The magic of dreams seemed more attainable than forgiveness, if equally unreal. Elisa admired the professor’s passion. She wanted to experience that magic again but she didn’t know if she could anymore. It was like there was a shadow within her now. In the dark auditorium, among the tiered rows filled with other listeners, Elisa began to wonder what she was even doing here. She was among her people tonight and yet she still felt like an interloper. On the stage at the front of the hall Professor Alexander Newman was concluding his paid lecture. The large screen behind him projected the title of his talk: Fairies, Folklore and Dreaming in Victorian Children's Literature.
For the last ninety minutes Elisa had watched the handsome older man discuss the finer points of theosophy, mythology, the nature of collective fantasy. Perhaps she hadn't come for the literary wonder. Maybe she just wanted to reconnect with the professor somehow.
To feel worthy again. Seen and understood.
"In conclusion," Professor Newman said, "we must understand the impact our histories can have on us. Because the past isn't fixed at all. Or dead."
Elisa shifted in her seat at those words.
"It lives, more than just a ghost. It exists through the stories we tell, constantly open to reinterpretation. Carroll's Wonderland, Barrie's Neverland, Burnett's Secret Garden. We can see how they've shaped our collective dreaming; the way we imagine and discuss fantasy. They still influence our spiritual understanding of the otherworld – that place where the fairies of Celtic folklore were said to reside. There's no doubt these stories enrich our lives. But if we're diligent perhaps they can give us a glimpse of something far greater. The very arc of our souls and what it means to be human. Or even divine. Thank you."
Modest applause in the auditorium. Professor Newman smiled graciously for a few moments and then began disconnecting his laptop from the projection-system.
People got up and started to make their way out of the hall. Others mingled in small groups. A few went down to the stage to speak with the professor. Elisa sat where she was and watched until they left. As the professor packed away his laptop he glanced up from the stage and seemed to notice her. He squinted, then smiled. Elisa took her cue and made her way down to the stage. She felt like she was trembling dangerously on the edge of something. This man had once meant so much to her.
"Hello, professor."
He grinned, apparently delighted. "Elisa Karris. My God, it's lovely to see you. It's been what – eight years?"
She nodded. "I guess time flies when you become an adult."
"Indeed it does."
She tried to smile but she already had tears in her eyes. Earlier this evening she promised herself she wouldn't let this happen. The professor frowned when he noticed.
She tried to blink the tears away, gesturing at the projector screen behind him. "Folklore and philosophy? The power of dreams? It was beautiful and it took me back. I felt like we were talking in the gardens again."
He smiled sweetly, almost bashful. "Thank you, Elisa. And please, call me Alex."
“The part about Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the Cottingley Fairies hoax was fascinating, and quite heart-breaking. We all want to believe in something, don’t we?”
“It’s human nature. The desire for magic and meaning.”
"Are you still at Hillcross, Alex?"
"I am. And you? Did you make it to Cambridge?"
Again she tried to smile, but she was far too emotional. "I did. With some mentoring from a friend. Thank you for that."
"Oh, you're very welcome. I'm so happy for you. I tried to contact you several times, you know. Just to see how you were doing. It became increasingly difficult.”
She glanced away at the reminder of her absence. “University was all consuming, then my career took off. I didn’t want to bother you any further.”
“Forgive me, Elisa, but you seem troubled. Are you all right? Is there anything I can do?"
"I'm fine," she said quietly, shaken that she'd already let the mask slip like this. "It's been a very difficult eighteen months, that's all."
"What did you end up doing, career-wise?"
"Actually, I'm a commissioning editor for Hodder & Stoughton. This is my fifth year."
He smiled but there was such worry in his eyes now. He could obviously sense something wasn’t right. "You made it then. That’s wonderful. You're living your dream life."
"In a manner of speaking." Her voice sounded so tiny in his presence. She remembered that look of paternal concern. She recalled what a comfort it had once been, to be cared for like that. "You said I seem troubled, professor. Why? The tears?"
"No, Elisa. I remember those eyes. They're different. Full of loss, I think."
She peered at him, unable to stop the sheer sadness suddenly swelling in her throat. She quickly looked away.
"You can really see all that after talking to me for ten seconds? Wow. I know I bothered you a lot at college, professor. Asked more of you than was appropriate. But I'm not that lonely, fatherless girl anymore. I have a whole life now."
She was horrified at how unconvincing she sounded.
"Forgive me, Elisa. I honestly didn't mean to intrude or overstep my bounds. I'm extremely pleased to see you."
"I really don’t mean to bother you. I just wanted to say hello."
"You never bothered me. I adored our discussions and I’ve thought of you often. You mattered a great deal to me too. It’s why I kept trying to contact you."
She felt so broken standing there in front of him. She wanted to throw her arms around him, bury her face in his neck and be held tight. She wanted to tell him everything she’d been through, but she couldn't. Suddenly she was on the verge of losing it right there on the stage.
"I'm...I'm sorry, professor. I shouldn't have come. I just really wanted to see you again."
His eyes were desperate now. "My darling, what's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. I'm just tired and overworked. I'm off this week though. Tomorrow is a very important day."
The professor moved towards her. Immediately Elisa took a step back. She didn't trust herself to keep it together.
He gazed at her. "Elisa, are you grieving someone?"
She stared back at him. Eventually she nodded. “For the last year I’ve been trying to find a light. Hunting through old journals. I’ve been hoping for magic like a silly little kid. But I think it might’ve been a dream.”
There was a strange look in the professor’s eyes. “What do you mean?”
She shook her head and almost laughed at her own foolishness. “I mean folklore and philosophy. All those things you taught me. Purposeful enchantment. I’m really trying to see the world through those eyes, but I don’t know if I can believe in that stuff anymore."
"I can see the anguish, Elisa. Please tell me what's going on."
"I'm sorry, professor. I’m a mess. I never should have come." She turned to leave.
"Elisa, wait..."
"No, you deserve better than this. I don’t have the right. I won’t take up any more of your time, but thank you for always being so kind to me."
"Sweetheart, please don’t walk away. I promise, whatever is going on you don’t have to face it alone. Just talk to me for a moment..."
But Elisa was already hurrying from the auditorium. She couldn’t bear to look back.
Elisa sat in tears on the top deck of the bus, watching London’s night-time streets pass beyond the window. She had her ear buds in, trying to use classical piano to block out everything. She couldn't stop thinking about her interaction with the professor. She hadn't wanted her first meeting with him in eight years to play out like that, and it was all her fault. At sixth form he'd been nothing but respectful and supportive. So generous with his time. But it was more than that. In her heart he was more than her mentor. She cared for him deeply and he always returned the affection. Far more than her own father ever did. Those brief, formative years at Hillcross had been the best of her life.
It wasn’t right to reappear after all this time and suddenly dump her despair in his lap. She couldn’t bring herself to be that selfish. She loved him too much.
When she finally got back to her flat in Chelsea she took off her jacket, hung it up with her bag and went straight into the study. It was smaller than the study she'd once shared with Jacob but it suited her purposes as an editor. Her desk faced the windows, bookshelves on either side running the entire length of the walls. She had numerous proof-copies from work; the efforts of their new clients, as well as her own private collection.
Instead of sitting at the desk she went to the right-hand bookcase and removed her most treasured possession. An almost immaculate green cloth hardcover beautifully decorated in gilt. It was a 1911 first edition of Peter and Wendy published by the very company she now worked for, but she hadn't obtained it through contacts in the industry. It once belonged to her great-grandmother. Elisa received it as a gift when she was thirteen years old. With her mother’s modest wealth she managed to obtain far rarer and more valuable books since then. But this had always been her favourite. She carefully opened the volume and reread the ink inscription on the inside cover for the thousandth time.
For little Marjorie. The magic is real, you know.
-- J.M. Barrie, November 1936.
Elisa wanted to believe that. She wanted it more than anything. Forgiveness seemed a distant, intangible thing. But a place where lost children could live out the lives that had been stolen from them; that felt like the last hope of a rapidly darkening world.
Elisa sat for a while in the lounge, trying to finish a bowl of microwaved pasta. Eventually she had a quick shower, put on her bathrobe and finally went back into her bedroom. She paused for moment and peered again at the huge white wings she’d crudely painted on the wall above her headboard. The flat was a rental, expensive for the location. She would never be granted permission for such a thoughtless act. She had done it on impulse nearly three weeks ago. The tray and brushes still lay congealed in the corner.
Elisa changed into her nightdress and sat for a moment on the bed, staring at the impromptu wings on the wall. Tears came to her eyes again. She thought about how worried the professor seemed, how badly she wanted to tell him everything, but he deserved far better than what she had to offer.
She turned on the lamp, got into bed and picked up the old leather journal resting on the bedside table. The cover was a beautiful shade of burgundy. She weighed the volume in her hands for a moment like a bible. A sacred text. Part of Elisa felt like a fool for still dreaming like this. A lost soul. Still daring to hope that her great-grandmother's words might be true somehow. She had read those words countless times, but she opened the first page of the journal and read them again.
Mum and Dad think I'm being absurd. I'm a young woman now they say, and should have put away childish things. But I know what I saw. It wasn't a dream, or a mere figment. It was real. I may have been only nine years old, but I still remember it like it was yesterday. November 16th, 1936. It came dipping and weaving into my room that night through the open window, bright as an angel. Tiny as a firefly. Light of the Tinker. I endeavour to keep these thoughts cogent with this journal and to never forget what I saw. No matter how bizarre or unlikely it might seem to anyone else. Truth be told I don’t understand the mechanics of it. How my parents happened to be at the same party as Mr Barrie, or why he gifted me that book – but I know what I saw. It was a living light from another world. Some larger reality. And the bells. The soft, sweet sound of tinkling bells. Dear Lord, these words do it little justice. Like a vision come to life. It was and shall forever be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
-- Marjorie Fulton-Granger. June, 1947
*
Elisa woke with a knot in her stomach. She didn't feel even slightly rested. Today was the day. She couldn’t run from it any longer. She needed to know, if not for David's sake then for her own peace of mind. She needed more than journals and dreams. She showered, dressed and then made the short drive to Hampstead.
Claremont Park was a private care home located in a renovated manor house on the edge of the heath. It was expensive but worth every penny. Their dementia care was second to none.
Judith Karris had been living there for almost six months. At forty-nine years of age she was Claremont Park's youngest early-onset patient. Elisa signed in at the reception and eventually spoke to her mother’s primary nurse who told her that Judith was having a late breakfast in the dining hall.
She found her mother at a table by the large windows, gazing out at the lush greenery of the inner courtyard. The older woman was impeccably yet casually dressed in slacks and a teal blouse that complimented her figure. Her makeup was subtle and flawless. Elisa couldn’t help but smile at the woman’s effortless grace, no matter where she seemed to be.
Mum’s lucidity wavered a lot these days but was often stronger in the mornings. She turned her head, saw Elisa approaching and grinned with delight.
"My baby girl! What a lovely surprise! What're you doing here so early?"
Elisa smiled with relief as she took a seat at the table. "Just checking up on the debutante. Broken any hearts lately? The men have their eye on you. Can’t say I blame them."
Mum laughed and waved away the good-natured teasing. "I'm here for the best private care money can buy, not stolen kisses from retirees. Although…"
Elisa chuckled but she waited a beat before speaking again. "I know you never want to hear this, Mum, but you really don't need to be here. You can go home and I'll have a live-in carer ready by the end of the week. You'll have your privacy back. Your dignity.'
Mum gave her the look, all stern and proper. "I have my dignity, Elisa. And privacy, thank you very much. It's my money, sweetheart. My choice. This is where I want to be." Judith Karris pushed the tray of tea and cakes across the table towards her daughter. "Try the muffin. It's sublime."
"Mum, no more jokes. You're still so young. You have far more good days than bad. You can still take care of yourself. I don’t understand why you're putting yourself through this. If you don't want a carer, I'll move back in. I can work and take care of you too. People do it every day."
"That's not your responsibility, Elisa. I'm not here on a whim. You know that. I might have more good days than bad, but I'm losing little pieces of myself every week. And it's getting worse."
"You don't have to protect me, Mum. Not from you."
Judith had tears in her eyes now. "I don’t want to keep rehashing this. I'm a grown woman. I can make my own choices. Besides, you have Jacob and David to worry about. Focus on your family. Exalt them."
Those words stung far deeper than Elisa was prepared for. She closed her eyes and swallowed. "Mum, I didn't come here to fight. I wanted to talk about Nana Marjorie."
"You want to talk about the journal again? J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan and all that?"
"Yes. Did she ever talk with you before she died, about what she saw that night in 1936?"
"You know she didn't, Elisa. She was from a different generation. I only gave you that journal because you so loved your stories. And she did too."
"But she must've said something. For God’s sake, she writes like it was the most profound experience of her life."
"It was a dream, Elisa. A lonely little girl's dream confused for reality. Fairies aren't real."
"I know that."
"Then what exactly are you searching for?"
"Certainty, Mum. That death isn’t everything. That my little boy is out there somewhere. That's what I'm searching for."
A look of horrified recognition suddenly bloomed in her mother's eyes. She pressed a hand to her mouth in shock.
"Dear Lord. Something happened, didn't it?" Elisa nodded. "David's gone, isn't he?" Her voice was trembling now. "My grandson is dead?"
"Yes." "How long?"
"Eighteen months ago."
Despair withered her mother's pretty face. "How...how many times have you had to tell me that?"
Elisa laughed sadly. "It doesn’t matter. It’s his birthday today. I guess that’s really why I’m here. I miss him, Mum. So much. I want my little boy back. I know that's impossible but I need to know he's ok. That he still exists. Any mother would want the same."
Judith Karris peered tearfully at her daughter for a moment. "My poor, sweet child. I'm so sorry..." She immediately got up from her chair, hurried round the breakfast table and pulled Elisa into a fierce embrace.
After seeing her mother it took all the strength Elisa had to come back to Kensington Gardens. Even so, she couldn't return to the statue beside the river. Not yet. Just the thought made her feel like an open wound. The entire park had once been a sacred place for her. Especially the statue of Peter. But since David's death it felt tainted somehow. Darkened. She often brought her son to the park on the weekends. He knew who Pan was. He had sat enraptured a number of times, beguiled by the colour and music of the 1953 Disney animation.
Instead of visiting the statue Elisa walked further down the river and sat for a while at the Princess Diana Memorial. A large granite oval stream-bed on the grassy slope. Children were already giggling as they traipsed and splashed their way through the water. Some were holding their parents hands while others adventured alone.
Elisa was soothed somewhat by the delight of the little ones. She took her set of keys from her handbag and peered again at the keychain the professor had given her eight years ago. The golden star with its spiral at the centre had always been such a comfort. But after everything that happened she’d been tempted a number of times to get rid of it. So far she’d been unable. It felt like a part of her now.
“Second star to the right,” she muttered with a smile. “And straight on till morning.”
She turned it over and read the inscription on the back. Faith, trust and pixie dust. God, how she wished that were true. More than just a sweet notion. With a sigh she put the keys away. She was about to check her phone again when she noticed Susie passing through the gate to make her way up the slope. Elisa’s heart sank but she couldn’t run from this. Not today.
The attractive blonde cut a striking figure in a dark blue dress and boots, a suede jacket folded over her arm. Elisa called an hour ago, insisting they meet. She could see that Susie was worried.
She sat down beside Elisa on the rim of the granite memorial. "Ok, so what couldn't wait till tomorrow night? To be honest I've had a sick feeling in my stomach since you called."
“I really don’t know how to say this. But I have to tell you something."
Susie peered intently, like she was bracing herself. "Are you having an affair? Is that why you’ve been so distant these last few weeks? You're seeing someone else?"
"No, no, nothing like that."
Her expression softened. "Then what is it? You can talk to me, Elisa."
She took the plunge and finally told her the truth. "I was married, Susie. Technically I've been married the whole time we've been dating. The divorce was only finalised a week ago. We separated before I met you though, I swear. I haven't talked to him since then."
Susie frowned, visibly stunned at what she’d been told. "I..."
"I’m sorry but there's more. We had a child together. Jacob and I. But eighteen months ago I pulled our four year old boy from the pond in our back garden." Elisa shook her head. Even saying it out loud; it still didn’t seem real. "Six months later Jacob told me to leave. So I moved out. I surrounded myself with work. Eventually I met you, and you were so incredible. I just...I buried myself in you. All the sex and affection. Feeling special again. Feeling human. But I'm still right there in that garden."
"Jesus…"
"I never meant to hurt you, baby. I swear. I didn't mean to hide all this from you."
Susie scowled at her. "Oh, but you did. Of course you did. I can't imagine what you went through. I really can’t. But you should've told me. I could've helped you. Did you think I’d care that you were married? That you had a kid? Do you think I’m that petty?”
“I don’t know what I thought, babe. I was in pieces.”
“You’ve kept me at arm’s length this whole time. I knew something was wrong from the moment we met."
"I know. I’m so sorry.”
She could see the conflict in Susie’s eyes. Sympathy battling with anger. "Why the hell are you even telling me this if you've been lying so easily for the last ten months?"
"Because you deserve the truth and I can't keep running. I just can't, not today. It's why I took a week off work. Today would've been David's birthday."
Susie sat speechless for a while, caught in a cycle of staring at her and looking away.
"Baby, the last thing I wanted to do was hurt you. But I felt decimated. I lost everything. I’ve spent the last year searching for a light that isn’t real. Chasing fairies. Holding on to fragments in an old journal like they mean something. As if that proves my boy still exists out there somewhere. Please try to understand. You know how much I care about you. Surely you can feel it every single time you touch me? I didn’t fake any of that.”
There was too much anger and hurt in her girlfriend’s eyes. “That’s not the point, Elisa. You lied to me this whole time. If I can’t trust you about something this important then how can I trust you at all?”
“I was in hell, Susie. You’re the only thing that made this bearable for me."
Susie peered at her again, her eyes wet with tears. "I just wanted to be your girl. I thought I was."
"You are."
"But I'm not. Not really. I'm your escape. I’m sex and affection, like you said." Elisa reached out for her but Susie snatched her arm away. "Don't touch me. I knew there was something. I kept trying and trying but you wouldn’t let me in."
"I'm trying to let you in. Right now."
"This has nothing to do with me. You’ve made that abundantly clear."
"Susie, please..."
"I thought we were falling in love."
"We are."
“No, we’re not.” Susie got up from the rim of the memorial and peered down at her. "I'm sorry you had to go through this. Truly, I am. But I’m not a comfort blanket, Elisa. I’m a grown woman and I have no idea who you really are. So, I’m done. I hope you can find a way to forgive yourself about your boy because I don’t think that was your fault. Tragedies happen." She leaned over for a moment and kissed Elisa’s cheek. “Be safe, ok?”
“I’m sorry, Susie. Please don’t go. Just give me a chance to make it up to you. To explain myself better.”
“You should delete my number. I don’t think I can answer if you call.”
Elisa watched her walk away, dwindling into just another anonymous figure in the park. For a while she didn't move or stir. She simply closed her eyes and did everything in her power not to burst into tears.
Elisa struggled to maintain her composure on the brief journey back to Chelsea. There was a knot in her stomach. The awful recognition of how badly she’d messed up. Elisa was sure she’d lost Susie forever. Their relationship was over because she’d been unable to share the awful truth of her life with the one person who deserved to know. Now here she was, alone again with her thoughts.
Like spiders in her mind.
By the time she got back to the flat she was in tears, mascara running, hands trembling just to get the key in the front door. Once inside she dropped her handbag, marched into her study and immediately began dragging entire rows of books from their shelves. For some reason she expected it to feel like a relief, but it wasn't. It felt absurd and immature. At this point she no longer cared. There was something incandescent within her now, and it burned.
Suddenly she realised what she needed to do. All this time chasing fairy tales like some idiot lost on the edge of dreams when she could have been grieving her son. She could have been forming a genuine, healthy relationship with someone who wanted to love her.
A dark alchemy seemed to bloom within her.
She went into the kitchen, snatching up the sharpest knife she could find. Then she stormed into her bedroom. She froze for a moment, peering at the huge white wings she had painted so haphazardly above her headboard. Now she recognised the insanity of it. How far she’d fallen since pulling David from the water. Would anyone in their right mind want this?
With teeth clenched Elisa pulled her gaze away from the painted wings and went straight to the leather journal resting on the bedside cabinet. Elisa could hear herself crying as she tossed it open on the bed and began slashing at her great-grandmother's handwritten pages with the knife. She had given eighteen months of her life to a lonely girl’s fantasy. Elisa quickly abandoned the knife and began tearing pages from the journal by hand. Still, there was no sense of relief. The rage couldn't sustain itself for long. Soon the fire within her cooled into embers. Halfway through destroying the book Elisa found herself sliding down the wall to the floor. Her fury spent.
Only tears remained.
She sat there silently for a long while, trembling, until finally she reached into her jacket for her phone and dialled a familiar number. She waited, then asked the nurse on the end of the line if it would be all right to speak with Judith Karris.
At last, the most comforting voice in the world. "Sweetheart? Is everything ok?"
"Mum, I miss you so much. I miss the professor. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore."
"Listen to me, Elisa, for the love of God. I know this is a nightmare. I know how much it hurts to see me like this. But I have the best possible care. And you, sweetheart…you have Jacob and David. Draw strength from them. Love is everything, Elisa. Don't let my disease rob you of that. Please. Don't you dare let it steal your light. You hear me?"
"The light isn't real, you know,” Elisa muttered into the phone. “The magic. It's bullshit. It's just pixie dust."
Judith sounded confused. "Pixie dust? Are you talking about my grandmother's journal? J.M. Barrie? Peter Pan?"
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters. You adore that book. I…I know we spoke this morning. But it’s all so fragmented now. Sweetheart…is something wrong?”
Elisa squeezed her eyes shut as she sat there on the bedroom floor, surrounded by slashed and torn pages like fallen white feathers.
She woke later that night with the sense that something was watching her. A presence that was almost alien. For a few seconds Elisa was utterly lost in the frightening sensation; the air around her seemingly charged with static. A moment later she realised that something was darting to and fro just beyond her window. Something small but luminescent, like an incredibly bright firefly. It was casting a shifting, unearthly glow into the room.
It was the most beautiful thing Elisa had ever seen.
She could hear the faint tinkling of bells. It made her quiver with disbelief. Her first instinct was that it couldn't be real. She was dreaming. But then sheer adrenaline flooded through her, snapping her mind into an almost crystalline wakefulness. The light was still there.
"Holy Mother of God," she gasped.
The moment she pulled back the bedcovers the light outside seemed to sense her movement. Immediately it withdrew. Elisa leapt from the bed like a child and raced to the window.
"Please, wait!" she screamed, half delirious, but the light had already spun away, arcing up and over the roof of the building with incredible speed, a strange blur left in its wake like a momentary afterimage.
Apart from the distant sounds of traffic the night was perfectly still again. Perfectly ordinary. No bells, or light. But Elisa just stood there in her nightdress at the window, her heart thudding in her chest. She began to wonder if she was finally losing her mind.
*
When Elisa woke the next morning she was equal parts excited and uncertain. She thought her mind would be racing for hours, that she wouldn’t be able to sleep. But that didn't happen. It was like a gentle wave had washed over her the moment she got back into bed. The most soothing feeling she'd experienced in a long time. She’d fallen asleep within minutes.
Now Elisa just sat up in the morning light, reeling from the impossibility of what she'd seen. She touched her cheek and frowned with a smile. It felt like she'd been kissed there in the night. A familiar kiss, as if from an old friend.
She laughed out loud at the thought of it.
As the morning stretched on the feeling of being kissed by something wonderful began to fade. The incredible events of the previous night began to seem more and more like a dream. A vivid, inspiring dream, but a fantasy nonetheless. That didn't really matter to Elisa. She felt like she'd been given a gift. Touched by grace in some powerful way, like her desire for proof of a spiritual world had finally bubbled up from the depths of her subconscious – taking the form of her great-grandmother's words. The very thing she’d been obsessed with for the last year.
"Light of the Tinker," she murmured to herself and laughed.
If Elisa had been given a gift then she wanted to give something back in return. She already knew what she needed to do. She knew what the light had been silently trying to tell her. To be brave and do the thing she'd been avoiding since that awful day eighteen months ago.
She needed to return to Kensington Gardens, to the statue of Peter. She needed to face her trauma.
"You can do this," she told herself.
Elisa wasn't about to go back there empty-handed though. She remembered the modelling clay she bought for David a while ago. There were paints too. It was his favourite activity; the tactile messiness of making things. She still had all his little creations tucked away. She could make something simple and beautiful, like her son's hands used to do. Elisa could show the universe that she was willing to return the favour for the beauty of the dream last night.
She went to the hallway closet, retrieved the box of art supplies and hurried with them into the kitchen. She took the chopping board and dumped it on the table to use as a work surface. She wanted to be brave but knew she couldn't do this alone. She needed to make this right.
Elisa fetched her phone and dialled the enquiry number for Hillcross College. A secretary answered, asking how she could help.
"My name's Elisa Karris. I'm a former student there. I'm actually trying to reach Professor Alexander Newman. I believe he still teaches sixth form. It's extremely urgent. I was hoping you could pass on a message."
"Actually, Miss Karris, since yesterday morning we were given express instructions by Professor Newman to connect you immediately if you called. He's been hoping to hear from you." Elisa swallowed, anxious and touched. "Please hold the line and I'll see if he's available."
Elisa sat there with the phone to her ear, staring at her son’s paints and modelling clay on the table.
Eventually, "Elisa? I'm so glad you called."
"I'm sorry, professor." Her voice wavered. "I'm sorry I ran away. The first time and the other night."
"It broke my heart when you didn't keep in contact."
"I was trying to protect you. So you didn’t have to play father to a sad, lost little girl."
He laughed, exasperated. "Are you really so blind? You weren't just a student. You were everything to me. You still are."
Tears in her eyes again. "I love you, you know."
"I love you too, my darling."
"I know you're busy with classes, but can you meet me? Please. In the gardens on Lancaster Walk, like we used to? I need your help."
"When?"
"In an hour? I need to do something first."
"I'll be there, Elisa."
She hung up and stared at the modelling clay on the table. Finally she opened the tub, scooped two handfuls of the stuff and began to shape it on the cutting board in front of her.
The afternoon light had set the grass of Kensington Gardens aglow. A verdant, almost stunning shade of green spread out around her. Elisa tried to breathe it in; the calm yet vital sensation of spring. She needed the strength. As she strode along Lancaster Walk she was all too aware of the little clay figure she’d made, wrapped carefully in the leather satchel on her shoulder. Like it held an impossible gravity, getting heavier and heavier the closer she got. Her stride slowed, eventually to a stop. God, she was a fool. She was a fool to think she could come here and gaze upon the bronze statue again like it was nothing. Tears sprang to her eyes.
Elisa stood there for a moment, uncertain, feeling the symbolic weight in her satchel. She was sick of feeling so guilty and yet all she wanted to do was turn on her heels and flee. It was then that she recognized the figure up ahead. Dressed in jeans, a green shirt and brown corduroy blazer. Professor Newman was sitting on one of the benches with his laptop bag beside him. He hadn’t noticed her yet, but he was here like he promised.
He glanced up with concern as she approached. She gestured at the empty space on the bench. “May I?”
“Of course.” She silently took a seat beside him. “We haven’t talked in these gardens for such a long time.”
“I know,” she said quietly. “It was one of my favourite things.”
“Mine too.”
Finally she looked directly at the older man. His neat greying beard, his pleasant features and sparkling eyes. “I want to apologise, Professor Newman. For everything. You were right. I am grieving. Life isn’t a Disney movie, is it? No matter how much we’d like it to be.”
The professor smiled sadly. "No, I’m afraid it's not. But call me Alex, ok? I’m not your teacher anymore."
“I’m trying to find some courage right now, Alex. I could use a little pixie dust.”
“You’re braver than you think. I’ve no doubt.”
Elisa wasn’t sure if she believed that, but it was a comforting thing to hear. “I’ve been trying to say goodbye in some way since he died. To forgive myself, you know?” She swallowed and shifted slightly on the bench. “It’s been the hardest thing.”
“Tell me who you’re grieving, Elisa. Is it a child?”
She nodded. "My son. Yesterday was his birthday. He’d be five years old now. We’re sitting in the gardens of the boy who never wanted to grow up, but my son will never get that chance. Because of me. I only turned away for three minutes. Doesn’t seem like enough time for something so awful to happen, does it? But children can be so dammed quick."
The older man seemed genuinely pained at the thought of it. “My God, I’m so sorry.”
“I thought he was playing with his clay, you know. I thought I’d locked the garden door. I was sure of it.” She stopped talking and closed her eyes for a moment. Professor Newman didn’t say anything. “He loved the garden. He loved to run, but he fell and hit his head. He was face down when I found him. I pulled him out of that pond with my bare hands. I did everything I could. Everything you’re supposed to do. Mouth to mouth. CPR. But it didn’t matter. One minute I’m making us lunch and I run to the bathroom, the next I’m literally in hell. And my boy is gone. My bright little bird. He’s just gone.”
The professor shook his head at the horror of it. “None of that is your fault, Elisa. I promise you. It’s horrible and tragic to be sure. But it was an accident. A freak accident.”
"I know that. Doesn't stop it from being a waking nightmare though, does it? I'm his mama. I should never have taken my eyes off him. Not even for a second. It should be me instead."
"And you’ve spent all your time since then searching for magic? For pixie dust? Is that why you attended my lecture?"
She nodded, her eyes wet with tears.
“Professor, last night I dreamt that I saw a light. More than anything I want to believe it was the same light my great-grandmother saw in her bedroom in 1936. She was nine years old. Her parents met J.M. Barrie at a party they were hosting in Bloomsbury. He gifted them a first edition of Peter and Wendy for her. My great-grandmother treasured that edition.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “You showed me that book. I still remember how much you loved it. It’s why I gave you the keychain.”
“But Marjorie always insisted the light she saw was real. She even wrote about it privately. I never told you that. In her journal she called it ‘Light of the Tinker’. Such a pretty idea. I’ve been obsessed with that light since my son died. I need the magic to be real. I need to know that my boy continues.”
Professor Newman peered out among the gardens for a few moments as if deciding something. He removed his glasses, looked at her and smiled with eyes full of sadness. He was handsome to be sure. Despite the neat greying beard and the crow’s feet there was something strangely youthful in his expression. But she could sense so much pain in him.
“There are so many things I want to tell you, Elisa. Things about me, my past.”
“Tell me,” she said quietly.
He was hesitant but eventually he nodded. “Alexander is my middle name. I've gone by my middle name since my late teens. My first name is actually Peter. When you told me at Hillcross how much the story of Pan meant to you, I couldn’t help but be delighted. It felt like fate, you know? Like we’d found each other."
Elisa frowned as she stared at the older man beside her on the bench. "Is that supposed to be a joke?”
"No, sweetheart. Not at all."
"Are you mocking me?"
"Elisa, I'd never mock a grieving mother. I’m just pointing out a strange coincidence. I’m not lying to you, I swear. My full name is Peter Alexander Newman."
She frowned again and stared at her hands in her lap. "I know what you’re trying to do, professor. I guess it’s kind of sweet but I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a commissioning editor for Hodder & Stoughton. I’ve read half a dozen biographies about J.M. Barrie. The loss of his brother, meeting the Llewelyn Davies children in this park. I know how the play was inspired.”
“You’re not listening to me, Elisa. I’m trying to tell you that you’re not alone. You’re not the only one who’s been chasing fairies. I know what that’s like. How badly you want the magic to be real.”
“You lost someone too?”
He nodded. “I lost my brothers and my fiancé on the same night. There was a terrible accident a long time ago, when we were young. A lot of people died. I survived. For the longest time I held myself accountable for what happened and it nearly destroyed me. I had to find a way to forgive myself or I’d be lost forever."
With her jaw clenched she muttered, “And how exactly do you forgive something like that?”
“Slowly. One day at a time. And by recognising that letting go doesn’t mean you love them any less.”
Tears were rolling down her cheeks now. Inside she was shaking. “I feel so utterly broken, professor. And full of rage. I don’t know if I have your strength.”
“It’s not strength,” he said, looking away. “It’s just time and patience. Wounds become scars. But I found someone special at Hillcross. I found you. This brilliant, curious young woman who loved fairy tales like I did. And that helped a lot. More than you’ll ever know. For a while I got to feel like a father. For three beautiful years I had a daughter. I’ve missed her so much.”
Elisa reached out and gripped the professor’s hand, lacing her fingers with his. He didn’t pull away at the sudden intimacy. He squeezed back. They sat like that for a while in complete silence. It was a shocking comfort. Elisa kept her eyes closed and pictured her little boy’s beautiful face.
Eventually she asked, "Do you think he's flying?"
"Your son?"
"Yes. My bright little bird. In that world of dreams and adventure, second star to the right. Do think he's flying there?"
"Of course he’s flying. His mother loved him with all her heart. To a child that is pure rapture, believe me. He’s carrying it with him. I know it. But maybe your son isn’t the little bird, Elisa. Maybe you are. You seem to be the one with the broken wing, after all. The one who’s hurting.”
Elisa didn’t want to let go of his hand now. Instead she opened her eyes and looked at him again, suddenly grateful. “Maybe you’re right,” she said quietly.
“I can help you find the sky again, you know. Do what I do. Just think a happy thought. You’re definitely one of mine.”
Elisa’s laugh almost brought her to tears. “I love you, professor.”
“I love you too. Say what needs to be said. Say your goodbyes. David will know. He'll feel it."
She frowned, exhausted now. "I didn't…I didn’t tell you his name, did I?"
"I'm certain you did."
Elisa sighed deeply, finally letting go of her mentor’s hand. She pressed her palms to her eyes to block out the world for moment.
"You’re a big part of my heart, you know. I still have the keychain. Thank you for always being so gracious with me. Thank you for the pixie dust."
“It’s been an honour, my darling,” he said quietly.
In that moment Elisa wanted to be held by him, just for a little while. She didn’t dare say anything. She just sat there, unable to ask. The professor gazed at her. Then as if reading her mind he leaned over and gently pulled her into a hug. She exhaled deeply, pressing her face against his neck as she let herself melt into the embrace. He cradled her there on the bench. To Elisa it was bliss.
When she finally allowed herself to pull away from him she was actually grinning, her eyes wet with tears. He smiled warmly at her delight.
She knew she didn’t have to say anything. He could feel it.
He finally put his glasses back on and got up from the bench. He put the laptop bag across his shoulder. "I’m here most afternoons between classes, Elisa. You know how to find me now. Perhaps we could talk a little more? Like we used to? Stories and magic. Fairies and folklore."
She gazed at him. “I would love that.”
“Me too.”
“Professor,” she said quietly. “Please tell me the truth. Is your first name really Peter?”
The older man just smiled sadly. “See you soon, little bird.”
Elisa watched him walk away until he was out of sight. She sat alone for several peaceful minutes with her eyes closed.
Eventually she got up and made her way across Kensington Gardens towards the bronze statue beside the river. The statue that had fascinated her since she was a girl. The boy who never grew up was high on a conical mound adorned with rabbits, squirrels and fairies gazing up at him. The child held strange pipes to his lips, frozen in an act of musicality. He had been here now for well over a hundred years. Elisa knew this moment wouldn’t take the pain away. Not even close, but it would at least begin to heal a part of her that had been broken since that day by the pond. She took the clay figure from her satchel and carefully unwrapped it. A little white bird, its wings spread in the act of flight. She brought it to her lips for a kiss. Then, on tip-toes, she reached up as high as she could and placed the painted bird securely at Peter’s feet.
“I can’t wait to hug you again,” she whispered as she gazed up at the fairy-child. “Make friends, my angel. Have adventures. Mummy will stay here for now and try her best to mend her feathers. I love you, David. With faith, trust and pixie dust.”
Elisa swallowed and was about to turn away when she heard something above her. Something strange but familiar. She glanced upwards immediately but saw nothing. The sound seemed to linger for a moment and then it was gone, lost in the everyday rhythm of the gardens. She smiled then, wondering if she’d imagined it. Elisa just stood there beside the bronze statue for a while, gazing skyward and savouring the possibility. She could have sworn she heard the faintest tinkling of bells in the trees beyond.
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