coming into the kitchen. She still has her reading glasses on. “Nan, you’ve done nothing wrong. But why don’t you go home for the day all the same, with salary. Consider it”—she eyes Holly—“hazard pay.”