Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Sarah Williams was finally going on holiday. And not just a camping trip with her family, crammed into her dad’s ancient Honda, her stepmother Irene mis-reading the map while her brother Toby played on his Gameboy Pocket. Not this time she chuckled to herself as she threw her favourite green summer dress into her carry-on suitcase. Across the room, her cassette player reached the end of one side and let a small electric hum into the air. As the sound reached her ears, she rolled across her geometric purple bedding to eject the tape and play side two. Her friend Andie had copied their favourite mix of The Cure songs onto it, in preparation for their holiday together. She had demanded that Sarah memorise all the lyrics so that she was not singing alone in the car to the airport; Sarah remembered this fondly as she started to sing along to the next track.

“Lime green, lime green, lime green and tangerine
Are the sickly-sweet colors of the snakes I'm seeing
Lime green, lime green and tangerine,
Are...”

She trailed off, folding comfortable cotton underwear into little squares. “Damn, I can never remember that line...”

Andie had arranged the holiday, of course. It wasn’t that Sarah was disorganised – it's just that she often got distracted. Andie, however, was known by everyone they both knew as the ‘mom friend’, and there was no way she was going to let Sarah turn thirty without a celebration. Sarah had begged her to not have a party. All those people made her feel claustrophobic, like everyone was looking at her and laughing behind their hands. Andie had relented and offered instead to finally take her to England, something that Sarah had dreamed of since she was a girl – so long as they could go out clubbing.

Unfortunately, she had not been able to avoid the family dinner the night before that Irene had demanded on preparing, insisting, “Well if you do insist on being out of the country for your birthday, then the least you can do is come over for a meal! Your father will miss you otherwise.” It was pleasant enough. Irene had cooked some kind of vegetable lasagne since Sarah was vegetarian, although Toby had scoffed it down and then demanded, “So, what’s the main course?”. He had hit a growth spurt – his floppy blond hair hung over his blue eyes and no matter how much he ate, his limbs remained long and bony. A faded Nirvana t-shirt hung from his shoulders as he had thrown Sarah a wink.

Her father had been amenable enough, kissing her on the cheek when she arrived and complimenting her burgundy sweater. He never had very much to say, but it was clear from the way he beamed at his children that they were his greatest source of happiness.

“Promise you will be careful Sarah; I’ve heard so much about the bombings in London.”

“I will Dad; don’t forget they caught the guy already.”  

“Remind me again how long you are there for?”  

“Just a week, Dad.”  

“Ah yes. Well, try not to get into any trouble!”  

“I’m not a teenager Dad!”

A muffled scoff had come from her stepmother. Sarah had shot her a puzzled look and even Toby side-eyed her from under his locks. “Something the matter, Irene?”  

Irene, eyes on her meal, had replied, “Oh nothing...it’s just what you said amused me. You certainly still behave like a teenager.”  

“Irene-”, her father had cut in, but she had continued.

“It’s just you're turning thirty , Sarah. And you still live alone, you spend all your time outside of work with Andie at that theatre group; most women your age have already married and had at least one child by now! I mean really .”

It was Irene's favourite topic of conversation, so she had expected it. Anything she did, from going to see the new Star Wars movie to queuing up to see rock bands, was one further nail in the coffin that was her womb (morbid, but it made Sarah smirk to imagine it). So, she had not risen to it this time, because the agony in her father’s eyes was enough to help her take the moral high ground. Instead, she had taken a slow sip of her red wine, swallowed and said, “You know, maybe I’ll come back from England with a handsome new husband and a ginormous diamond on my finger? I hear Robbie Williams is quite the catch.” Toby had mock-retched and retorted, “You can’t be serious ! His music sucks.”  

“Haha, you would say that Grungy Bill.”  

“Whatever!”  

Irene had given up once the Williams siblings had descended into bickering and giggles.  

It might be true though , Sarah thought, as she threw the latest Terry Pratchett book into the top of her luggage and zipped up the case. That I am lagging behind . She shook her head at the alien thought her stepmother had planted in her mind and moved over to her thrifted floor-length mirror. She had opted to travel in a pair of navy-blue joggers, a plain long-sleeved white top, and her sneakers so she would be comfortable on the plane. Looking in the glass, she pulled her long dark layered hair into a clear plastic claw-clip. She paused, surveying her facial features in the mirror. The face of a woman about to turn thirty. “Urgh,” she contemplated, “Why do we make such a big deal about it for women?”

As she checked her chunky white watch, that strange mix of fear and excitement swelled in the pit of her stomach and rose up to her chest as she was reminded that she would be flying for the first time. It’s not that she had deliberately not travelled; she had just never had that much spare cash, and honestly took a great deal more pleasure visiting fictional words in the pages of a novel. She began to sing along again to galvanise herself.

“You've got to make up your mind and make it soon
Is there room in your life
For one more trip to-CRAP! Where is my passport?”

Lunging for the desk, she began to scrabble through the drawers. Notebooks, pencils, oh that’s where my Walkman went...candy, takeaway menu, where is it??? She turned and fell on all fours to look under her double bed. There were a few tatty cardboard boxes sat in the shadows, long forgotten, and so she pulled one out to rummage through. After sifting through old clothes and diaries, she saw the small blue rectangle reveal itself. “Aha! Come here you little-” As she pulled it out, a flash of red caught her eye. Beneath the passport sat her once-beloved play book, The Labyrinth , it’s red cover worn from repeated reading and the ribbon frayed. Sitting back on her calves, she smiled warmly and ran her hands over the cover. Hello, old friend . She had not seen this book for such a long time. She could recall moving these cardboard boxes between different apartments in her twenties, but not opening them often. It must have fallen to the bottom . The book had once meant so much to her, as she coped with the awkwardness of adolescence and the loneliness of being friendless before she had met Andie at college. She recalled many elaborate dreams she had traversed in the setting of the book; a large, sprawling labyrinth.

Her fingertips slid to the pages and opened them to the marked page.

“Through dangers untold, and hardships unnumbered...”

A large car horn shocked Sarah to reality and to her feet. The familiar sound of Andie’s Camry pipped repeatedly until Sarah flung open the window, yelling, “I’m coming, chillax!” Andie grinned up at her friend from behind pink-rimmed sunglasses. “I haven’t got all day, girl!”

Sarah shut the window and madly checked all her pockets before grabbing her passport, backpack, and suitcase from the bed and flying out of the apartment. On the floor lay her little red book, which had fallen open to the back page. A folded yellow paper crown had slipped onto the carpet, unfurling like a creature waking from a long sleep.

Chapter Text

When the plane touched down in London, England, Sarah felt like she finally unclenched. For her first flight she felt she had done remarkably well, but still felt foolish when she recalled the little girl across the aisle who had nonchalantly watched Sarah gripping the seat throughout take-off. Once they had been in the air, however, Sarah had felt brave enough to peak out of the window and had gasped at seeing the tops of the fluffy white clouds for the first time. When she was a child, she had dreamed about flying like many of the magical creatures in her story books. But when it came to diving into a pool, climbing trees, or going to the top floor, Sarah had wanted to keep her feet firmly on the ground.

They had lost several hours and so Sarah mentally prepared herself for jetlag as her and Andie made their way through the airport. In the arrivals lobby, there was a kind-faced middle-aged man in a large suit and flat cap waiting with a sign that said “Williams - Green”. They wheeled over to him and waved, Andie introducing them and thanking him for waiting. He was to be their host for the week, as well as their airport driver. Within a few minutes, they were driving down to central London. Andie had somehow managed to find them a ‘flat’ that looked over Hyde Park, close to a tube station so they could traverse the underground. When they had finally made it up two flights of narrow stairs and retrieved the key from a lockbox, they let themselves into the flat and immediately sank into the sofa.

“Phew! That was SO LONG. Let’s never do that again...or, at least not for a week,” laughed Andie as she pulled her Docs from her tired feet. Sarah chuckled at her closest friend. Andie had the kindest smile and a smooth round face that Sarah looked for in every crowd. Her soft blond hair sat in gentle waves around her ears, and on occasion her thin bangs would catch in her eyebrows. Andie was a lot trendier than her, wearing the latest mini dresses, baggy trousers, or hoop earrings, and so it made Sarah feel important to be seen with her.

“Deal!” she replied, “But Dee, where are we going to eat? There’s only milk in the fridge and I’m soooo hungry.”

Andie’s stomach growled as if it had ears, “Since we’re in England, we’ve got to get a curry and a pint! Reggie said in the car that we should check out The Swan, they do a deal or something.”

After a meagre attempt at unpacking followed by a quick outfit change, they abandoned their half-spilling suitcases and descended the narrow stairs to the exit. Their host Reggie lived in the flat below, and it gave Sarah a sense of safety in a new city. She already felt a pang of homesickness when she thought about how far away she was. Outside, a light rain had started to fall despite the bright sunshine. “Pfft, the British weather lives up to its reputation,” mumbled Andie as she fought to open the large umbrella she had borrowed from the hallway. Arm in arm, they wandered down the street alongside Hyde Park to the bustling pub.

*

As she was finishing her third pint of lager, Sarah hiccupped and giggled as it dawned on her she was having exactly the kind of evening she had hoped for when daydreaming about their trip. After a large plate of a dark green spinach curry (that Andie decided looked like a bog, but tasted delicious) and an ice cream that was for some reason served in a mould in the shape of a penguin, a table of punters had struck up a conversation with them. It was hard not to stand out with a thick American accent, but thankfully (unlike several stereotypes Karen had uttered) everyone at the table was friendly, red from their drinks, and ready to talk the night away. There were a few men and women in their 20s and 40s and they all seemed to know each other either from a local socialist community group, or because a couple of them were related. One of the guys had sat progressively closer to Sarah throughout the evening, having bought her a couple of pints. “I’m Robbie, you know, like the singer,” he had introduced himself as, which had sent Sarah into a fit of laughter as she recalled her conversation with Karen. Robbie was quite tall and had a strong jaw, with dark hair that fell like curtains on his temples. He sat confidently in his dark blue denim baggy jeans, layered shirts, and a wallet chain that hung at his waist.

“Right your glass is empty! Time for a refill,” Robbie chimed as he began to stand up.

"Oh no you don’t, it’s my turn!” Sarah laughed, pulling him back to sit down. “Another Guinness?”

There were quite a few regular lone drinkers sat in stools at the bar, cigarettes balanced in their old, yellowing fingers, and the scent of unwashed clothing adding to the haze of alcohol. She grimaced, her curry turning in her stomach, and flagged down the bartender to make her order. While she waited, a couple of the older gentlemen shot her a glance up and down, and she suddenly felt very exposed even though she had her cosy long-sleeved white shirt and jeans on. She rocked on the spot and was finally handed the first drink.

“Well, that is a pity,” said a dry, British voice. An icy blanket enveloped Sarah as the voice to her right washed over her.

“It seems that my trip has been entirely wasted, then.”

The hand in which Sarah held her pint of beer had begun to tremble in apprehension as if her body knew more than she did. That voice...know it, but where from? Cautiously, Sarah turned to look over her right shoulder. Beside the bar was a low wooden table covered in rings from where regulars had been too busy flicking beer mats at each other to use them. There were figures in two of the chairs. One appeared to be a small woman in her seventies, her short grey hair all stretched out and wild. She wore an out-dated grey-brown shirt with shoulder-pads and had thick red lipstick on, and was smoking a thin cigarette with crooked, wrinkled hands. She was hunched forward and had a strange, fearful look on her face, but it was laced with malice. Sarah could only see the back of the man sat opposite shoulder-pads. He didn’t look much taller than Sarah, and he had blond hair pulled back into a sort of quiff. He was wearing a dark shirt with what looked like a waistcoat from the back, and dark jeans. Like his acquaintance, he was smoking a cigarette as he sat back in his chair.

“Look I’m sorry, I really did try to get it for you, but my dealers are really hit and miss at the moment, don’t know what’s got into ‘em. You can try again next week? Same time same place?”

“You better not be thinking of betraying me, Sally,” his thick voice came again, even deeper than before. She furrowed her brow. “It’s Sal – and why ‘ave you got to talk like that? All dramatic. It wigs me out.” The man let out a low chuckle and simply replied, “Until next week, then,” and rose from his chair. Sarah, ashamed of her eavesdropping and still wracking her brains to remember where she had heard that voice before, turned from the bar hastily to find Andie and their new friends, forgetting to wait for the Guinness. Unfortunately, in doing so Sarah missed her step on an uneven floorboard and fell forward straight into the man she had just been spying on, sloshing her beer down his low-cut shirt.

“Bloody hell!”

“Oh no! I’m so sorry! I didn’t see-” Sarah’s words died on her lips as she looked up at the man. His chin was turned down as he tried to mop some of the beer from his lapels with a bar cloth the tender had tossed to him. His features were thin and sharp, but not gaunt, and he had dark, arched eyebrows that creased as he reprimanded Sarah for ruining his favourite shirt. All Sarah could do was stand and gawp as an equally wet patch soaked into her top. She clocked the man’s leather gloves and the room began to spin.

“Are you always this clumsy?” he jibed as he looked up to meet her gaze, and then he stopped moving. As Sarah had feared, two mis-matched eyes bore into hers.

The Goblin King raised an quizzical eyebrow and whatever act he had been about to put on fell.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” Sarah’s mouth opened and closed but no words came out. “Ah, your conversational skills are still lacking, I take it?” He looked down distastefully at her damp shirt and in a blink, she was dry again and so was he. Sarah’s eyes widened and a primal fear caused all the hairs on her back to stand up.

“How can you be here...I made you up...I dreamt you...but it was so...”

Jareth cut in. “Made me up? The audacity. I see you are as presumptuous ever. Now if you don’t mind, I must head to the Underground.”

“No, wait-” Sarah reached out her left hand to grab his forearm, and was shocked when, in fact, it was solid. He smelled of something she could not place, like a new fragrance or a country she was visiting for the first time. “You are really here. Why are you here? Why now? You...you can’t have him, he’s...”

Jareth yanked his arm away and straightened his sleeve. “Listen to me, foolish girl,” he said cruelly, the flash of fire and amusement in his eyes, “Believe it or not people exist outside of your small life. I certainly did not think I would ever have the displeasure of seeing you again. But since you must ask, I am not here to spirit away your brother."

Sarah’s fear turned to embarrassment and anger at his tone. “Hey, asshole! You can’t talk to me like that! This is my holiday and I won’t have you spoil it!” She jabbed a finger onto his chest with her final two words and Jareth recoiled, clearly smelling the alcohol on Sarah’s breath.

“Charmed. I do hope that our paths do not cross again, Champion of the Labyrinth.” As he finished his sentence, the words looking as though they tasted bitter, he turned and stormed out of the pub, leaving Sarah to down the remainder of her beer. “So...do you want the Guinness or not?” a voice squeaked.

Back at the table, Sarah plonked the pint in front of Robbie, saying, “I don’t feel like drinking anymore, tired from the plane. Dee, can we go?” Andie knew Sarah well enough to see when her social battery had run out, so she gathered their bags and coats.

“Hey girls, leaving already? Wait-” Robbie grabbed a pen from his older friend Darren, who had mostly been completing a crossword in a damp newspaper, before scrawling a string of numbers onto the back of a beer mat. “Here’s my number. We’ve got tickets to the Stones show tomorrow, if you want them then call us yeah?”

*

Back at the flat, Andie was squealing in delight at the prospect. “The Rolling Stones Sarah, how cool would that be?”

“Heh heh, yeah, pretty cool...”

But Sarah was not listening to what Andie was saying; not really. Because she could still smell magic, could still see those eyes, and could feel fear and hatred vibrating within her. But more than anything, she was desperate to see him again, and felt so foolish about it. Her hand still hummed from having held his arm. Idiot, she thought. Idiot. This was not a good way to start a holiday...