Archivist's Note: This little fic excerpt was never published; in 2024 I found it in an old notebook I wanted to use, and I can't remember exactly when it was written (my best guess is 2006 or 2007). However, I liked it enough to want to type it up and collect it here alongside my other fics.
I can tell what kind of fic past!me intended it to be - inspired by several other fics I'd read in the same vein, this would have been a story about Wendy walking the line between propriety and pursuing her more 'childish' creative dreams as she grows up and tries to adjust to a more ordinary life after leaving Neverland. Presumably a Peter reappearance was planned with a romantic bent, but I've no idea where I intended that to end up xD (Possibly with a 'living between two worlds' kind of solution for Peter and Wendy?)
“You needn’t walk with me all the way, James. It is only across the street.”
“Nonsense. What kind of gentleman would I be if I let a lady walk home by herself?”
Wendy blushed and allowed James to walk her up to her front door. “You are too kind.”
James peered through the darkened front window. “There appears to be no-one in. Will you be all right?”
“I can let myself in with the spare key,” Wendy assured him. “Goodnight, James.”
“Goodnight, Wendy.” James bent slightly to kiss her on the cheek.
Courteous, not too forward, Wendy noted as she watched him walk away down the road. Very polite and refined. All in all, a proper gentleman.
Wendy retrieved the spare key from inside an empty flowerpot, and unlocked the front door. She had known full well that Mother and Father would be out until late at a dinner party, but if she had mentioned that to James any earlier, he would have persuaded her to let him stay until they returned – and Wendy wanted to make the most of her time alone.
A sense of excitement stole over her as she thought about the hours of freedom that awaited her. She began to gracefully ascend the stairs, before remembering that there was no-one watching, and breaking into a run. Reaching the top of the stairs, she turned – not left, into the nursery, as she would have done some five or six years ago, but right into her own room.
The room was simple: a bed, a wardrobe, a writing-desk and a mirror above that; but it was all hers, and she’d been surprised to find that as she grew older, it was a relief to be away from the shrieking and noise of John and Michael. It didn’t mean she couldn’t still sneak into the nursery to tell them stories, after all.
Wendy sat down at her writing-desk, unable to shake the habit that compelled her to do it gracefully. She unpinned her hair from its complicated, curled style atop her head, and watched in the mirror as it tumbled down around her shoulders. How satisfying. Now, to business.
Wendy moved aside several sheets of decorative writing-paper in order to reach what she was after. Ostensibly the desk was used for writing letters – that was the premise she’d used to persuade her parents to let her have one – and so she covered it with envelopes and fancy stationery in order to disguise its true purpose.
Ah, here it was: the unremarkable, yet incredibly precious piece of paper she’d managed to conceal from her parents and Aunt Millicent every since its arrival nine days ago. She hadn’t even shown it to her brothers, although she knew how delighted they’d be for her.
To Mr. Darling,
Thank you for the manuscript page you submitted to us from your novel, ‘Adventures in Never-Land Vol. I’. We found the script to be a charming and whimsical read, and would like to peruse the entire manuscript in order to consider its suitability for publication.
Please send the manuscript by first-class post as soon as possible, together with a stamped, self-addressed envelope, in order to facilitate our response.
We look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Messrs. Hodder & Stoughton Ltd., publishers
Re-reading the letter for the umpteenth time, Wendy still felt a thrill of excitement go through her. She’d sent off the manuscript page, together with a polite covering letter, without even expecting a reply, and here they were praising her writing and asking to read the whole thing!
She’d used a male pen-name, Peter Darling, for her work, sure that the publishers would never take a woman seriously. She only hoped that Peter wouldn’t mind her taking his name.
No sooner had that thought passed through her mind than Wendy blushed and smiled girlishly at her reflection. Taking his name – that sounded almost like marriage!