It all seemed the height of stupid to Tim, but there was a modicum of relief in the setup. When he’d seen the Last Supper film and the Jesus-in-the-garden piece, he’d reckoned they’d be engaged in something equally blasphemous here, although he hadn’t liked to think what it would be. And while he truly didn’t much care at this point whether the subject of their film was going to be blasphemous or not, he’d rather worried over the possibility that his upbringing would out at the very last moment, and he’d find himself unable to perform according to whatever directions would be recited to him from the other side of the camera.
He needn’t have worried as things turned out. As Wendy moved onto the nursery set and Captain Hook took up a position off-camera, Toy4You approached Tim with a small glass of water, which he handed over. From his pocket, he took a vial and from the vial, he shook out two different pills. He gave them to Tim with a nod that indicated he was meant to swallow them.
“What’re…?”
“Something to help with authentic close-ups,” Toy4You said. “Among other things.”
“What d’they do?”
A smile flicked at the corners of his mouth. Whiskers grew there. He hadn’t shaved well that day. “They aid with the performance we require of you. Go ahead. Take them. You’ll see soon enough how they work, and I expect you’ll enjoy their effect.”
“But— ”
Toy4You’s voice altered. He whispered fiercely. “Take them, goddamn it. This is what you wanted so bloody do it. We’ve not got all night.”
Tim swallowed them. He felt nothing and wondered if they were something to make him relax or to make him unconscious. Were they the date-rape drug? Was that a pill? He wasn’t sure. He said, “Do I put on that nightshirt? I’m John Darling, aren’t I?”
“You’re only half-stupid then,” Toy4You said. “Just stand by the camera till you get the call.”
“What call?”
“Christ. Shut up and see.” And to Peter Pan and Wendy, he said, “You two ready?” And without waiting for an answer, he moved behind the camera and the other young boy and the nightgowned woman took up position: the boy on the edge of the windowsill and the woman kneeling upright on the bed.
Tim saw from the lighting that her nightgown was so sheer that all of her was visible through it. He swallowed and wanted to look away, but he found he couldn’t for she was lifting the nightgown slowly and sensually over her head as Peter Pan advanced upon her. She presented her breasts to him and Toy4You said, “Now,” to Tim.
“But what’m I s’posed to do?” he asked desperately, even as he felt the stirring within him as all of his organs began doing what they were meant by nature to do.
“Getting to bed a bit late, you are,” Toy4You murmured as he filmed the action on Wendy’s bed, where she was lowering Peter’s tights and Peter was presenting himself to the camera. She began to minister to him. “Up to the wee hours reading in the library, you were. Into the nursery you go, only to find your sister and Peter Pan in the midst of tut tut tut. But you fancy Peter yourself once you see what he’s got on him, you do.”
“So I…? What do I do?”
“Fuck it, just go onto the set. Follow your inclinations, for God’s sake. I know you have them. We both know you have them.”
And the worst was he did. He did. Because even as they were holding their whispered conversation, Tim couldn’t tear his eyes away from what was being filmed. And he didn’t know what it meant that Peter unveiled himself engorged with blood and Tim kept watching and his body kept reacting and he wanted to watch and he wanted something else only he didn’t know what it was.
“Go. Bloody go,” Toy4You said. “Peter and Wendy will show you what to do.” He looked away from the camera for a moment, directing his gaze to Tim’s crotch. He smiled. “Ah. The miracles of modern medicine. Don’t worry about a thing.”
“What about him?” Tim asked as Toy4You turned back to the camera.
“Who?”
“The… Captain… You know…”
“Don’t worry about him either. He fancies Peter. Always has done. Fancies all the Lost Boys. Fancies you as well. He’ll show up and sort you out for consorting with Peter once Wendy exits stage right. Okay? You got it? Now get bloody in there because we’re wasting time.”
“How’s he going to sort me?”
Toy4You shot him a look. “Exactly the way you’ve wanted to be sorted from the first. All right? Got it?”
“But you said you would— ”
“Fuck it, you idiot. What did you really expect? Death on a biscuit? Now go. Go.”
MILNTHORPE
CUMBRIA
Deborah drove back to the Crow and Eagle in Milnthorpe as the fog began to billow across the road in a great grey mass like the effluent of a thousand smokestacks somewhere out in the bay. The railway viaduct that took trains into the Arnside station was only a shadowy form that she passed beneath on her way out of the village, and Milnthorpe Sands was entirely lost to view with only the wading birds closest to shore punctuating the grey with a darkness that huddled and shifted in a solid mass as if the ground itself were sighing.
The headlamps of cars did little to pierce the gloom, merely reflecting the light back onto the driver. When, occasionally, a pedestrian was present— foolhardy enough to be walking along the verge in such weather— he emerged without warning as if popping out of the ground like a Halloween ghoul. It was an unnerving experience to be on the road. Deborah was grateful when she reached the car park of the inn without incident.
Tommy was waiting for her as he’d promised. He was in the bar with a coffee service in front of him and his mobile pressed to his ear. His head was bent and he didn’t see her, but she caught the remainder of his conversation.
“Quite late,” he was saying. “Shall I come to you anyway? I’ve no idea of the time and perhaps you’d rather… Yes. All right… Quite anxious as well. Isabelle, I’m terribly sorry how this has… Indeed. Very well. Later, then. Right…” He listened for a moment and evidently felt Deborah’s presence for he turned in his chair and saw her approaching. He said, “She’s just arrived so I daresay we’ll be off in a few moments,” with a raised eyebrow in Deborah’s direction, to which she nodded. “Very good,” he said. “Yes. I have the key with me.”
He rang off. Deborah wasn’t sure what to say. Two months earlier, she’d concluded that Tommy was sleeping with his superior officer. What she hadn’t worked out was how she felt about the fact. It was a given that Tommy had to move on with his life, but the how of his moving on was something that made her unsure of her footing with him.
She settled for, “Could I have a coffee before we leave, Tommy? I promise to swill it like a priest going after the altar wine.”
“Swilling won’t be necessary,” he replied. “I’ll have another. I’d prefer both of us wide awake for the drive. It’s going to be a long one.”
She sat as he went to place the order. He’d been doodling on a paper napkin, she saw, as he’d spoken to Isabelle Ardery in London. He’d sketched a rough cottage in a wide meadow somewhere, with two smaller buildings and a stream nearby and hillsides rising on either side. Not bad by the look of it, she thought. She’d never considered Tommy as an artist.
“A second calling,” she said to him, indicating the sketch when he turned to the table.
“One of a thousand similar places in Cornwall.”
“Thinking of going home?”