My name is Lucy Worthington, and I am fourteen years old. Or, at least, that’s how old I was when I first met my true love for the first time. I’d like to tell my story beginning at that time, but I suppose I’d better introduce myself properly first. I was born on December 19, 1938, which was probably the worst time for a girl to come into the world. My father soon left to go and fight in the war. My mother and I were living in London, and we never saw him again. I was only five when the letter arrived, the letter telling of my father’s death in France, but I still remember how bitterly Mother cried that day. I had never seen anyone so sad before.
Mother died soon after that: the doctor said it was smallpox, but I always thought to myself that she couldn’t bear to live without my father. I was still a small girl, not even in school yet, when I went to live with my Uncle Gordon and Aunt Ruth in Rockheadsham, a small village in Lancashire. Since then little has changed in my life: sometimes it felt like I would be spending the rest of my life here. A small country village has its share of delights, it’s true, but once you grow weary of them you begin to wish for an escape.
Though my aunt and uncle were seldom particularly friendly to me, I never really disliked them. Mostly they were indifferent to me; they made it known that I was not their child, but they still cared for me, in their own fashion. My two cousins, Fredrick and Edward, were another matter. They seemed to have made it their lives’ goal, to make my life as miserable as possible. Fredrick, being four years older than me, eventually matured beyond that face, but Edward, who was two years younger than me, continued to take great pleasure in tormenting me, his shy, timid cousin, with all kinds of mischief. Needless to say, I soon grew to hate him, even though I knew it was wrong to hate.
You probably have an image of me in your mind already, but I suppose a self-description is necessary. At fourteen years old, I had dark blue eyes and dark brown hair. Unlike the other girls in my class, I never wore my hair in what was considered a ‘fashionable’ or ‘proper’ style. I also seldom wore pretty dresses or anything of that sort, except when we went to church on Sundays. My cousins, of course, would get anything they asked for, but I had to make do with whatever my uncle decided would cost him the least amount of money.
But I’ve talked about my past long enough, so I shall begin to tell the story of how my life gradually changed. It was during the spring holidays of 1953, sometime in late April, but I can’t remember the exact day. My cousins had gone camping with several other boys from school, for which I was immensely thankful. Only my aunt and uncle remained at home, and, as long as we stayed out of each other’s hair, we were all content. I had spent the day wandering through the woods and fields, finding ways to amuse myself. I had made friends with several other girls from school, but most of them had gone off on holidays as well, and the few that stayed behind weren’t really that close to me.
My bedroom was on the top floor of the house, in what had once been an attic. It was quite small, but it was private, and I didn’t complain. There was also a bathroom next to it, with one of those cast-iron bathtubs usually found in old homes like this. I usually took a bath just before heading down for supper. After I said goodnight to my aunt and uncle, I went back upstairs to my room. One of my clearest memories of my mother, from before the time Father died, was of her telling me how important it was to brush and floss my teeth every day, and, whenever I did so, this memory always came back to me.
I was just about to go to my bed when something very unusual happened. From the corner where the bathtub stood came a bright flash of light, almost like lightning. But I knew it couldn’t be lightning, because there were no clouds outside. I went over to bathtub to take a look, wondering what it could be. What I saw startled me so much that I had to stifle a shriek. At first I thought it was some sort of great, horrible insect, but when I took a closer look, I saw it was nothing of that sort at all.
It was a girl, a very small girl, and I gasped in disbelief. She looked only about five inches tall, though I couldn’t be sure. She looked roughly the same age as me, and her hair was a sort of golden blonde colour, with a hint of red: it didn’t look like any colour of hair I’d seen before. It was very long compared to her body; about two inches, I guessed. Her skin was very pale, almost as if she’d never been out in the sun before. She was wearing what looked like bits and pieces of green and blue rags, and it looked as if her clothes had been torn. She looked lost and scared, and when she saw me she gave a tiny scream. I nearly screamed myself, but somehow I gathered up the courage to take a closer look.
When the tiny girl saw me approaching, she desperately tried to climb up the sheer sides of the bathtub. She jumped as high as she could, trying to catch hold of the wet, slippery iron sides. I knelt down next to the tub, and wondered if I should reach out and grab her. She turned and looked at me with large blue eyes, clearly terrified out of her wits. Her eyes had a strange little sparkle in them, which, like her hair, made her look very odd. I decided not to make a move, to wait for her to grow calm, and then see if I could talk to her.
But she didn’t calm down, and kept scrambling around, trying to find a way out. I reached out my hand to her, which made her scream again, and curl up into a tight ball. I wrapped my finger and thumb around her as carefully as I could, and lifted her up and out of the tub. Then, just as carefully, I put her down on the floor, where she remained curled up, motionless.
“Um…hello,” I said, not sure how else to start. “My name is Lucy. Can you understand me? If you can, you must know that I’m not going to hurt you. If you could tell me who you are, and where you came from, I can help you get back.”
She looked up at me, and I could only imagine how unimaginably huge I must have looked to her. No wonder she was so frightened; I know I would have been if I were in her place. Suddenly she jumped to her feet and began running towards the bathroom door. She slipped on a wet patch of floor and fell down, which caused some of the bits of clothing on her body to come loose and fall off. I heard her groan in pain, and it made me feel very sorry for her. She got up slowly and began to collect the remains of her clothing. I went over to her to help. The floor was cold, even though it was spring outside, and I saw the miniature girl shivering. She was almost naked, and I decided to do something about it.
Stepping carefully over her and through the door, I went to my clothes cupboard and took out a knitted scarf. It was the only scarf I had, and the best way I could think of to keep her warm. She was sitting miserably in a pool of water, and I bent down and wrapped the scarf around her. There was no sound or movement from her; the poor thing seemed to have accepted her fate. I picked her up and folded the scarf around her once again. Then I took her and put her down on my bed. She looked up at me again, and I saw that she was crying now.
“Don’t cry, little girl,” I said sweetly. “You’re safe now; I’m looking after you, and you have nothing to be afraid of. Do you have a name?”
No answer. I asked a few more questions: how did she get here, how did she get so small, and so on. In each case she remained silent. Eventually I gave up, completely at a loss at what to do next. Then I had an idea.
“Just wait right here,” I told her. “Don’t go anywhere, do you understand? I’m going to fetch some food and water, and I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
I headed quietly downstairs, not wishing to attract attention. Aunt Ruth had already gone to bed, but Uncle Gordon was still awake. He was sitting in the living room, smoking his pipe. Luckily his back was turned to me, so I snuck past the door and into the kitchen. A few moments later I snuck back out. In my hands were a slice of bread with butter and marmalade on it, a pear from the fruit basket, and a teacup filled with water. When I got back to my room I locked the door: unlike the other bedrooms, mine had a door with a lock, and Uncle Gordon had allowed me to keep the key for myself.
The tiny girl was still where I left her, wrapped in my scarf, with only her little head sticking out. She was no longer crying, for which I was glad. I sat down on the bed next to her and offered her the cup of water.
“Here, have some of this,” I said. “You’ll feel better afterwards, I promise you.”
With trembling hands she reached out grabbed the lip of the cup. She bent over it, dipped her hand into the clear water, and brought it to her mouth. Then she did so several times again, after which she splashed her face a few times. When she did so I noticed her ears for the first time: they were not round, but slender and with a sharp tip. I wondered what this meant. Could she possibly be…no, no, of course she couldn’t! Everyone knows there’s no such thing…
When she was finished, to my great surprise and delight, I heard her say “thank you” in a small, soft voice.
“You…you do speak English!” I exclaimed. “Oh, that’s wonderful! You can understand me after all!”
She nodded. I gave her my biggest smile, and a small portion of the bread. She took it gratefully and ate it up with great speed. I dug my fingernail into the pear and gouged out a tiny piece, which she ate up hastily as well. When she was done she drew the folds of my scarf around her little body again. I ate the rest of the food myself, not wanting it to go to waste.
“Well,” I said, “since it seems you do understand me, would you like to tell me a bit more about yourself?”
She snuggled in deeper into my scarf. I knelt down by the side of my bed, so that my face could be closer to her.
“My name is Livia,” she said. “I’m sorry I was so rude earlier, but, well, I was so frightened of you, I thought you were going to kill me!” She sniffed back a few tears.
“Oh dear! I suppose I did look quite terrifying, didn’t I?” I said, trying to make light of the situation. “But I hope you can see now that I only want to help you.”
She nodded. “I know, and I want to trust you, but all my life I’ve been told how dangerous humans are, and…”
“Wait a minute!” I interrupted her. “What do you mean, ‘humans’? Aren’t you a human of some sort?”
“No, no. I’m…well, you wouldn’t understand what we call ourselves, but you’re kind has always called us fairies.”
My mouth promptly fell open. A real, honest-to-goodness fairy? I couldn’t imagine it, but, the more I looked at her, the more I realized how obvious it was. If I were five or six years younger, I would have believed it at once. Livia brushed her hair behind her strange ears, allowing me to see them properly. When I came back to my senses, I was overflowing with questions.
“R-really? You’re actually a fairy, just like those I’ve read about in stories? Where are your wings? And can you cast magic spells and all that? How did you end up here? Do you live in an enchanted forest, where everyone always lives happily ever after, and no-one ever dies? How old are you, anyway?”
“Fifteen,” she answered. “I’m still very young, for a fairy, in any case.” She hesitated a little. “Could I answer your questions tomorrow, please? I’m really tired, and I’ve had a horrible day, and I wish I could get back home, but I don’t know where I am!”
I was burning with curiosity, but she did look dreadfully tired, so I decided to respect her wishes. I told her a little bit about myself, and where I live, but it was no help to her at all. She still seemed a little bit frightened of her new environment, so I decided to put her mind at ease. I picked her up, still wrapped in my scarf, and placed her in the top drawer of my bedside cupboard. The only other things in that drawer were some of my schoolbooks and various other small items. She rolled around a little, and I waited until I was sure she was comfortable, before saying goodnight.
“You’ll be completely safe in there,” I said. “I’ll even lock the drawer, if you wan me to.”
“Oh, no, thank you,” came her soft voice. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for everything, Lucy. You’ve been most kind to me, and I wish I could give you something in return.”
“Well…you could accept me as your friend, you know? I have hardly any friends, and having someone…special like you for a friend would be brilliant! Would you like to have a friend like me?”
She merely nodded sleepily. Her eyes were already shut, and I was feeling quite sleepy myself. I closed the drawer, turned of my little bedside lamp, and snuggled in under the covers. I could hardly wait for tomorrow to come, to finally learn all about my surprising guest. Just before I fell asleep, I wondered if all this had merely been a dream, and if I would wake up tomorrow and find the drawer empty. This worried me so much that I had to take another peek, to make sure that she was still there. She was.