Through Miranda's Window

Posted on 22 April 2011 by Craig Faulkner

In a change from my normal tirade of nonsensical drivel about real life, I thought I'd try something different. This month I've got back into writing again. With a sudden abundance of spare time and an urgent need to distract myself from the real world for a while, it has proved to be a very therapeutic exercise and will hopefully act as a springboard to bigger and better projects as I start to get a feel for it again. What follows is the first short story I've written since I finished my creative writing certificate at Warwick University last year. For a first attempt after a significant break, it's rough, but I'm sharing it on request nonetheless. I hope you enjoy it.

GOOD DAYS FOR Miranda Cottingley could be measured in inches; specifically those that remained between her and the window ledge of her room on the children's ward. On the bad days, the views were amazing. Good nights were more difficult to measure. Miranda would insist upon leaning on the ledge to look up at the stars, always under the watchful eye of Nurse Gladys.

It was still light when Miranda finished eating her supper. She sat on the edge of her bed wearing a pale blue hospital gown, her bare feet dangling just above the floor. Under the circumstances, it had been a good day. The window had stayed shut and Miranda was still smiling. Gladys sat behind her on the bed, plaiting Miranda's long blonde hair while she gazed out of the window.

'Am I the last one now?' asked Miranda.

'Yes, dear. I'm afraid so,' replied Gladys, not looking up from her task.

Miranda looked down at her hands, cupped together in her lap.

'Do keep still, dear,' said Gladys. 'I'm almost done.'

Miranda returned her gaze to the window.

'I will do it one day,' she said.

Gladys sighed. She'd been doing so well. It hadn't been mentioned all day.

'Please let's not go through this now, darling,' pleaded Gladys. 'It's been a good day. Let's not spoil it.'

She chanced a smile, but Miranda wasn't looking.

'I will do it. It'll be just like Mister Alderware always said. He said I was to be the thirteenth.'

'Mister Alderware also had a pet fly called Horatio. I wouldn't pay too much attention to what Mister Alderware used to say if I were you. Besides, he's not here anymore.'

'I know,' said Miranda. She looked down at her hands again. 'I do miss him.'

'I know you do, darling.'

Gladys fastened a blue hair band around Miranda's pony tail to hold the plaits in place. Miranda turned to look at her.

'Gladys, whatever happened to Horatio?'

'Oh, I'm not sure, dear. I think maybe he went out through the win-'

Gladys winced to herself.

'Just like Mister Alderware,' said Miranda.

'THERE WAS ANOTHER jumper at the hospital last night,' said Mrs Ludlow from behind the newspaper.

On the other side of the wooden desk in their study, her husband looked up from his typewriter. His fingers remained poised above the keys but the words they were about to type were gone.

'Good heavens. Really?' he replied.

'A boy this time. Twelve years old.'

'How many's that now?' asked Lord Ludlow. 'Four? In the last fortnight?'

'Five, I think. But it must be a dozen in total since the winter ended.'

Lord Ludlow sat back in his chair and looked at his wife, the sleeves of her cardigan and the bob of her neat grey hair all that was visible behind the newspaper.

'Do you think that has something to do with it?' he asked.

'I wouldn't have thought so, Arthur. I think we both know what it is by now.'

She folded the newspaper in half and put it on the desk next to the typewriter.

'It's happening again,' she said with a sigh.

'We can't be certain.'

'Oh, Arthur. What else can it be? It's just as Ron once said.'

Arthur pushed the typewriter to one side and stared at the newspaper. A large picture of the hospital stared back at him, framed by the rich, green leather that covered the surface of the desk. The evening sun cast a crisscross pattern across it through the leaded windows behind him.

'Arthur, they're going to close the hospital before all of them go the same way.'

'Can you blame them?' asked Lord Ludlow, looking up at his wife. 'There can't be any left there now anyway.'

'One more, from what I can gather.'

'One more?'

'A girl. Cottingley, I think her name is. I remember Ernest mentioning her before.'

'After all these years… Do you think she could be the one to finish it?'

'I don't know, Arthur. But I think it might be worth finding out before it's too late, don't you?'

DESPITE HIS MODEST means, Ernest Crabtree picked restaurants based on the bill when he needed to make a good impression. That he didn't much care for the food wasn't important. Expensive restaurants tended to serve portions so small that in any other establishment they would be called an appetiser. Crabtree believed that this was because anything larger would give the customer chance to taste it. A pricing system that scales up as the portions scale down eliminated the risk of a second helping, thus preserving the chef's reputation.

To make it more bearable, today he'd chosen a steak. It should have been a safe bet. It was difficult to go wrong with steak. Specify how you like it cooked—medium in Crabtree's case—and the rest should just be a matter of timing. In this restaurant it was more a matter of aesthetics. His plate told the story of what he assumed was a very tiny animal that lived in a vegetable tepee, encircled by a drizzle of something nameless, tasteless and green. The steak itself was so rare he was convinced it ate his salad.

Crabtree stifled a grimace as the waiter set down a saucer containing the bill; a small, flat folder, bound in black leather with gold corners. The name of the restaurant embossed on the front in writing so fancy as to be unreadable. A rumble in the vicinity of his stomach indicated that he was still hungry. It was going to be expensive.

His guest, Mayor Elizabeth Renshaw, took another look at her surroundings as she swirled the remainder of her wine around in its glass. With her free hand she stroked the lapel of her bright red blazer, her thumb brushing an oversized shoulder pad on each pass.

'This is a wonderful place, isn't it?' she asked, staring at a huge glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the centre of the room.

Crabtree watched her with disinterest. Try as he may he could find nothing likeable about the woman. He struggled to trust the ambitions of most politicians, but this one was even more of a mystery.

'Yes,' he lied. 'It's not bad.'

'What did you say it was called again?'

Crabtree looked at the writing on the folder again. Nothing came to mind. He tried to remember what it said above the door. He was convinced it was in the same illegible script. The more he thought about it, the more he realised he'd never paid it much attention. It had a doorman. It looked expensive from the outside. Until now, it had served a purpose for meetings like this. And his assistant knew what he meant when he asked her to make reservations at 'that new place by the theatre'. The name didn't matter. Nevertheless he tried to remember.

'Moirae's, I think,' he said. It was a guess, but a good one.

'Right,' said Renshaw. 'I'll have to make a note of it. Do you have their number? For reservations.'

'My assistant has it. Though I think they have cards by the exit.'

'Right. How was your steak?'

'Brief. Yours?'

'Marvellous. It was gone so fast I hardly had chance to taste it,' she said with a chuckle.

'I think that's probably deliberate. I wouldn't worry.'

'Right,' she said, ignoring him. 'Anyway… Since we're done with the food, we should probably move on to the shop talk.'

'Of course,' he replied, gesturing to her with his hand to carry on. 'Please.'

'Well, as you know I have an election coming up next month. It's going to be a tough one this time around, Ernie. They're gaining on me in the polls.'

Crabtree resisted the urge to scowl at the informality, choosing instead to adjust his tie.

'Indeed,' he said.

'And your hospital isn't really doing me any favours at the moment, Ern. You know what I mean?'

Crabtree pursed his lips and blinked before responding.

'Mayor Renshaw, the hospital has been through a difficult spell at late, but we're getting the situation under control now. My staff are working hard to-'

'Ernie, Ernie, Ernie,' she interrupted. 'That's great. I'm glad you're on top of it. But the campaign starts on Monday and I'm going to need a little more than a promise that “progress is being made” to nail this one. I need to take action, Ern.'

'You're going to close us down early, aren't you?'

Mayor Renshaw shrugged.

'I finally got the go ahead this afternoon.'

'Finally?' said Crabtree, eyebrows raised. 'You make it sound like you've been planning this for years.'

'I'm sorry, Ern. It's politics. If there was some other way, I'd leave you to it. You know that. But your little funny farm is bad publicity at the moment. Kids jumping out of high rise windows don't win votes.'

Crabtree covered his mouth with his hands and sighed, drawing his fingers down his face before resting his chin on them with his elbows on the table.

'We're at a very delicate phase at the moment,' he said. 'I'd beg you to reconsider.'

'No can do, Ern,' said Renshaw, swirling her wine again. 'I have votes to win. I need to be seen to be doing something constructive here. I want to help these kids.'

'You do?'

'Well, of course not. I don't know them. But I need to be seen to be helping them, right? Help a kid; win a vote. You know how it is, Ernie. It's politics.'

Crabtree looked around the restaurant. Waiters in pressed white shirts marched from table to table, carrying plates far larger than they needed to be. Customers sat at tables in pairs or small groups; the men in tuxedos or smart suits, much like Crabtree's own; the women in evening dresses. All seemed to be enjoying themselves in spite of the food. Crabtree envied them.

'Mayor Renshaw…'

'Look, I know you love that place. But it's collateral damage. As soon as the voting is out of the way I'll have a word with some of my contacts and see if we can't get you into the university hospital across town.'

'It's not my job I'm concerned about here. It's my patients.'

'Patients? Plural? From what I've heard there's only one left.'

'And she needs that hospital.'

'Fine. We'll move her in too. Everyone wins. Especially me.'

Crabtree shook his head.

'Mayor Renshaw, this is a person we're talking about. She needs that hospital. I need it.'

'Ernie. I'm sorry. I really am. But it's got to go. It's not doing me any good.'

'But Mayor-'

'You've got until tomorrow morning to get her out of there, Ernie. After that, it's gone. I'm sorry. It's politics.'

'Tomorrow? But you can't. I need-'

'Tomorrow's no good? I could make it tonight if you prefer. Even better. Time is getting on. Make the most of it.'

With some reluctance, Crabtree reached for the bill.

AFTER SUPPER, LORD and Mrs Ludlow dressed themselves to go out and summoned their driver to bring the car to the front of the house. It was waiting for them as Lord Ludlow slipped on his tweed jacket and stepped through the front door of their large country house, his wavy grey hair wafting in the gentle evening breeze. The gravel on the driveway crunched under the soles of his leather shoes. Mrs Ludlow, having replaced her cardigan with a dark green chiffon jacket, followed behind. The driver was waiting beside the car, holding the rear door open so they could get in. He closed it after them.

'Do you ever wonder what it would be like?' asked Mrs Ludlow once the car started moving.

'What what would be like?'

'To be in that position,' she said. 'Like those children.'

'We've been in that position, Laura. We know how it feels.'

'Yes, Arthur. But we didn't jump. I mean what it feels like to actually go through with it.'

'I don't know, dear.'

Mrs Ludlow watched the scenery pass by the windows as they drove on. Fields of green grass lined each side of the road until they got closer to the town, whereupon they gave way to houses and other buildings. As they drove, the last rays of the evening sun disappeared behind the horizon.

'Sometimes I find it hard to remember what it was like,' she said.

'It's been a long time for both of us,' replied Arthur, placing his hand on top of hers on the back seat of the car.

She looked at him.

'Why didn't we do it then, Arthur?'

'Jump, you mean?'

'Yes. What stopped you?'

'You did,' he said with a smile, and gently squeezed her hand.

'Oh, Arthur,' she said. She blushed; her pale, wrinkled cheeks taking on some of the colour of their youth.

'It's true. If it hadn't been for Elizabeth introducing us when she did, we wouldn't be here now.'

IT WAS DARK when Crabtree arrived at the hospital. Here too the evening had already had its fill of long shadows and the longest of all now covered the town in a dark vale. Street lamps lined the path leading to the entrance, spilling cones of yellow light that cast a zigzag pattern towards the metal doors. As he passed, Crabtree glanced at a sign on the wall listing the wards. A tick next to each one indicated that it had already transferred to the new hospital. Just one box remained empty. The doors slid open to let him inside.

By contrast to the street lights outside, the strip lights in the foyer of the hospital made the whole room glow an effervescent white. Each light had its own continuous buzz. Crabtree had grown accustomed to them on his many visits. He stood waiting by the lift doors, listening to the familiar hum of the nearest light and trying to ignore another sign, like the one outside, next to the lift control panel. It wasn't long before the lift arrived to carry him past long empty floors to the last remaining ward.

Crabtree started at the faces that greeted him as the lift door opened.

'Hello, Ernest,' said Mrs Ludlow.

'Laura,' he replied, recovering himself. 'And Arthur. Whatever are you doing here at this hour?'

'We heard about the boy, Ernest,' said Lord Ludlow. 'We feared the worst for this place.'

Crabtree nodded his head and walked past them along the corridor to his office. They followed him as he went.

'I'm afraid your fears are justified,' he said with a sigh. 'I've just come from a meeting with Mayor Renshaw. They're shutting us down. Tomorrow, in fact.'

'Tomorrow?' asked Laura, raising her hand to her mouth. 'But surely they can't do it so fast.'

'They can and they will. It's politics apparently. Recent events have cast a rather poor light on things.'

Crabtree paused outside his office door, fumbling in his trouser pocket for his keys. The evening suit not being his normal office attire, it took him longer than normal to reach them in their unfamiliar depths. He unlocked the door and lead Arthur and Laura inside, closing it behind them.

'The jumpers,' said Laura.

'I'm afraid so,' replied Crabtree, gesturing to the two empty chairs in front of his desk. He slipped off his jacket and hung it on a stand by his large leather chair before sitting down to face his guests.

'Is there nothing Elizabeth can do to help?' asked Arthur.

'Elizabeth,' scoffed Crabtree. 'Mayor Renshaw is the reason we're closing. She's afraid of the bad press. She wants to be seen to be dealing with the situation as best she can. We're being sacrificed in the name of politics.'

'That doesn't sound like Elizabeth.'

'Doesn't it? I'm afraid it sounded a lot like her this evening.'

'But, do you not still have a patient here?'

'Miranda. She's still here. But in the morning I must take her to the new hospital, where she will be herded with the other children there and looked after by doctors and nurses that do not understand her situation.'

'Do you believe she is the last one?' asked Lord Ludlow, looking Crabtree in the eyes.

Crabtree leaned forwards onto his desk, his hands clasped together.

'I'm certain of it, Arthur. And that's why Mayor Renshaw's timing is so terrible.'

'Is she likely to jump?' asked Laura.

'I believe so,' said Crabtree, turning to face her. 'But if it doesn't happen soon, it might not happen at all.'

THROUGH MIRANDA'S WINDOW was a vista of twinkling stars. The winter months had hidden most of them behind cloudy night skies. Miranda was overjoyed to see them again. She knelt on the floor with her arms folded and resting on the window ledge, looking up at the sky. Nurse Gladys sat beside her in a plastic chair.

'They're ever so bright tonight,' said Miranda.

Gladys looked through the window into the night. Sure enough the stars were out in force. The sky was pockmarked with them, each one shining like a miniature beacon. Even under the glow of the hospital lights, she could see their brilliant white radiance upon Miranda's cheeks as she pressed her face close to the glass to peer outside.

'Yes, dear,' she said. 'It's very beautiful.'

A gentle knock at the door behind them caused them both to turn around. Mister Crabtree swung the door open as quietly as he could and stepped into the room.

'I hope I'm not disturbing,' he said.

'Doctor Ernest,' said Miranda, beaming with surprise. 'I wasn't expecting to see you again until tomorrow.'

'Is everything alright, doctor?' asked Gladys.

'My dinner finished early, Miranda, dear,' he said, smiling at the girl. She returned the gesture and turned back to the window.

'Gladys, may I have a word?'

Gladys nodded and walked over to him at the door.

'It's not good news, I'm afraid,' he began. 'Mayor Renshaw is shutting us down.'

'Goodness,' said Gladys, shaking her head. 'Surely they can't do that.'

Crabtree nodded.

'She's the mayor. She can do what she likes.'

Gladys pulled a tissue from the sleeve of her white woollen cardigan and wiped a tear from her eyes.

'Doctor Ernest, who's that?' said Miranda from the window.

Crabtree and Gladys looked over. Miranda was looking down through the window and pointing towards the front of the hospital. Both hurried over to see what she was looking at.

On the street below, a black car had parked near the entrance under one of the street lights. Its passengers were making their way towards the doors. A dark haired man in a black pinstripe suit was followed by a young female nurse in a neat dark blue uniform. Both trailed another woman in a red blazer.

'What's she doing here?' said Crabtree, thinking out loud.

'Is there a problem?' said a voice from the doorway. Lord Ludlow stood by the door with Mrs Ludlow behind him.

Crabtree turned to them.

'Mayor Renshaw just arrived,' he said. 'And she's not alone.'

'Oh?' said Arthur.

'She has two people with her. One of them looks like a nurse. I'd guess they're from the new hospital.'

They looked at Miranda who glanced back from one to the other.

'They've come for her.'

'Doctor Ernest, who are all these people?' asked Miranda.

Crabtree knelt down beside her and looked up into her deep blue eyes.

'I'm sorry, my dear. Allow me to introduce you.' He gestured towards Arthur and his wife in turn. 'This is Lord Arthur Ludlow and his wife, Laura.' Both smiled and nodded at her.

'It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Cottingley,' said Laura. 'We've heard a lot about you.'

'Really?' replied Miranda. 'And do you know who the people outside are?'

'I believe they're coming to see you, my dear,' said Crabtree. 'They want to take you to a different hospital.'

'Whatever for?' she said. 'I already have a perfectly good hospital here with you.'

'I'm afraid they don't see it that way.'

'But they can't,' said Miranda. 'I live here. I don't want to go anywhere else.'

'I know, my dear. But they want to close the hospital down, and they can't do that while you're here.'

'Then they can't do it at all,' said Miranda, marching over to her bed. She sat down on it as hard as she could and folded her arms. Her lower lip quivered. She frowned and fought hard to stop the tears from coming.

'I wish it were that simple,' said Crabtree.

Lord Ludlow stepped towards Crabtree, lowering his voice.

'If they're coming now, we have a problem. Is there anything we can do?'

'I don't know. That they're here at all means they mean to complete their business tonight. There won't be another chance.'

THE DOORS OF the elevator rattled open. Mayor Renshaw stepped out into the corridor, flanked by her two companions. They paused, taking in their surroundings.

'This way, I would imagine,' said the suited man, gesturing to the right with his hand.

Like the lobby below them, the corridor was lit with bright strip lights, all buzzing in unison. Panes of glass in doors at regular intervals on either side revealed dark rooms that were no longer in use. Some of the doors still bore hand-written name plaques in metal holders.

As they approached another darkened room at the far end, the corridor took a sharp left turn and continued on. Further along this new stretch of corridor, two doors showed signs of light. Directly ahead of them, one of the doors was wide open, revealing the inside of an office. A modest wooden desk sat in the centre with a large leather chair behind it and two smaller chairs on the other side. While the doorway restricted the view into the room as they approached, it appeared empty. There was no sign of movement.

Closer to them on the right, the door to the second lit room was closed. Mayor Renshaw approached and stood outside with her companions behind her. She peered through the glass. The room, while spacious enough, was furnished only with what was necessary. There was a plain plastic chair by the window with a bed next to it against one wall. The walls were painted mauve and decorated with colourful cartoon characters and pictures of flowers. A banner bearing the alphabet in alternate upper and lower case letters ran in a repeating pattern around all of the visible walls just below the ceiling.

Inside, Lord Ludlow and his wife stood talking to Crabtree. A nurse Mayor Renshaw didn't recognise stood between them and the bed. But it was the girl in a pale blue gown that was sat on the bed that caught her attention. Her long, bright blonde hair hung in a plated pony tail behind her, revealing her pretty face with a button nose and vivid blue eyes. Her cheeks glistened with fresh tears.

'Wait here,' said Mayor Renshaw to her companions.

She opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind her.

'Elizabeth,' said Laura. 'Whatever brings you here?'

'I could ask you the same thing,' replied the Mayor.

'We'd come to see Ernest. He tells us you plan to close the hospital.'

'And not a moment too soon it seems,' said Mayor Renshaw, looking at Miranda. Her voice softened. 'Are you okay, my dear?'

Miranda sniffed and raised her chin, her expression hardening.

'I'm fine,' she said. 'And I'm not going anywhere.'

Mayor Renshaw approached the bed, an appeasing smile on her face.

'There, there, my dear. There's no need to be like that. I'm here to help.'

'But I don't need any more help. Doctor Ernest and Gladys are taking good care of me. I'm happy where I am.'

'Then why are you crying?'

'You said I had until morning,' said Crabtree, stepping towards them.

Mayor Renshaw stood and faced him.

'I changed my mind. I think it would be better for everyone if we put an end to this fiasco now.'

'But Elizabeth,' said Laura, 'you don't understand. Miranda needs to stay here. '

'Why?' interrupted the Mayor. 'So she can join the others?'

'Elizabeth, please,' said Arthur, stepping forwards. 'You're alarming Miranda.'

He ushered the Mayor to the other side of the room. Crabtree and Mrs Ludlow joined them. Gladys sat next to Miranda on the bed, her arm around the girl's shoulders.

'I won't let this one go the same way as the others,' said Mayor Renshaw in hushed tones. 'Not now. I've stopped it before and I'll stop it again.'

'Before?' said Crabtree, his brow creased.

Mayor Renshaw looked at Arthur and Laura.

'Yes,' she said. 'Forty years ago.'

Laura reached for her husband's hand.

'I had to,' said Mayor Renshaw, still looking from Arthur to Laura and back again. 'Eleven had already gone. I couldn't let you two go too. I couldn't let him get his way.'

'I don't understand,' said Laura. 'Is that why you introduced us? To stop us from jumping?'

'It was the only thing I could think of. You were orphans, just like the others. Children like that need companionship. They need to be loved. I wasn't a mayor then. I couldn't just shut this place down. I was a child. I needed to find other ways to stop you from jumping. If he'd reached thirteen...'

'I was to be the thirteenth,' said Laura, looking at her husband. Her voice sounded hollow. 'I remember now.'

She felt a cool breeze blowing against the back of her neck and turned around. The others did the same.

'The children,' said Gladys, looking out of the window. 'They were here. All of them.'

Mayor Renshaw remained where she was, her head lowered. She closed her eyes.

The others rushed over to see what Gladys was looking at. All they could see was a dark night sky littered with stars and, below them, a town lit by street lights.

'Where's Miranda?' demanded Crabtree, turning to the empty bed.

'I couldn't help it' said Gladys, distressed. 'It was so calm. I couldn't move to stop her.'

'Where is she?' asked Crabtree again, softer this time. He placed a hand on Gladys's shoulder to comfort her.

'Out there,' said Gladys, pointing through the open window.

'She was watching you all,' continued Gladys, her voice wavering. 'Then she looked at the window. I think she saw something. I don't know what. The next thing I knew, she touched my hand and smiled at me. She seemed so happy. It felt right. Then she slid off the bed and went to the window. I couldn't move. I watched her climb onto the ledge. And then she jumped.'

Gladys slumped down onto the bed sobbing, her hands covering her face. Crabtree and Mrs Ludlow moved to console her.

When asked about it later, Gladys couldn't remember where the wings came from. She would only remember how they shimmered in the moonlight. No matter how they fluttered, they seemed both visible and transparent in equal measure; the stars in the night sky clearly visible through them despite the distortion their fluttering caused. There was something magical about them that Gladys couldn't fathom.

If not for the wings, Miranda should surely have plummeted to the ground many feet below. Instead, she hovered out of arm's reach of the window, glancing around her in excited awe. In her excitement, she didn't notice the other children arrive until they were all around her, flying on their own translucent wings with brilliant smiles the like of which none of them had worn before.

'They came for her,' said Gladys between her sobs. 'They came back.'

'Then it is done,' said Laura.

Lord Ludlow stood and looked at the stars through Miranda's window. As he watched, a fly buzzed past him and settled on the wall outside. He looked past it into a familiar face. He glanced over his shoulder to the others inside the room.

They were busy tending to Gladys. He looked back at the face outside the window.

'Hello, Ron,' he whispered.

'Hello, Arthur,' replied Mister Alderware, floating down level with the window. Huge translucent wings beat up and down behind him, buzzing softly on the night air.

'Will Miranda be okay?'

Mister Alderware nodded.

'She'll be fine. They all will.'

'You got your thirteen this time.'

'I did.'

'So it's over?'

'Almost,' said Mister Alderware.

MAYOR RENSHAW STOOD on the roof of the hospital looking out over the town under a blanket of bright white stars in the night sky. The street lights of the town below appeared dull by comparison; small yellow flecks marking out an intricate pattern of streets and houses.

'For what it's worth, I'm sorry it had to happen like this,' said Mister Alderware, walking up behind her.

'Are you?' she replied, not looking round.

Mister Alderware stood next to her, looking at the lights.

'We had to go back sooner or later.'

'I liked it here.'

'I know.'

'I was fascinated when we first arrived. I wanted to know what it was like to live their lives. When the stars called us home all those years ago I wasn't ready to go.'

'You should have said.'

'You'd already begun the preparations.'

'So you interfered.'

'I made a difference. It's what we do here. It's what we've always done. I didn't know they'd fall in love.'

'Laura and Arthur make a fine couple,' said Mister Alderware. 'They've come a long way. They're a million miles from the lonely orphans we first met. You did well.'

'I didn't do it for them,' she said, lowering her head. 'I was selfish. I knew if they found each other they'd be less likely to go with you. I knew you wouldn't have thirteen without them and I could remain as a mortal.'

She signed.

'What happened to the other eleven all those years ago?' she asked.

'They returned to being mortal again. If there aren't thirteen by the time the stars reach their brightest, the enchantment is broken. You know this.'

'I meant the people. What became of them? Do they even remember being fairies?'

'No. To them it was a wonderful dream and nothing more.'

'Is that how it will be for me? Will I forget what it was like to be human when we go back?'

'It's not the same for us.'

She turned to look at him, her teary eyes glistening in the starlight.

'I don't want it to be a dream. I don't want to forget.'

'You won't.'

Mayor Renshaw looked back at the town.

'I'm afraid.'

'Why?' asked Mister Alderware.

'I've been gone so long.'

'Your people still love you. You are their queen.'

'A queen who abandoned them to live the life of a mortal.'

'And a queen who will return,' he said, stroking her arm with his hand.

'But what if they don't think that way? What if they hate me for what I've done?'

'Is this why you tried to prevent us from returning again?'

She closed her eyes and nodded.

'It's why I ran for Mayor. It's the only way I could close the hospital. I figured that without that, the next batch of orphans you found wouldn't have anywhere high enough to jump from and you wouldn't get what you needed.'

'But you were too late.'

She looked at him.

'I hadn't counted on you having so much help. Arthur? Laura? Their charity kept the place afloat. And Ernest? I thought you said it was only a dream to them.'

'It was; but a vivid one. I hadn't intended for them to help. When I started, they recognised the signs. They helped because they thought it was the right thing to do.'

'And was it?'

He looked at her.

'For us, of course.'

'But what about the children?'

'One day they would have jumped anyway. At least this way they had wings to catch them. Now they will know a happiness they could never have imagined.'

Mayor Renshaw looked up at the stars. By now they were as bright as they had ever been.

'Oberon, would our people have waited another forty years if I had succeeded again?'

'Titania, my dear, I'm sure of it.'

She blinked. It had been so long since she had heard her real name.

'Come. It is time to go,' said Oberon, placing his hand on her shoulder.

She nodded. Looking at the town once more, she reached down to the buttons on her red blazer and undid them one by one. After a moment's hesitation, she shrugged it off, letting it fall from the roof and be carried down to the ground below on the evening breeze. No sooner had it left her shoulders than the air behind her began to shimmer. Wings spread wide and beating fast, her feet left the ground. She reached out and took Oberon's hand to steady herself.

'I am ready', she said.

Oberon smiled. He took a deep breath and leapt into the air, hanging there next to her. The buzzing of his huge wings behind him sounded like the strip lights in the hospital below.

They flew into the night sky, accompanied by the joyous laughter of thirteen children.

Tags: fiction | short story | writing | Through Miranda's Window