Andrea Höst - And All the Stars

"Noi."

A single word to add cherry tones to Noi’s warm brown skin. The shorter girl looked away.

"The way I am about him, it’s not me," she went on, the words low and rushed. "I’m usually the together, lightly-invested one. But, hell, all I want to do is throw myself at his feet and beg to be the Tink to his Peter. I want to do flighty, charming things which make him break out into speeches, and then I want to do…everything. He treats me like his Mum ."

"No, like Wonder Woman, remember? He thinks you’re awesome."

Shoulders hunched, studying her toes, Noi shook her head. "It’s all because of the Spires, the disaster. I can’t trust the way I feel right now. I wouldn’t have looked at him twice, in the real world. Well, I’d have looked, but I sure as hell would never have wanted to find myself a green mini-dress and a pair of wings."

"Tinker Bell’s an inch tall. I don’t think she’d be much use for…everything. Wouldn’t you be better off being the Noi to his Lee? Pan can hardly be the right role for him today, not on his birthday. And he really admires you."

"That’s not helpful." Noi was recovering, and shook her head so her curls bounced. "Enough. The whole world doesn’t have to fall in love just because you have. This is the day for fun, not serious talk."

She climbed to her feet in time to inspect Emily, shyly emerging in a delicate white shift. Approving this enthusiastically, Noi bustled them off to see to hair, and regret the lack of makeup. They decided not to risk the jewellery shop, the contents of which were locked away behind an extra level of security.

"But in a way I like the whole mix of formal and underdressed," Noi said as she led the way to the menswear store, patting the upswept Grecian style into which she’d wrestled her curls. "It’s a bit like a beach wedding."

She took several dancing steps, fringes flaring as she spun: a lively girl of eighteen more than a little tired of running and hiding and being sensible. Nash, the only one of the four boys visible in the store, turned to look at her, smiled, and then bowed and held out a hand. Noi dipped in return, and they waltzed over marble: Nash tall and fine in a dark suit, black hair swept back, wearing black socks and no shoes; Noi vibrant and shimmering, barefoot.

"Man, Noi is totally in Goddess mode tonight." Pan had emerged, knotting a blue-black tie. "Told you Nash could dance."

Madeleine studied him carefully, but decided to shelve the question of what kind of admiration was bright in his eyes. "Enjoying your birthday?"

"Unbelievably. And I refuse to be guilty about it. Tonight we live!"

He grabbed her hands and, head tipped back in abandoned laughter, spun her into a child’s whirl across the marble, then fumbled for more formal movements. Fisher, in crisp shirtsleeves, offered Emily his hand, and stepped her carefully through the basic movements of the waltz until Min, with a James Bond air in a suit a little too long for him, dryly recommended they fool around somewhere other than in full sight of the glass entry doors.

Furnished with coats to protect their finery, they made a quick detour to the kitchen, heating and bringing down the last of the dishes to where most of the feast was already laid out in a small room off the dance floor on the Mezzanine level. Nash opened and poured champagne, which was Fisher’s suggestion to resolve Noi and Min’s positions on cutting loose during alien invasions. They would start their meal with a glass of champagne, close the evening with a single cocktail, and otherwise stick strictly to juice and soft drink. Fisher had volunteered to be designated driver , steering them away from any sudden impulses to play chicken with Moths.

The meal was despatched with Blue gusto, Madeleine sampling parmesan-dusted gnocchi, handmade personal pizza, and sweet potato frittata before sitting back with a sigh and deciding she was glad they’d planned a gap before any desserts.

"Gift-giving time?" Nash suggested.

"Wait, you guys went shopping?" Pan pretended amazement. "Or have the Moths started a home delivery service?"

"If you’d shut up for more than five seconds at a time you might find out," Min said, swiping casually at Pan’s head. Pan ducked, but they didn’t launch into their usual mock-fight since Emily was stepping up with the first present.

"This is from me and Min," she said, presenting a stuffed pillow case serving as wrapping paper.

"Thank you, Tink," Pan said, twinkling at her. "I’d say you shouldn’t have, but really, a daily shower of gifts would be most…" He paused as a mass of folded black cloth spilled out of the case. "Sheet set? Caftan?" His eyes widened as he held it up, then with a delighted grin he swept it around him, a black cloak with an ornate golden fastening, and leaped up to stand on his chair. He preened and posed until Nash threw a bread roll at him, then leaped down to hug Emily.

"Totally awesome, Tink. Where the hell did you find it?"

"It really is sheets. We made it. Min did most of the work."

"Really?" Pan held out a hand, and shook Min’s firmly. "Thanks, man. Appreciated."

The departure from teasing imp obviously startled Min, but he recovered and shrugged. "Something to do while sitting up on watch."

Madeleine, after careful questioning of Nash, had drawn Pan in a fictional rehearsal scene of Henry V , and offered it up to earn herself an appreciative hug.

"Someone’s been spilling all my ambitions," he said, with a muted grin in Nash’s direction. "You guys are too much."

Nash simply produced another pillowcase and watched with characteristic quiet enjoyment as Pan drew a slim stack of paper out and frowned down at lines of type fresh from the hotel’s office printer.

"This is…?" Pan flushed bright pink, turned pages and looked up at Nash in disbelief, his cocksure edge lost to wonder. "You wrote this?"

"With a great deal of input from Fisher. It’s only the first act, but something to go on with."

" The Blue Musketeers: A Play by Avinash Sharma ."

Pan’s voice was reverent, and it was only with difficulty that he could be distracted from an immediate read-through. Nash had inserted a Moth invasion into the plot of Dumas' adventure, tailoring the role of D’Artagnan for Pan. He admitted that he couldn’t face writing anything set in the modern day.

During the chatter Noi disappeared and returned wheeling a sweet-laden trolley topped by a two-tier candlelit cake.

"I haven’t anything so impressive as a play," she said, "but it’s as chocolate as you asked for."

Noi was underselling herself: she’d worked on the cake in the Mezzanine floor kitchen, and produced a glossy triumph of confectionary. Pan immediately put down the script and gave the cake its due, declaring his need for an urgent injection of chocolate, bowing and flourishing his cloak as they sung to him, and lustily bellowing Happy Birthday to ME before blowing out the candles.

"Thimbles all round!" he cried, and gave Noi theatrical air-kisses on each cheek, then worked his way through everyone else. He was as much Puck as Pan that evening, a breath short of wild, repaying their gift of a birthday with indefatigable high spirits, insisting on charades after cake and, when those had collapsed into helpless laughter, coaxing them all onto the dance floor to attempt the Charleston. They began to wind down after that, and moved to the restaurant so Min could create drinks with names like Tom Collins, Mint Julep and El Presidente. Emily was given a Fuzzy Navel, which Min promised had barely enough peach schnapps to taste. Madeleine sampled each, an experiment which left her pleasantly detached as they conscientiously returned to clear away the remains of their meal.