It was one 'o' clock in the morning. Peter sat hunched in his father's armchair, stonily regarding the clock on the mantelpiece as the minutes ticked slowly, excruciatingly by.
From the kitchen, he could hear the odd clink of spoon against china, and the soft thud of a drawer as it closed. Edmund was making them both a cup of tea in the hope that it would help prop their eyes open a little longer. They had sent Lucy up to bed two hours ago, as she had barely been able to keep her eyes open. Of course, she had protested, but Edmund had coaxed her upstairs with the assurance that they would wake her up when Susan came in – something that Peter had no intention of doing, but he admired his brother's diplomacy.
This was the third night since their parents had gone away that Susan had come home late, but she had never been out past midnight before. With his parents away in America on yet another conference tour, Peter was left with the unfamiliar feeling of being out of his depth. It wasn't that he was unused to or unprepared for the responsibility of looking after his siblings, and at nineteen he was certainly old enough. Lucy and Edmund were no bother at all. But he still felt somewhat unsure of himself. Susan, for all her youthful gaiety, could not be faulted when it came to pulling her weight. She had taken over the running of the house admirably, going about her mother's daily routine with the calm gracefulness with which she approached everything.
Indeed, just a few hours earlier she had cooked their evening meal, before presiding over the dinner table with maternal efficiency. She had made sure that Peter, in his father's stead, had received the best of everything, scolded Edmund for his disgraceful table manners, and cajoled Lucy into eating at least a mouthful of her cabbage. After dinner, she had done the washing up, and chatted cheerfully to her younger brother as Edmund dried and put away. She had tenderly enquired how Peter was bearing up under his ever increasing university work-load, and had listened attentively to Lucy's innocent chatter about her class-mates, and the latest story she was writing.
But then, at seven 'o' clock, Susan had gone quietly upstairs and returned twenty minutes in a new dress – a simple blue shift with buttons all down the front, which skimmed her slim frame. Her dark hair was held back by two tortoiseshell combs.
"Don't go out this evening Susan," Peter had said, standing at the bottom of the stairs as if he had been waiting for her.
She smiled pleasantly, "I've got to go. I promised I would." Her eyes twinkled, but her expression was firm.
She patted Peter's arm as she passed him to head into the kitchen, her low heels clicking resolutely on the linoleum.
"Edmund, would you help me with my lines?" she called. "You're the only one that can do them straight."
Her younger brother was now sat at the kitchen table, his homework books spread out in front of him. Lucy, being two years younger didn't have as much school-work to bring home, and had finished hers already. She was sat on the hearth-rug staring into the flames. Peter joined his little sister in the living room and sat down heavily in an armchair. He sighed.
"Hi, Lu," he said softly, giving her a tight little smile. She looked up, crossed her eyes and waggled her eyebrows at him in greeting. He could always count on Lucy to lighten the mood. From the kitchen, they heard Susan's exasperated reproach:
"Oh Edmund, you're supposed to be doing your algebra, not doodling all over your exercise book! You'll end up getting lines again if you're not careful. What's that you've drawn, anyway?"
"It's a centaur, Susan," Edmund sounded both amused and a little sad. "Why, is it so bad you can't tell?"
"Oh yes, I can see it is now," Susan agreed absently. "It's beautiful darling. Now are you going to help me with my lines or not, Mr Picasso?"
Edmund groaned, "Do I have to? Why can't you just wear knee-socks instead?"
"Because I'll look like a kid, that's why! You wally Ed, you haven't got a clue!" Susan laughed affectionately. "Come on Eddy," she coaxed, "Give me a hand. I'll love you forever."
Peter heard Edmund sigh, theatrically, and the scrape of a chair being pushed back. "Oh all right, if I must. But you look ridiculous if you ask me."
"Hence why I never ask you! Come into the living room, it's brighter in there. Don't want you straining your eyes."
As the two entered the room, Peter put down the book he was attempting to read. Lucy, who was in the middle of pulling off her long knee-socks, looked up and met Peter's eye. She stuck out her tongue cheekily, but for once he didn't pull a face back at her.
"Make sure you get them straight," Susan said, handing Edmund the pen.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Edmund groaned, crouching down on the floor beside his older sister. Susan stood as still as if she had been turned to stone, while Edmund, his tongue poking through his teeth in concentration, drew a long, straight line from her heel to the back of her knee, first one leg, then the other. Occasionally, he veered slightly off course, and had to lick his thumb and rub out the offending kink.
"Can't you go up a bit higher, Ed? When I twirl, you'll be able to see where the lines stop. I nearly got rumbled last Saturday."
Edmund's eyes widened in horror, "If you want them any higher, you can do them yourself!" he protested. Susan flushed dully and gave an awkward little laugh. Peter coughed.
"All right, keep your hair on. I was only asking."
Within five minutes, the illusion was complete. If you didn't look too hard, it appeared that Susan was wearing a pair of oh-so desirable but currently unattainable nylon stockings. She smiled, having recovered her composure, and said in her best Scarlett O'Hara voice:
"Why, thank you Eddy. Ah do declare, you're a regular little angel." She ruffled her little brother's hair and went out into the hall to fetch her coat. Peter, unable to stop himself, rose from his chair and followed her, a sick, trickly feeling in his stomach.
She was stood in front of the oval shaped mirror now, putting the finishing touches to her toilette. Peter knew he couldn't afford to wait – a quick spritz of perfume, a final slick of lipstick and she'd be out the door.
"Susan," he began, "Where are you going tonight? You haven't told me." He tried to keep his voice light, to act like a normal, modern-day older brother, simply enquiring out of interest. His heart thumped. He didn't know why he felt so anxious.
"Haven't I?" She smiled serenely over her shoulder and returned to powdering her nose. "Oh, they're just having a little dance down at the hall. The G.I.'s have promised to show us how to jitterbug! Mrs Jenner wants all of us down there to make them feel welcome, you know."
"Who are you going with?" He asked, and it came out a little more sharply than he intended. She looked a little taken aback.
"Oh, just Kathleen and Margaret. Freda said she might come. I'm meeting them on the corner." A pause, and then:
"Why don't you come with me Pete? Come on. Edmund's old enough to look after Lucy for a few hours. You could do with a night out…"
"I don't dance," he said.
"Oh, Peter. You used to love to dance, I remember…" but then she stopped, shook her head slightly and returned her gaze to the mirror.
For a fleeting second, Peter wanted to snatch his sister up in his arms and twirl her round as he used to do… to make her remember who she was, who she had been. Instead, his arms hung limply at his sides, his fists clenched. With a pain in his heart, he recalled the many nights he had seen his sister dance, with countless partners, with Edmund, with him… her long black hair flying, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes laughing. But that was different. She had been older then.
"No thanks," he said feebly, "It's not really my scene. You go, and enjoy yourself."
"I will. But I wish you would come out with me sometime Peter. I'm sure you would have fun. And… I miss you, you know?"
I miss you too, he thought. I miss you all the time.
"We used to have such fun together." She smiled hopefully up at him.
Yes, we did. He felt a lump in his throat, but he didn't know why. He smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.
Abruptly, she clicked her compact shut, snapping Peter out of his thoughts. "Gosh, look at the time. I'm going to be late, they'll be waiting for me." She popped her head round the living room door and called: "Bye kids, don't wait up!" kissed Peter on the cheek… and then she was gone, leaving nothing behind her but a hint of cheap perfume.
That had been almost five hours ago, and Susan still wasn't home.
At five past one, Edmund walked into the living room bearing a tray laden with two chipped mugs and a teapot.
"Tea's up," he said, trying to sound cheerful and biting back a yawn. He handed the blue cup to Peter who received it gratefully, and settled back into the chair. Edmund sat down on the floor before the fire. Lucy had left her socks lying on the hearth rug, and with a mischievous grin, Edmund rolled them into a ball and threw them at his brother. Peter gave a tired little chuckle, and threw them back – they bounced harmlessly off Edmund's head and rolled under the sofa.
The two boys sat in amicable silence for a few minutes, sipping at their steaming tea and fighting sleep. Eventually, Edmund broke the silence.
"Where do you think Su's got to? Do you think we should be worried?"
Peter was grateful to Ed for starting the inevitable conversation, but he didn't want to admit that he didn't know what to do, or how he should feel. Luckily, Edmund was rarely stuck for something to say.
"She ought to be back by now. She's never been out this late before. What is it tonight, one of those ghastly dances at the hall?" Peter nodded.
"Well that settles it then. That old bat Mrs Jenner never lets them go on past midnight. Maybe we should go and look for her."
Peter put down his mug and let out a long, juddering sigh. "One of us needs to stay with Lucy," he pointed out.
Edmund could see the strain in his brother's face. Years of experience had enabled the four siblings to see what the others were thinking at any given time. Ed could tell at a glance if Lucy was upset, or if Susan was hiding something she didn't want anyone to know she felt. Right now he could see that Peter was deeply disturbed. Without a word being said, Edmund knew his older brother was feeling worry, guilt and confusion – the first two emotions were not uncommon, but it was a very rare occurrence that Peter did not know what to do for the best.
"I'll go," Edmund decided. "You stay here with Lu. You look knackered. Finish your tea and I'll go find our wayward sister. Don't worry - I'm sure it's fine. She's probably just popped into Freda's house on the way home and forgotten the time… or something." He stood up and was in the hall getting his coat on before Peter could protest.
"I won't be long," he promised, and with that he opened the front door and headed out into the night.
Peter slumped back down into the armchair. He felt awful. He was supposed to be looking after everyone, but so far he hadn't done a very good job. On Tuesday, Lucy had come home from school in tears because some of the girls in her class had been teasing her about Narnia. He never could make Lucy understand that it probably wasn't a good idea to let people in on their secret. Now he had let his little brother go out into the night to look for Susan, when he really should have gone himself. And where was Susan? She had hardly been in one night this week, and even when she was she was completely impossible to pin down.
If it had been Edmund or Lucy, he would have known exactly what to do. But Susan was only a year younger than him. She had practically as much authority as Peter nowadays, and he wouldn't be able to manage without her, so how could he tell her what to do? And when you looked at it, she wasn't really doing anything wrong, was she? She was behaving exactly like a normal eighteen year old girl. But that was what was so maddening about it all – Susan wasn't an ordinary girl. She was his sister, the beautiful Queen Susan the Gentle, Narnia's beloved monarch, a wise and noble ruler. Or at least, she had been.
Nowadays, she was simply Susan Pevensie, a pretty, sweet girl, kind, sensible, beloved by everyone… especially boys. Peter's jaw clenched at this thought. Back in Narnia, many noble lords had sought her hand, but Susan, secure in her position and in herself, had refused them all. Here in England, the girl his sister had become didn't seem to know what to do, or how to behave. She enjoyed the attention, and he could understand that… but damn it, she was so naïve. So trusting, always seeing the best in people… she didn't seem to realise that gallantry was dead everywhere but Narnia.
And here, Peter forced his mind to go blank. Worrying wouldn't help matters. He turned his attention to the fire and watched as the flames danced into images of satyrs and unicorns, cavorting in a fiery ballroom.
Twenty minutes later he was awakened from his reverie by the sound of the doorbell, a short burst and then a much longer one, that reverberated around the house. Feeling immediate panic, he hurtled towards the front door, wrenching it open to find Edmund on the doorstep, supporting Susan who was trailing at his side like a rag doll. Her head lolled on her shoulders, her once smooth hair was rough and tangled with leaves, and her neat blue dress was ripped and torn. Edmund stood frozen, clutching at his elder sister with a look of pure horror on his face.