Darling Girl: A Novel of Peter Pan(98)

“Smelling salts,” Jane says. “You’re in shock. Here, drink this.” She holds a glass to Holly’s lips. Holly obediently sips. The liquid is warm and sweet. Tea with honey.

“Better?” Jane asks.

Holly nods. Struggles to stand up, but Jane puts a hand on her shoulder and holds her down. “Sit for a moment.”

Nan stares at them. “I don’t understand,” she says uncertainly. “Do you know Ed’s father?”

Jane nods grimly. “After a fashion.”

“All this time,” Holly whispers. “He’s had someone at the house all this time.”

Jane waves her off. “That doesn’t matter now. Nor does the fact that he could have a veritable army of offspring. The real question is, what do we do next?”

“What can we do? He has all the cards. He has everything except Eden.”

“We can’t do this alone. Not now.” Jane glances at Nan. “Holly, I think you should call Christopher. Meet with him. See if he can help.”

“I don’t understand,” Nan says again.

Jane eyes her. “None of us do, my dear. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t happening.”



* * *





Holly calls from the office, on her cell phone, as far away from the window as possible.

“I need your help,” she says as soon as he picks up. “I need to see you, but not at the house.”

“Why now, after you gave me the slip this morning? What’s happened?” His voice isn’t friendly.

She takes a breath. “I can’t talk, but I promise I’ll tell you everything if you’ll meet me. Someplace private.”

He’s silent a long moment. “There’s a restaurant on High Street,” he says at last. “The owner’s a friend of mine. He has a bar in the cellar. I’ll be at the table farthest from the door.” He gives her the address and hangs up.

Jane wants her to call a ride, doesn’t want her to drive, but Holly can’t bear the thought of getting in a car with a stranger, not after finding out about Ed. Anyone could belong to Peter now. She leaves Nan and her mother at the kitchen table, deep in discussion.

The drive there is an eternity. Every decision she’s made has felt like the wrong one, and enlisting Christopher’s aid now is no different. It’s like walking down a dark corridor, knowing that every step is taking her closer to disaster, but no more able to stop than a moth can avoid the flame. She’ll be burned. She may not survive. But she keeps walking anyhow.

The bar is ancient, the walls covered with newspaper clippings from a different era, the ceiling dark with smoke. There are steps at the back that lead to the basement, an underground grotto with an arched roof and thick stone walls. It’s like a tomb. She places her hand against the wall for support as she descends. The stone is cool to the touch, and vibrating. Surprised, she draws her hand back. The vibrations get stronger, louder, until the walls are shaking. The Tube must be passing by.

Christopher’s in the back as promised, watching for her. Holly doesn’t believe in auras, but she’d swear there was a pool of energy surrounding him, radiating from his body. The tables on either side of him are vacant, other customers kept at bay by the fire he emits.

He nods but doesn’t stand when she reaches him. As she sits she can see why he chose this location—there’s only one entrance, and no one can come in or out without being seen.

Thanks to the candles in the wall sconces, not even a shadow.

There’s a whiskey in front of her, a mug of something steaming in his left hand, which is covered by a leather glove. His right hand is out of sight under the table.

“Not drinking?” she says, nodding at the mug. She doesn’t touch the glass.

He shakes his head, his eyes dark and watchful. “I’m working.”

There’s no time for niceties. She plunges in. “When we spoke before, I didn’t tell you everything,” she says.

“Surprise, surprise.” He cocks an eyebrow. “And now?”

“Now I will.”

This time, she tells him who Peter really is. She explains about magic. And Neverland. About Grandma Wendy and Great-Uncle Michael. About Eden. She leaves nothing out. She doesn’t spare herself.

“What do you want me to do?” he says when she’s finished.

“You believe me?”

He looks at her thoughtfully. “I believe you believe this. I also believe you are in way over your head and it’s liable to get much worse if you don’t get help.”

Holly exhales with relief. A start, at least.

“One thing doesn’t make sense. If this story of yours is true, Ed should be growing the same way as your daughter, right? Faster than normal. But nobody’s mentioned that to me.”

Ed is taller than normal, true, but not abnormally so. He’s handsome and flush with vitality, but so are many teenage boys.

“Maybe Peter was right,” she says slowly. “Maybe it is us.” At Christopher’s blank look, she elaborates. “The Darlings. Maybe there’s something in our blood.” She pictures Wendy of the portrait, then her mother. The glowing health, the seductive smiles, the extended life spans.

“Ed doesn’t have that. He isn’t a Darling like Eden, so he isn’t affected the same way.”