ANTHEA, ROBERT AND JANE were annoyed that they hadn’t been included in the magical visit to Cyril. For the first few days after Christmas all the children debated furiously about whether to tell Cyril that they’d seen him. The girls thought he would be pleased, but Robert and the Lamb were dead against it. Eventually, during a cold supper in the dining room while their parents and the servants were out, the boys won the argument.
‘We don’t want him to think we’re spying on him,’ the Lamb said firmly. ‘It makes me feel like a sneak.’
‘Hear, hear,’ Robert said. ‘I do wish I’d had a glimpse of good old Squirrel – but I might be seeing the war for myself soon enough, if it goes on much longer.’
They were all quiet for a moment. Cyril was a soldier, strong enough to take on any number of Germans. And though Robert had said he wanted to be a soldier when he was a little boy, he’d grown up into a lanky, weedy, bookish young man who wore glasses, and nobody could imagine him on the front line.
He saw their faces and quickly added, ‘Not that I’m thinking of joining up yet – I’m going to finish my exams first, and the war might be over by then.’
The war was spreading across everyday life like a khaki stain; soldiers milled on the streets and crowded the pubs and trains; Father’s train into London was constantly being ‘beggared about with’ whenever there was a big movement of troops. He said you always knew when there had been heavy action at the front because of the long lines of khaki ambulances streaming out of the big London stations and bringing the traffic to a standstill. Suddenly all the young men had gone, and Mother couldn’t get anyone to mend the gutter.
In spite of the war, however, a lot of things carried on as if everything was normal. In the first frosty days of 1915, Father’s cousin Geraldine treated them to a trip to the theatre to see Peter Pan. Cousin Geraldine was great fun and her outings were lavish. She took a whole box at the Coliseum, and when Mother clucked about the expense, she just laughed, and said, ‘I don’t have any kids of my own – so I can’t see Peter Pan unless I borrow yours.’ She was also good for chocolates and lemonade in the interval.
‘I still don’t understand,’ the Psammead said, ‘precisely what you are going to see. Is it a form of worship, like going to church?’
‘No – certainly not! The theatre is heaps nicer than church. Everyone wears their prettiest clothes.’ Edie had been trying to explain the outing to him for days. ‘I’ll be wearing my white party dress and my coral locket.’
‘I have to wear my school suit,’ the Lamb said, ‘but it’s worth it. Peter Pan is a topping play – it’s about a boy who wouldn’t grow up, and he can fly.’
‘It must be difficult to find flying actors,’ the Psammead said.
The Lamb gave a snort of laughter. ‘They fly on wires and it looks like the most ripping fun. There are also pirates and red Indians, a gang of Lost Boys—’
‘And a fairy,’ Edie said. ‘But she’s just a light – you don’t really see her.’
‘How feeble!’ The Psammead yawned (Edie thought the Psammead’s yawns, when his mouth went from horizontal to vertical, awfully sweet). ‘I must get back to sleep – I’m utterly exhausted.’
He had complained a lot about being very tired after their visit to Cyril, and Edie was worried about him. He was too weak for long conversations and he was having bad dreams again, but she was having trouble making the others take her worries seriously. As usual, she was the person who spent most time with him. The Lamb had got a new and splendid bicycle for Christmas, and he was busy cycling around the countryside with Winterbum. Jane and Robert were swotting for exams and buried in books. Anthea’s art college had been turned into a hospital for wounded officers, and she had thrown herself into extra first-aid classes. Edie thought they were hard-hearted. The Lamb said the Psammead was ‘just sulking’ because he didn’t want to repent, but Edie saw bewilderment in his drooping eyes, and lurking terror.
‘I need more strength,’ he said sadly. ‘A little of my power goes every day, and every day I get a little weaker.’
‘When Mother thinks I look tired,’ Edie said, ‘she gives me Benger’s Food. But that wouldn’t be much use to a sand fairy. Do you ever eat anything?’
‘Not for thousands of years, and then it was only sand. Have a nice time at the amphitheatre,’ he said and sank into his bath. ‘I hope your chariot wins.’
‘He’s so tired he thinks this is ancient Rome,’ Edie sighed to Jane when they were getting ready to go out. ‘He’s never been muddle-headed like this before. Suppose he’s ill? Would we call the doctor or the vet?’
‘I’ve told you,’ Jane said briskly, tying a ribbon around the end of her long plait. ‘He’s perfectly fine – I listened to both his hearts, and his temperature’s normal. I’m sure he’ll perk up. You mustn’t let him spoil a splendiferous evening.’
Robert and Anthea couldn’t come to the theatre; Anthea said she was too old for Peter Pan, anyway. The party was made up of Jane, Edie and the Lamb, besides Cousin Geraldine and Mother and Father.
‘I’ll never be too old for Peter Pan,’ Father said as they were shown into their box at the theatre, with its velvet chairs and fascinating view of the stage. ‘Good grief, Gerry – what on earth are you wearing?’
Cousin Geraldine was wrapped in a rich, fur stole; it was beautifully soft and smelled of roses, though it was rather spoiled, in Edie’s opinion, by being decorated with the dangling heads and paws of little creatures.
‘They look like weasels,’ Father said. ‘I feel like attacking them with a broom – do they bite?’
Cousin Geraldine laughed and draped the fur over the arm of her seat – only a few inches away from Edie. Then the music started and the lights in the theatre went down, and Edie forgot about everything else.
Peter was played by a famous actress, who was lovely but rather bosomy for a little boy. However, it was easy to ignore this in the dazzlement of the powerful stage lights and the excitement of seeing Peter and the children flying off to Neverland – ‘Second star to the right and straight on till morning!’
It was even better when the Lost Boys (played by genuine children) appeared, soon followed by the high drama of poor Tootles shooting the Wendybird with his bow and arrow.
It was after the interval that Edie saw something move beside her. She looked at Cousin Geraldine’s fur stole – and only just managed not to squeak aloud with shock. One of the dangling dead creatures had changed into a stout, brown sand fairy, now fast asleep on the floor. She nudged the Lamb, in the chair next to her. The Lamb nudged Jane on his other side.
They all shot each other looks of alarm and mouthed at each other, ‘What shall we do?’
The Psammead couldn’t be got rid of unless woken up, and they daren’t risk waking him in a crowded theatre, right under the noses of their parents. Edie carefully nudged her foot closer to him, so she could feel what he was doing.
Nothing strange happened until the moment Tinkerbell the fairy was dying, and Peter asked the audience to ‘Clap your hands if you believe in fairies!’
Jane, the Lamb and Edie clapped harder than anyone – as the Lamb said in Edie’s ear, ‘Impossible not to believe in fairies when you’ve got one sitting on your foot!’
What happened next almost knocked them out of their seats with shock. A huge voice rang through the theatre, loud as thunder: ‘NOT ENOUGH! CLAP HARDER! BELIEVE MORE!’
Amazingly, no one else in the theatre noticed anything strange, but they clapped and cheered so loudly that Edie covered her ears. Mother, Father and Cousin Geraldine clapped and roared and stamped their feet.
‘MORE! MORE!’ boomed the voice.
It went on and on, until the whole building shook.
And then it stopped, and the play carried on as if nothing had happened.
‘What’s the matter, darling?’ Cousin Geraldine leaned over to put her arm around Edie. ‘Don’t you believe in fairies?’
Her fur stole, with its dangling dead animals, dropped to the floor. She bent to pick it up, and Edie’s heart was in her mouth – but Cousin Geraldine didn’t find the Psammead because, mercifully, he wasn’t there.
‘He’s gone!’ Edie whispered to the others, and they all sighed with relief.
The rest of the evening passed without incident. They enjoyed the play, took a cab to the station and then the train back to Kent, where Field waited with the pony-trap. It was very late by the time they got home to the White House, and they were all supposed to go straight to bed.
But, of course, Jane, the Lamb and Edie immediately dashed up to the attic.
‘I want to see that he’s still there and all right,’ Edie said, ‘but we mustn’t disturb him.’
‘I’d like an explanation,’ Jane said. ‘That wasn’t ordinary clapping – I thought the roof was going to cave in. And Mother and Father didn’t notice a thing.’
‘He’ll be too tired and weak—’ Edie began.
In the candlelight they saw the Psammead sitting in the middle of his sand bath, looking anything but weak – he seemed decidedly pleased with himself.
‘That was marvellous – it’s made a new fairy of me!’ He was plump and sleek, his fur shone, and his telescope eyes bounced about like springs. ‘Let me tell you about the fearful and solemn experience I have been through.’
‘Not before I tell you about ours.’ The Lamb spoke quietly but with extreme firmness. ‘Look here, Psammead, I thought we’d settled these surprise appearances of yours.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You suddenly appeared in our box at the theatre!’
‘No I didn’t. I wasn’t anywhere near your theatre.’
‘You did!’ The Lamb was indignant. ‘And you did something mighty funny with the applause.’
‘Shh!’ Jane hissed. ‘Let him explain.’
‘Thank you, Jane.’ The Psammead was gracious. ‘After you’d all gone to the theatre, I felt so very feeble and ill that I wished and wished to die – and then I had a strange dream. I heard a voice that said I could have my health and strength if I gave in and agreed to start my programme of repentance.’
His mouth stretched into a smirk, as if he expected to be thanked.
‘Er – good for you,’ Edie said quickly. ‘But you won’t have to go away, will you?’
‘No, my dear Edie, it’s a correspondence course that I can do from the comfort of my own sand bath.’
‘What’ll you have to do? Just be sorry?’ the Lamb asked.
‘Yes, but that sounds too easy,’ the Psammead sighed. ‘At first, I was stubborn – I don’t like thinking of myself as a criminal, and I don’t like admitting that any of my past actions were wrong. But if I’m ever to find peace I must face up to one or two little incidents from my days as a desert god, and truly understand the suffering I apparently caused. The moment I gave in, the power poured back into me and I felt – as the Lamb would say – completely top-hole.’
‘But why did we see you at the theatre?’
‘I have no idea. I was in a dark chamber, where my strength poured back in a great roar.’
‘I think I sort of understand,’ Jane said. ‘It was the applause that gave you strength – ordinary applause wouldn’t have done anything. Don’t you see? Everyone was clapping because they believed in fairies! I bet that had something to do with it.’
‘So some sort of fairy worship still exists,’ the Psammead said. ‘Most gratifying! Any time I feel a little out of sorts, I simply need to find a performance of Peter Pan and I’ll be right as ninepence.’
‘But I don’t think he’s quite grasped the exact meaning of what he’s promised,’ Jane said, when they left the attic. ‘He still doesn’t get the first thing about being sorry.’