Chapter 1

The Nursery Revisited

Wendy Moira Angela Darling was very nearly grown up, and she knew it, and she dreaded it. According to her peers, all that was needed to seal official adulthood was a twenty-first birthday and a marriage, and although Wendy herself had, thankfully, not experienced either, it would only be a matter of a year or so before her time would come, and she would have to resign herself to a lifetime of quiet, upright boredom, as proper society expects of married ladies. Wendy was not, at this point, to know about the events that would soon take her away entirely from this stiff-necked world of dinner dances; indeed, her yet-to-be-had adventure came about in rather an unexpected fashion.

It had been a very dull evening. The party seemed to have dragged on for years, each new face, each potential suitor all merging into one homogenous blur. Wendy's cheeks were sore from smiling and her feet were tired from dancing the same steps over and over again. Her parents, having 'her best interests at heart', had introduced her to a string of well bred and moneyed young men; most of whom Wendy found quite tedious. How, she wondered, could it have come to this? To be dancing repetitive waltzes with repetitive men who asked polite, hollow questions without caring about the response? After the Darlings had arrived home, she said goodnight to her father, kissed her mother on the cheek and wearily climbed the stairs.

As she passed the nursery- now, of course, no longer where she slept- she paused. That room, with all its memories still perfectly intact, lay empty apart from when it was cleaned. John and Michael had their own chambers, Wendy hers; but sometimes she liked to steal into the old room and sit on her bed, and remember. Occasionally she would feel a shade of her childhood brush past her as she gazed out of the open window, and she would shudder and think it was only a chill from the night air. Her mother and father knew nothing of her tendency to do this, and, truth be told, they would have been concerned for their daughter if they were aware of her long hours of reminiscence at such a young age; for memories, as Peter would say, are for the old; not for girls with a lifetime to look forward to. As Wendy hovered by the door, the party rankled fresh in her mind.

'Tonight', she thought, 'I'll sleep in my old bed.'

This small act of rebellion against adulthood thrilled her, and she ran to fetch her night things. It is a good thing for us that she did, or this story would be a great deal more uneventful. At any rate, soon she was in the nursery; somewhat cramped by her child's bed, but falling inexorably asleep nevertheless.

Her eyes took in the painted ceiling, the gas lamps she no longer needed to be turned on (well bred young ladies must not be afraid of silly things like the dark), and the large window, its curtains undulating softly in the slight breeze. It was not long before her weariness was enveloping her. Just as she was gently floating in-between waking and dreaming, her vision drifted out of the window and into the London sky.

Something twinkled there and she blinked.

As tiny a glint as it was, Wendy was sure she could see the form of a boat, getting closer and closer. She frowned sleepily and shifted, believing it to be only a half-dream; but a little knot of hope caught in her chest. Was that really what she thought it was? As she waited with baited breath for the ship (for it was by this time too big to be called a boat) to approach, her mind raced. Surely it could not be that Peter had come back for her after their last meeting? That visit to the Neverland, four whole years ago, had ended with Peter saying she was: 'getting awfully big, but thank you for doing the spring cleaning'.

Now Wendy was sat up in her bed, her heart pounding, watching the ship she knew so well sailing gracefully through the air towards her room.

'I'm too old for this, I really am; Peter would be disgusted by my age, I am nearly twenty! And all those adventures- do I really want to fight pirates now?' But her objections and doubts were ebbing in the face of the prospect of one last, glorious chance to be a child before the inevitable march of marriage, children, money and tea parties.

The ship had reached the window now, and Peter was clearly grappling with the gang-plank, which was eventually passed down over the balcony. Moments passed before anything happened, and Wendy was in an agony of excitement at seeing the boy again. But it was not his silhouette that now appeared on the plank, walking languidly towards her; and Wendy felt a prick of fear begin to rise at the back of her neck. She recognised this figure, she knew his walk- it had haunted her sleeping hours, but it couldn't be-

A gloved hand was placed over her mouth and a chillingly familiar voice whispered silkily in her ear,

'Good evening, my beauty. It has been far too long.'