A Lament to Culture
I walked through the streets, the same ones I have walked every day almost every day of my life, pulling the same coat I have worn every day for the past year and a half tighter to my body to deter the chill down my spine. Again, a man's shoulder bumps mine and my bag begins to slip off my thin frame. I heave the heavy item up so I can readjust the strap and continue to wonder how the war, which united the country in so many ways, has managed to murder chivalry so brutally. Only a few years ago, even though I had only been a silly naïve girl before the war, and in no way the woman I had to become, men would hold doors and smile to me when I walked down the street, I could give a friendly hello to people I hadn't ever met but happened to pass on a quiet road. I used to be able to stop and coo at a baby in its buggy or offer a sweet to a child without parents huffing or hurrying their children along. It was a friendlier time, a happier one. Now, the only attention I can gauge from men is a leer at my legs, still developing chest or bum.
Another bump to my shoulder and my bag fell to the cold wet floor of Regents Park Road. The woman didn't so much as turn to apologise, she only kept rushing with her head down to the rain and her heels rapping on the pavement. I sigh loudly and stoop to pick it up by the strap but I soon realise that it's come unattached to the other side of the bag. Leaving me with a leather satchel bag that's so full and heavy the clasp is strained and a long leather cord to pull it along with. I lifted the bag up and tucked it under my arm, folding the strap across the top. I was barely to the crossing on the road, almost to the Underground, and then someone else knocked into me and it fell from my grasp. The clasp broke and I watched my three books, notebook, pens, the milk, chicken and potatoes I'd bought to make a proper meal tonight all spill out, the milk bottle smashed and soaked my already puddle saturated books with milk and a few of the potatoes rolled out onto the road and were run over. For a long moment I just stared at it all, people muttered things as they passed but no one stopped to help me. Upon this realisation I turned, leaving my things strewn everywhere and sat on the wet bench a few feet away from the spillage. I stared at the scene morosely as people walked over my books or potatoes, some stumbling as they did. I thought of all my notes and hard work, of the cost of the books that were now ruined and I felt utterly defeated. I was cold, wet, hungry, tired and miserable. I wanted to go home but couldn't find the will in me to get up.
Finally a man stepped on my lovely silver pen which had been a present from my Grandfather a long while ago. But instead of carrying on this man stopped, he stooped and picked it up. He wore black leather shoes, black suit trousers and jacket, a white oxford shirt and a navy tie with a dark brown trench coat over the top with the collar turned up as protection from the wind. I couldn't see his face due to the umbrella he was holding but I saw him look around for a moment and begin to retrieve any of my salvageable objects. I began to panic when he picked up my satchel since it still held my purse in it but as I stood he also straightened up, putting all my things safely inside the bag. He looked around on the floor, expecting to find someone fallen over, most likely.
"Eh- Excuse me?" I said from behind his arm, he turned to look at me and my breath instantly caught. Although it was dark I could see his eyes; bright, brilliant blue eyes that almost seemed to have a light of their own behind his pupils. His gaze was sharp and intelligence was clear in his every movement. His face was beautiful, he had very lightly tanned, smooth skin that was decorated in light freckles, he had thick, dark blonde eye brows set straight over those amazing eyes that amplified his knowing look, he had a long straight nose and not too full pink lips that were quirked at one side making a dimple in his cheek as he considered me. His cheeks were high and his clean shaven jaw cast a perfect shadow proving the angles of it. My mind went numb for a moment and then the writer in me automatically started bringing up adjectives for him. Golden. Striking. Mesmerising. Warm. Fierce. Cunning. Gentle. Intellectual.
"Is this your bag?" He asked, his voice was a deep rumbling sound, that didn't quite match his young features. His voice held the same quiet power that his body did and I realised that I couldn't hear anything but, despite being in London rush hour. Powerful. Resonating.
"Ah, yes, thank you." I replied shakily, he shifted it in his hands as though to pass it to me then noticed the strap. He frowned inspecting the link that had obviously broken.
"How much further have you got to lug this lot?" He asked, tilting his head and looking up at me again. I floundered like a dunce for a moment, trying to remember where I was going.
"I'm on my way home from work, I have to get the underground to Euston and change to the Victoria line to Severn Sisters and walk to my house. Oh rats!" I exclaimed as I realised how much worse my day could get in that time. I started biting my lip and folded my arms across my chest before looking back up at the man; he was smiling a little bit, still holding my bag.
"Bad day?" He asked and I nodded, sighing and unfolded my arms, gesturing to the bag.
"And this is just the icing on the ruddy cake." I continued but he smiled and tucked my bag neatly under his arm again.
"Well, I have to take my little sister to Stratford in," he pushed his suit sleeve back and glanced at his watch, "about an hour. I can drop you off with my car if you like? My house is at the end of this road." He added; turning and pointing down the road a little way past the underground entrance. I didn't need to think about it long, in the state I was in and having just complained about how chivalry was lost, this must have been God repaying me with a handsome and chivalrous man like this one to ease my terrible day.
"Oh that would be brilliant, thank you so much." I smiled, I realised now that he'd been holding his umbrella over me as well while we talked. He offered me his umbrella arm which I took with a huge smile. Men like this don't often interact with me beyond necessity. I know I'm not particularly attractive, plain would be my chief adjective, but I've never let it bother me very much. He led the way up the road and oddly enough, people seemed to give his tall and square shouldered build a wider birth than they give my own short feminine one.
"I'm terribly sorry, I don't even know your name, miss…" He asked, looking down at me and tilting his head. I smiled and looked up at his face again. Handsome. Classic. Regal.
"Ruth Walker." I answered, he raised his eyebrows, glancing forward briefly then looked back at me.
"Would that be the same Ruth Walker that writes the literature column in the Hendon and Finchley Times?" I felt my heart skip a little and straightened myself almost instantly, excitement running through me.
"Yes! You read my articles?" I asked. He nodded, smiling at my over enthusiasm.
"Yes I do, every day. I particularly enjoyed the one last week, the comparisons you made between fictional worlds and modern day ideology was very interesting." I was turning my body more inward towards his, even as we walked but he didn't seem to mind in the least or even notice.
"Really? My editor said I went a little off point with that one. Said the only opinion of mine I should be writing is that of the book itself."
"Ah, that would explain the lack of debate this week." He said frowning sadly, "But honestly, you ought to tell that editor that the debate you create in your articles is precisely what sets you apart from the other literature critics." I felt like I could burst. I've never met anyone outside my family who read my articles; admittedly, I don't know many people who live in the immediate area but still. And he was giving a genuine opinion and not simply patting me on the back and saying 'well done you,' which was most men's reaction to my working life. A professional educated woman nowadays while not unheard of wasn't a popular choice.
"Thank you so much, I've never met a reader before. I'm sorry, what is your name?"
"Peter Pevensie. And it's a pleasure to meet you." He smiled warmly at me under our little safe canopy. He pushed a garden gate open and nodded for me to go in. I did so still beaming as we walked up to his front door. He hooked the umbrella on the crook of his arm once we were safely under the porch and then unlocked the front door swiftly. The smell of cooking wafted through the small house and I felt my stomach plummet a little. Did he have a wife waiting here with his dinner?
"Peter's home!" A young girl's voice sings from upstairs. Peter laughed lightly, taking my coat off and hanging it on the rack with his. Surely he's not that old to have children that age. Then the girl comes down the stairs and she is around fourteen, with dark hair, pale skin and a huge smile. She hugs Peter briefly before looking at me with a warm smile.
"Lu, this is Ruth, Lucy, meet Ruth." I smile and offer my hand to the girl who shakes it energetically, still smiling broadly. "I'm giving Ruth a lift home when I take Sue to Stratford." Peter explained, placing a hand on the small of my back and leading me toward the smell of food. It's a small, very lived in house with old worn furniture. Cosy. Traditional. Christian. Normal. As I glance around I notice myself in a mirror above the mantle. I look horrendous, my hair has come loose of its pins and it's clinging together with rain water, the little mascara I wore is rimming my eyes making me look as if I've been punched and what is left of my red lipstick is smeared around my lips to give the impression of a clown. I never look particularly breath taking but today I am simply awful.
We walk through the small living/dining room into a kitchen where two more people are busily rushing around. One is a young, extremely pretty girl, not much younger than me. Her hair is dark mahogany and her skin is beautiful porcelain but when she looks up I see she has Peter's eyes. Another older woman, presumably Peter's mother, has Peter's blonde hair with dark eyes and a kind smile. She turns to me curiously and pauses her cooking. "Mum this is Ruth, I'm giving her a lift home later, she had a bad day."
"Hello dear, ah but you look freezing! Susan, come here and take Ruth upstairs, give her some clean clothes and get her warmed up." The woman says, putting a hand on my shoulder kindly. "I'm Helen, Peter's mother; would you like to have casserole with us?" I try to say that it's okay and that I don't want to impose but she carries on anyway, "Of course you are, there's plenty to go around and you look so thin, don't you eat properly? Dear oh dear-" She's holding my face between her hands and I notice Peter smiling to himself, leaning against the counter before the girl, Susan, rushes in to help me.
"Mum leave her be. Come on Ruth." She says briskly, pushing her mother's hands away and pulling me towards the door to the living room where Lucy is laying the table, humming to herself. "I'm sorry about mum, she's terribly fussy." Susan says as we go into one of the upstairs bedrooms. There are two beds in there, one neat and tidy and the other covered in books and games with soft toys squashed against the wall. Susan sits me on the neat bed and then goes to her wardrobe; I hear her rustling through it while she carries on talking. "So how do you know Peter, he's never mentioned you before."
"Oh, I don't really. My bag broke on the street and he helped me, I've had such an awful day and he offered to give me a lift home rather than let me struggle. He's very kind." Susan smiled wryly as she came out of the wardrobe with a sage green dress on a hanger.
"Yes, knight in shining armour, my brother." She laughed holding out the dress. "This might still be a little too long on you but I think it will have to do. I'll find you a jumper as well. The bathroom is across the hall so you can wash up if you want." Susan smiled at me and I stood, taking the dress. They were so very nice considering I'd only just met them. Perhaps the world wasn't as dismal as it seemed an hour ago. I wandered over to the bathroom and changed quickly; washing my face in the sink and taking all the useless pins out of my hair so that it was left to fall around my shoulders in kinks and waves even after I'd brushed it out. Susan knocked on the door to give me a jumper and then led me back downstairs where food was being laid out on the table. There was another boy there now as well and I walked down just in time to see Peter smack him over the back of the head with a newspaper, laughing to which the younger boy shoved Peter ineffectively. The teasing stopped when Helen came in carrying the bowl of casserole and gave them a stern expression.
"Boys, we have a guest." She said pointedly, gesturing to me. Then she put her hands on my shoulders and steered me to the chair beside Peter's at the head of the table. "Here you are, you sit next to Peter and Susan, have plenty of bread as well. I want to see you fill out that dress before you leave." She said while Peter pulled out my chair and I sat down, he was still grinning like he found this all terribly amusing and as I sat down I had my first chance to properly look around at these kind people. They were none of them plain or anything less than beautiful. Even Helen who was at least 20 years my senior looked like the sort of person that had always been beautiful and revered. But neither were they impractically so, quite the opposite, they all wore simple working class clothes same as any other person I know. Yet somehow, they were more. There was grandeur to their very nature. Even through the crockery was chipped and cutlery mismatched they were something more.
"I'm Edmund by the way, youngest brother of the family. So Pete said you write the literature articles in the Finchley times? What are you working on now?" This time it was Helen who clipped Edmund across the ear.
"Let the girl eat!" She scolded much to Peter's amusement who was trying to hide his grin behind his glass. I noticed Lucy subtly turning away from her mother to look towards Peter with a supressed smirk of her own and I smiled a little. They were such a nice family, close and able to joke with each other. I tried not to be jealous but it did not fail my notice that there was no father in this family, although he was in photos around the room. He was Peter with dark hair essentially, I thought looking at the photo of Helen's wedding day on the wall behind Lucy's head. "That's my husband." Helen said suddenly, catching my attention, I glanced over at her and saw her too smiling at the photo. The table was quiet but it wasn't the awkward tenseness that I expected it was just silence while she spoke. "He died in France, Peter saw him before, didn't you darling?" I looked at Peter quickly, he was in the war? He nodded, lowering his spoon and smiling at his mother.
"Yes, we fought in the trenches together for a few weeks before he was moved." Peter said, glancing at me and laughing at my stunned expression.
"You were in the war?" I asked in shock. He nodded.
"For a year. Lille mostly-"
"Peter made colonel within five months." Helen said proudly.
"He also knocked himself out on a door recently." Edmund said grinning at Peter making everyone around the table laugh. Dinner continued in a light atmosphere while Helen despaired of the impression they'd made on me, thinking her children uncivilised. I found out that Susan and Lucy went to the same school I'd attended myself, St. Finbar's in central London. Susan would be finishing this year though and then hoped to go to university. I wondered briefly where this small family hoped to get the money for that but something in the way Susan glanced at Peter when she said it made me think he had a plan. Edmund went to Hendon house which from what I heard was practically a military school, Peter agreed but added that going there himself helped him in the actual army a lot. I found out that Peter worked in the Government, military liaisons, and that Helen worked in a sewing factory where she'd been all her working life. Peter's father hadn't been around since Peter was twelve because he had a lot of business away in the army for the inevitable war.
But it wasn't long before the grandfather clock chimed and Susan shot to her feet. "Oh gosh, I'll be late! Come on quickly!" she said as she rushed to the hall and donned her coat and scarf. Peter rolled his eyes and got up more leisurely, helping me out of my seat. As we followed Susan outside Helen and her remaining children waved good bye from the door as we drove away. The car was a lovely navy Ford with tan interior and while I was fascinated watch Peter drive, I was vaguely aware of Susan complaining about traffic in the back seat.
"Do you mind if I drop her off first?" Peter said glancing at me and talking over Susan, "else I'll have to explain to my mother why I killed her." I laughed and nodded.
"Yes of course. I'm so fascinated by watching you drive, when did you learn? And this car, I've never been in a car before"
"You've never been in a car?" He asked glancing at me in surprise. I shook my head. "Holy cow, I learnt when I was, well I'm not sure actually, before dad had to start going away. I learnt in this car, been the family taxi ever since." He smiled at me and I heard Susan tut in the back seat.
"You love driving, Peter, don't act like it's a hardship." His grin broadened.
"Alright, yes I do enjoy driving. It makes me feel important." He laughed as he checked in the mirror and turned a corner. Susan laughed incredulously.
"Driving makes you feel important? Pete you commanded your own arm- regiment and now you're the face of the entire British army yet driving this old Ford makes you feel important? That's ridiculous." He glanced at his sister in his rear view mirror and smiled a little more sadly before clearing his throat and smiling broadly at me.
"She over estimates my position in the government." He smiled but I was sure I looked a little fish like what with my loose jaw and wide eyes.
"Oh fine Peter, suit yourself, but if you fancy Ruth here it wouldn't hurt to talk yourself up a bit. Here's fine, I'll tell Paul you say hello shall I?" But before Peter could even fully park the car Susan was on her way out of the car. I felt bright red and hot on my cheeks and I couldn't quite look at Peter. No one had ever fancied me before. I'd never been in the position of having a boy like me, except for in primary school and that had been awkward enough. But this was a whole new world, because this wasn't even a boy, it was a man, a very handsome and perfect one. I hadn't even thought of the possibility that he fancied me simply because no one had before and I'd got used to being just friends with all the guys at the newspaper office.
"I- Uh" Peter cleared his throat and started to pull the car back out into the road carefully. "Ignore Susan; she likes to spit her dummy out sometimes." He smiled at me again but this time it made my heart beat faster and harder in my chest, so hard that I heard it in my ears. I knew my cheeks were red because of the burning sensation all over them.
"Oh yes, of course." I said awkwardly, my mind scrabbled for something to say but came up blank, luckily Peter was a bit quicker than me.
"So, Tottenham? Have you lived there all your life?" He asked conversationally, seeming to have regained his composure.
"No, I used to live with my parents but, well they died in the bombings with our house and cat." I said, trying to smile again. He glanced at me again and I saw frown lines on his previously smooth brow. His lips were pulled down in one corner as though he were trying to fight off a heavy frown.
"Who do you live with now?" He'd obviously been thinking about the things I'd had in my bag and that I hadn't had to tell anyone I wouldn't be home for dinner, putting the pieces together to display a very lonely and miserable picture of me.
"No one. But I've been thinking of getting a new cat." I answered, trying my best to sound upbeat about it. I could tell his frown won, even from just looking at the profile of his face. He was quiet for a short moment then broke into another smile with similar effect to the last one.
"You know if you don't have plans in the evenings, I'm sure my mother would love it if you came and had dinner with us regularly. It would be nice to have someone new around the table."
"Oh gosh I couldn't impose on you like that, I've already eaten your food, borrowed your sisters dress and made you drive even further out of your way." I said blushing again.
"Well that's a point actually; you'll have to come around to return the dress, while you're at it you might as well have dinner with us. As for the rest, ration books are finished now remember, we have all the food we can eat. And all the fruit and biscuit- I tell you what, one of the hardest things about the war was not having biscuits to dunk in my tea." He grinned at me again; a smile even brighter than before and I started giggling girlishly. He turned up on to Seven Sister's road and slowed down. "Where am I going from here?"
"Turn the next right and it's halfway down the road."
"Right-o." I wondered at how someone who seemed so very out of this world could be so very English in the same stride. Biscuits in his tea, right-o and working in the British government. I shook my head smiling as I told him where to pull in.
"Thank you so much for this Peter, you really brightened a bad day, and your family too." I said as I began to gather my bag up in my arms.
"Well if you want, since you don't have to carry your things far now, I can take your bag back and mend it for you. That way you'll have to come back for dinner tomorrow." I bit my lower lip. He was being very persistent about my coming over again. Perhaps Susan was right, maybe he did fancy me. As soon as I thought this my face went red and I was glad of the dark day.
"Alright, thank you." I smiled, pulling all of my things out of my bag and balancing them in my arms.
"No problem," he smiled broadly again, flashing perfect straight white teeth. "I can meet you by the tube again, what time do you finish work?"
"I could get there any time after half 5, I usually work late but it wouldn't be bad to get out on time for once." I smiled at the thought, which also meant I had more time with him before dinner.
"Half 5 is fine by me, I'll see you tomorrow." He beamed and to my surprise, he leant over and kissed my cheek softly. I got out of the car, with shaky knees and a giddy smile. I would have waved goodbye and skipped up to my building if it weren't for my full arms. He didn't start the car again until I had my key in my door and I smiled giddily and let out a stupid girlish squeal once I was within the front door. A couple that lived in the flat below mine poked their heads out the door to see I was okay but then went back inside once they were reassured.