A/N- If it hadn't been for Princess Lalaith, who encouraged me to write this, this fic would not exist. Thankyou! Also, thanks to my wonderful beta-reader, Terreis, who helped me reason the use of telegrams, even though this isn't set during the war, but years after, and for just being encouraging and being there.

And yet, even before I thought of writing this, I had had a marvellous sentence in my mind, perfect for this story. As fate would have it, as soon as I put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard), that sentence flew out of my head. However, I present you with this one-shot, which can either be taken as a sequel to Growing Up or a fic in its own right-

The Telegram

The message had come the way it usually did, by way of telegram, delivered by a grim faced man.

"Thank you," she had said, flashing a smile before turning it over and reading it. How long she stood there, she did not know. All she knew was that somehow, suddenly, the world had gone all still, and yet at the same time, a loud roaring filled her ears. The world seemed to spin, or swell, or grow smaller. She was not sure. All that mattered was the piece of paper in her hands.

She dropped the telegram, and leant to pick it up again. It didn't feel like her picking up the paper, her movements were too planned, too mechanic.

Dead, it read.

Railway accident.

Why had they been there, anyway? Oh yes, to greet her parents.

Mum, Dad, why did you have to leave a day early? Why couldn't you have taken another train? she thought piteously. Images filled her mind- her mother, laughing, taking her hand and leading her to buy her first 'grown up' dress in America, taking her in her arms, crying and waving as the train pulled away- her father, his quirky smile, giving a quick salute as he walked away to the war, returning with a more haggard face, a yet more awkward smile on his face- "What, my Susan, all grown up?"

What would life be like without them?

Railway accident.

But no... Peter had said something about trying to help Narnia. Had they been trying to get back?

Of course not, she scoffed, it was only a game. But unbidden, a memory came flying to her...

Railway...

'All four of them were sitting on a seat at a railway station... "This is magic..." said Edmund.

"Yes. Hold hands. Oh, I do wish it would stop- oh!"

A railway accident had killed them- all of them.

But she had survived.

Her face crumpled, yet she could not find it in herself to cry.

"Susan, don't you remember Narnia?"

Lucy! Was she to be gone, now, always? Her dear, childish sister- gone? Impossible.

When she returned, Lucy would visit her, happy as she always was, talking to her, trying to unsuccessfully rouse a conversation about Narnia- she would berate Susan for living the life she did-

"The way you're playing around with all those poor boys is terrible," she'd say bluntly.

"Playing!" she'd retort, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "It's called growing up, Lucy."

"Susan."

They would then argue, and inevitably make up, and Susan would engage her in discussion about the latest fashion.

"Remember the Narnian clothes?" Lucy would say reminiscently. "They were so beautiful- and free. Have you ever worn such flowing, comfortable clothes?"

"Childhood games! Lucy, this is now, not then! Should I wear the lemon or the blue?"

But she was dead. She couldn't come back. She was dead, like all her happy days before, playing childhood games... which of them had invented Narnia? It didn't matter. They were dead.

Narnia.

"You cannot return, dear one."

Never return to Narnia! Never return to the happiest days of her life? If she could go to Narnia, perhaps she would see them now... but how could anyone re-enter a mere childhood game and see one's family standing there, waiting for one?

"Narnia's in trouble, Su. We were having dinner with the Professor and Aunt Polly- the one you declined coming to because you were seeing that-"

"Matthew."

"Matthew- whoever it was. And we saw a Narnian standing in the doorway-"

"What- Narnian? Oh! Narnia! What a funny memory you have! And Peter, please do try to remember Matthew's name, won't you?"

"Susan. Won't you come help Narnia? You did once upon a time."

Once upon a time! Always once upon a time. Like dreams that flitted in so easily, but with a puff of wind, were gone. Where was her heart, so that it might crack? Perhaps if she knew it were there, she would be comforted.

Edmund had joined their flanks, as he always did when it came to Narnia.

"I was once a traitor to Narnia. Su... you need to help. Narnia needs you."

Edmund. Gone. He had nearly gone before, hadn't he? But then that had merely been a childhood game. Once upon a time, in Narnia. Where she could never go.

A sob caught itself in her throat and she felt ashamed.

Crying for Narnia, for herself, unable to mourn the loss of her mother, her father, her brothers, her sister? The Professor? Aunt Polly? What about them? They had faded into nobody. She bit back her tears.

"Susan, don't you remember Narnia?"

"Oh, the childish games we played!"

"Bless me, what do they teach in schools these days?"

How had it been that even though she and Peter had both been told they couldn't return, how had it been that he still remained with Narnia? It was so childish... but how was it childish? She would ask him when he came back.

Peter, come back!

But he wouldn't. He was dead. Dead. The word seemed so hollow, so empty, so pathetic and meaningless to describe such a thing now. She could never ask him. She could never ask any of them again. She would never see any of them again.

God had turned his back on her, and she would turn her back on Him.

She headed back into the house. She hadn't cried yet.

A/N- There is a little button below saying 'Review'. Please make full use of it.