Overall Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia nor am I associated with C.S. Lewis' estate. No copyright infringement is intended.
This Mess
March 1944
London, EnglandPeter Pevensie strode from the enlistment office, the faintest of smiles on his face. His eyes held a grim determination as though he were facing a terrible, wonderful dream he'd never quite conquered before. Enlistment papers clutched in one hand, he glanced to the sky, setting his jaw against the grey clouds threatening to burst open on the bent heads that bustled from street corner to street corner. Dull, dreary, there were a thousand words that could describe England. Peter groaned as a raindrop bounced off his cheek and he shoved the precious papers beneath his coat. A rat scurrying along the sidewalk dove for cover beneath the street as the skies opened up.
I'm with you, buddy. I hate the rain, Peter silently commiserated. With a heavy heart and a light step, he pushed his hands in his pockets, ducked his head and blended in with the hurrying British masses.
The train station was wet and dirty and seemed to radiate with the stench of fear that hung just over the city. It seemed that war had become an irritating part of daily life, like bills or late trains. At the thought, Peter's gaze traveled above the crowd to settle on the clock high on the wall. He rolled his eyes as he noticed the train to Finchley was already ten minutes behind. He'd be late getting home again, be scolded by Susan at the door, scolded by Mum on the way through the kitchen and, if he was lucky, get a grunt from the lump on the top bunk that he always assumed was Ed. If Lucy heard him come in whilst studiously buried in her lessons, she would stop him in the hall for a quick hug, but then disappear behind a closed door and a pile of books again.
Peter shook his head, trying to remember the days when his family was close-knit and loving, when they stepped in front of swords for each other and always had a shoulder ready to cry on. Squeezing his eyes shut, he pinched the bridge of his nose. It had been too long. England and a mechanical war had formed a wedge between them; they would never be the same again. At least this blasted war would keep them from killing each other. He only hoped his leaving would lessen the tension in his neck, if not in his house.
The obnoxious arrival of his train shook Peter from his thoughts and he slipped between the opening doors, just ahead of everyone else, to insure a seat. If he was looking to ease his taut muscles, swinging from the loops on the ceiling wasn't the way to go.
~~~Almost before Peter had the door open, Susan was chiding him. Rubbing a little red lipstick on and checking her ministrations in the foyer mirror, she said, "Peter, you're late again! Honestly, when are you going to learn to look at a clock?"
"Oh yes. Because I didn't glance at a clock, the train was late," he retorted under his breath, throwing his hat on the table and stripping off his coat. He hung it, wet and dripping, on the rack and pointedly ignored Susan's protests as he brushed past her and the growing puddle.
As he wound his way between the open oven and various cans and containers strewn around the room, Helen sent a warning look to her eldest son. "You were supposed to be home twenty minutes ago."
"Late train," was all he offered by way of explanation before he dashed up the stairs. She shook her head, wondering, too, what had happened to her family.
Peter took the stairs two at a time but slowed as he passed Lucy's door, hoping for some sort of acknowledgement from his littlest sister. Right on cue the door burst open and Lucy threw her arms around him. A smile graced his face for a moment as he hugged her tight.
She pulled back to look up at him and asked, "Did you get my book, Peter?"
Kissing the top of her head, he nodded. "It's in my coat." He laughed as she pried herself away from him to dash downstairs calling some sort of thanks and a declaration of love for Ned Nickerson. Peter shook his head, still chuckling, before continuing down the hall.
With some effort, he managed to push the boys' room door open far enough to squeeze in and made his way to the desk through the hazardous piles of clothes, schoolwork and junk that had accumulated on the floor. He tossed his bag onto the bed, hitting Ed squarely in the face.
"Hey! Night shift!" Ed complained, pushing the offending object off the bunk onto the floor.
"Oh, night shift, my eye. You're housesitting, not drilling for oil." Peter rolled his eyes, flopping down at his desk and reaching to flick on the green glass lamp. The small circle of light revealed a staggering amount of dust on Peter's once-loved typewriter. He sighed and blew the keys off before putting in a fresh piece of paper.
"You've never tried to sleep on Mrs. Walter's lumpy couch with that damned bloody cat yowling all night," Ed retorted, covering his face with a pillow.
"Watch your language." The paper slipped sideways as Peter began to type, skewing the letters. He heaved an exaggerated sigh and ripped it from the typewriter, slicing his finger in the process. "Oh bloody hell!"
He could have sworn he heard a stifled, "Hypocrite," from beneath the covers.
~~~Lucy bounded down the stairs, landing gracefully on two feet at the bottom. She caught the swish of a modern, black dress as the door slammed behind Susan and fought the urge to roll her eyes but grinned as she spotted Peter's coat dripping from the rack. Skidding across the tile floor, Lucy flipped back the wet, black fabric and stuck her hand in the pocket but came up with nothing. She frowned, remembering the ridiculous number of pockets and pouches sewn into Peter's jacket. She had commented on it when he bought the thing but he'd insisted he would need every last one of them. Lucy rolled her eyes, suppressing a grin.
Finally, on an inside pocket, her fingers brushed paper. Smiling happily, she pulled it out. Her brow knit as she realized it wasn't her new Nancy Drew and almost just shoved it back in the coat to continue looking but something caught her eye. Slowly, she unfolded the crisp, white forms and felt her throat constrict.
Hasn't he fought enough wars? she cried to herself. Lucy pursed her lips a moment, thinking, and then stuck the enlistment papers in her own pocket, The Secret in the Old Attic forgotten.
Lucy wandered back up to her room, chewing distractedly on her lip. She paused with her hand on her doorknob and glanced to the boys' room. Shaking her head, she pushed open her door. Lucy's room was a far cry from Ed and Peter's. The floor was spotless; everything was in its place. Her bookshelves lined two walls and her bed and desk were squeezed in beside the door. The antique armoire that housed her clothes and linens, however, had a wall of its own. With a noble effort, Lucy held back her tears and leaned against the door, fingering the rusted handle. It wasn't anything special, but when she'd seen it at a small shop two years before, her eyes had lit up with a secretive, mature delight her siblings had tried desperately to ignore. She'd promised Mum she could save enough money for it and she had. Yet, now, as it sat in her room, perfectly dusted and cared for, she wondered at how a similar piece of furniture had brought her family together and just as easily, driven them apart.
~~~It was late when Lucy finally gathered up the courage to knock on her brother's door. Mum had gone to bed, Ed had long since left for Mrs. Walter's house and Susan wouldn't be home for hours. It was now or never.
Peter yawned and stood to pick his way to the door. Lucy stared up at him, a look he recognized as somewhere between needing a hug and wanting to strangle him plastered on her face. It was a look he wasn't unfamiliar with and so he stepped aside to allow her entrance. Lucy wrinkled her nose at the unpleasant odor of dirty socks so Peter gestured to her door down the hall. He had a fleeting thought of moving his typewriter into her lighter and much cleaner room so he could write in peace. There had been a time when Peter's only goals had been to study English at Oxford and to pen a novel. He shook himself back to the present as Lucy closed her door.
"What is it, Lu?" he asked, the tired quality of his voice weighing on her mind.
"More importantly, what is this?" Peter found his enlistment papers shoved unceremoniously under his nose. His sigh was laced with angst and anger. He tore the forms from her hand.
"Lucy! Come on, now you're snooping through my stuff? You-"
"You sent me down to get my book out of your coat," she cut him off. After a moment Peter nodded, looking to the floor.
"Right."
"Peter… Haven't you fought enough wars?" she pleaded.
He shook his head, shuffling his feet. "It's not about the fight, Lu."
"Yes, it is. It's always been about the fight, the honor, all that rot."
"No, it's about leaving."
That stopped Lucy in her tracks. "Leaving what?" Hesitation reflected in her eyes, as though she was afraid of the answer. Peter glanced to the window, the rainstorm outside beating mercilessly against the glass.
As he spoke, his eyes turned back to her. "This house. This family. This mess."
Lucy took a step back, looking like he'd literally slapped her. "So because things aren't perfect, you're going to turn tail and run away? Peter, that's so unlike you!"
"Yeah, well, maybe I'm sick of being the strong one. You ever think of that?"
Lucy stared at him, unsure of what to say or even think. She stammered over words, none of them quite right. Peter set his jaw, looking at her but, for the first time, not really seeing her. He spun on his heel and marched from the room, slamming the door behind him. Lucy waited until his heavy footfalls faded to finally let herself cry. The tears came unbidden, yet she felt as if she'd called for them. Emotions this strong weren't supposed to be contained in the blossoming body of a twelve-year-old.
She rested her forehead against the rough wood of her precious armoire, tears pouring down her cheeks. "Oh Aslan. Please help him," she prayed in a whisper, knowing in the darkest, most cobweb-filled corners of her heart it would take more than her simple faith to save him now.
Lucy watched from across the yard as a boy purposely bumped into Peter just as he hit the bottom step, sending him and his books flying. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping against hope he would shrug it off, turn the other cheek, but Peter was having none of it. Lucy sighed, used to the increasing number of fights her brother wound up in. There had hardly been a day in the past week when he hadn't come home sporting a black eye or a ripped shirt. It seemed today would be no different.
Susan joined her, her arms full of flowers. Lucy eyed the pink and purple blooms dubiously before looking up at her older sister. "Who are these from?"
"Kevin," Susan replied happily. Lucy tried desperately to remember which one was Kevin but as Peter delivered his first punch of the day, she found herself preoccupied with more important matters. Ed jumped into the fray, as usual, and, for once, Peter didn't begrudge him the chance.
The two girls wandered over to the fight, shaking their heads from the outskirts of the gathering crowd. With a few final hits, the brothers knocked their quarries to the ground. Peter straightened and instantly his eyes locked with Lucy's. With an affectedly ironic air, his lips twitched into an ugly half-smirk. Scooping up his things and winding between the groaning bodies of his adversaries now splayed on the concrete, he paused to murmur cruelly in her ear, "Maybe you weren't completely off base, Lu. I think it is about the fight."
Night had fallen and the four siblings were cooped up in the living room due to a promise to their working Mum that they would spend some quality time together. Really, Lucy was taking up most of the couch as she sprawled out, finally getting around to reading her new book, Edmund was playing a rather boring, one-sided game of chess in an attempt to outsmart himself and Susan was flipping through the latest issue of Cosmopolitan. Peter, though, Peter was staring blankly into the fire, sitting ramrod straight in Dad's chair with his hands folded in his lap.
Suddenly, he stood and, with one hand in his pocket, said, "There's something I need to tell the three of you." At a pointed glare from Lucy over the blue top of her book, he amended, "Well, the two of you."
"The two of who?" Susan asked congenially without looking at him.
"You and Ed. Uh, Lucy already knows."
"Knows what?" Ed inquired, eyeing a knight belonging to his invisible opponent.
"That he's deserting us for the military," Lucy explained, her voice mockingly cheerful.
Susan's head snapped up. "You're what?"
Peter turned around to place a hand on the mantle, the portrait of his family, his whole, happy family, sending shivers up and down his spine. He avoided eye contact with his smiling self, the cowardice in him welling up. "I'm joining the army."
"But you're only seventeen!" Edmund exclaimed, knowing full well how many of his and Peter's friends had lied about their ages.
Susan sat back in her chair again, her magazine lying open across her lap. "Why tell us now? When Mum's not here?"
"Well it's obvious," Ed said. When Susan appeared to not agree with him, he continued, "He's not going to tell her."
"You expect us to tell her for you?" A mix of incredulity, surprise and anger crossed Susan's face.
Peter shrugged. "Well you could let her think I ran off and joined the circus if you like," he quipped, his back still to them.
"I can't believe this, Peter!" Susan slapped her magazine shut and tossed it on the coffee table as she stood, hands on hips.
Finally, he turned back to face them, crossing his arms as he did so. "Well I can't take this, Susan, so join the club!"
"Take what?"
"Why you're just full of questions tonight, aren't you, dear?" Peter snapped, "I can't take this!" He gestured around the room at the four of them, practically ignoring each other but to yell.
Susan swallowed hard, tearing away from his gaze to stare at the green carpet. She glanced back and forth, never focusing on any one spot as she brought one hand up to rub the back of her neck. Closing her eyes for a moment, she finally looked back up again to meet his. "Fine, Peter. Get yourself killed." Susan brushed past him, her skirt brushing against his leg. They all jumped at the slam of the front door.
Peter ran a hand over his face before storming to the back door. Ed's chess pieces rattled when that door slammed shut too. He steadied the board as he commented mock-lightly, "Well. I'd say that was good quality time well spent, wouldn't you, Lu?"
Lucy glowered at him fiercely and flipped herself off the couch. She threw her book down, not bothering to check the page number, and ran up the stairs. Ed braced himself for her slamming door, hands already out to steady the chessboard again. He placed his elbows on the table, chin resting on his fists and said to the empty chair across from him, "Your turn."