Michael giggled and jumped on her again, his head buried in her armpit, his chubby legs kicking everywhere, destroying her neatly made bed.
“Michael, I mean it!” With a big laugh, he rolled off Wendy, but not before sticking a foot into her face.
“Smell! All clean!”
“Michael,” she said calmly, pushing his foot away. “No, thank you. I would not like to smell your feet right now or anytime, even if you have just had a bath.”
Michael gazed up at her before sticking his foot out again, wiggling his pudgy toes around. His tousled, wet blond hair hung over his eyebrows, and his mischievous blue eyes gazed up at her with adoration that bordered on worship. “Kiss them!”
“No.”
“Please, Wendy?” She looked at his chubby cheeks, always reddened and raw, and his full pouty lips, and she gave a sigh of surrender before planting one kiss on the sole of his foot.
“There. No more.” That seemed to be enough for the five-year-old.
“Whatcha looking at? What is that letter?”
Wendy felt her face burning and tucked the envelope back underneath her bed. “It’s nothing, Michael. It’s for grown-ups.”
Michael turned his head. “But you’re not a grown-up.”
The nursery door bounced open, and John stalked into the room, wearing, as he always did, his long cotton nightshirt and sensible brown slippers, looking much older than his fourteen years. His messy straight brown hair was tousled on his head, his heavy eyebrows hiding hazel eyes. From behind his perfectly round spectacles, he peered at Wendy with that infuriating, studious look before grabbing a book down from the bookshelf and curling himself into the rocking chair.
“It’s from Booth. It’s probably a misguided declaration of love.”
“John!” Wendy felt the blush rise to her cheeks. “You don’t know what you are talking about.”
Michael was standing beside her bed now. “Booth? Booth sent you a letter?” He narrowed his eyes. “Booth?”
John pulled his father’s top hat from the rocking chair arm and placed it cockeyed on his head. “Yes. Booth is in love with Wendy, the fool.” He continued reading as if nothing had happened. Wendy felt her heart go cold, and her skin suddenly seemed too tight.
“You don’t . . . you shouldn’t talk about that.”
John raised an eyebrow at her. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Mother. You know how women can be. Hysterical.”
“John, you don’t know anything.”
A wide grin stretched across his thin face, a lock of dark brown hair falling out of the hat and onto his forehead. “I know that you like to meet at the bookshop. I know that you are gone for several hours in that attic before anyone comes looking for you. And I know you have lots of books that you pretend to read, so that you have an excuse to go there, when you really only read about two novels a week, though usually they’re quite sizeable.”
Wendy stood up to face John. “You don’t know anything about Booth and me. We are just friends. He is my dearest friend.”
John rubbed his glasses absentmindedly, something their father always did, and Wendy realized with a shock how much he was beginning to look like George Darling. “Your friend who wants to kiss you.”
Wendy quickly closed the three steps between them and hit him hard on the shoulder.
“OW! Wendy!” Her troubled eyes met his narrow, cynical face.
“At least I have friends, John.”
His face collapsed. Wendy knew very well that John had no friends at St. Mary’s School, that he spent their recess reading adventure books in the library. She saw his mouth curl with betrayal before he spun the rocking chair around to face the wall.
“You should be very careful about those letters, Wendy. You wouldn’t want Mother to find them. You know what she would do. Booth is hardly the suitor she imagines for you.” He gave a loud sigh, as though giving her advice was exhausting him. “Liza’s likely to find them sooner or later, and she will surely give them to Mother. I would try a better hiding spot, perhaps tucked in a book.”
“John . . .”
He raised his hand to shush her and went back to reading The Time Machine. Michael watched them both with wide blue eyes as he sucked on the arm of his teddy bear.
“Michael, that is disgusting. Please stop.” He dropped the teddy bear out of his mouth and reached for Wendy’s hand. She sighed.