28 August 1945
I could kill Peter. At least then he'd stay out of my social life. It's not as if my friends are hisbusiness anyway. No, not even the ones that happen to be male and happen to think I'm pretty and aren't too shy to say something about it. Especially the ones that are so sweet about it, and have such beautiful eyes.
I don't mind Edmund and Lucy laughing - I don't! They're still children. But Peter! Just because David wanted to sit by me at the picnic and talk about poetry (and cricket, but I enjoyed the poetry more). He was perfectly polite. Peter had no call to send him off on a wild goose chase the moment my back was turned for a few seconds. I felt so bad when he came back! He kept joking about it, really quite modest and polite, I don't know what more they want! Every time he said something Ed would smirk like a beastand Peter looked grave and Lucy laughed and changed the subject, if I didn't do it first.
And even that's not the worst of it. I tried to talk to him tonight. Peter, I mean. I was perfectlyreasonable. I told him that I liked David quite a lot, and didn't appreciate him encouraging the others to smirk and laugh and play silly jokes, and that I thought it was beneath him to play such infantile jokes himself.
He was looking over a book for next term, with only the little light over the desk on, and when he turned his face was in the shadow and I would have sworn he was older. It was the way he was balanced, solid in his chair like nothing would ever move him, and his shoulders are starting to fill out even without all the sword practice this time.
"I wouldn't, Susan. It's not a good match," he said, just like he always used to say in Narnia whenever some princeling came calling on Lucy or I. And he was always right - politically.
"I'm not making a match," I said. "I'm-"
"Flirting," Peter said. You'd think there was something wrong with a bit of harmless flirting, the way he said it.
"I am not," I said indignantly. (It's a lie! I think I was. I hope I was. But I wasn't flirtingin that dreadful tone.)
He looked at me. "I'm seventeen," I said, trying to match his gravity. He made me feel gawky, but I know how to be a queen too. I stood still, reaching for it. "It doesn't mean anything if I smile at someone, it's just fun," I said.
"Then find someone who's less of a bore, and maybe your family won't have to get rid of him. It's purely self preservation, you know, Su."
"There's nothing wrong with David," I said indignantly. I leaned forward with some mad idea of persuading him to understand. I tried to catch his gaze; he hadto understand. "Peter, he's dreamy. I want him to like me."
"You never did have an ounce of sense when it came to men," Peter said indulgently.
I recoiled. You try to tell the truth...did he used to be easier to talk to? He's impossible now. "Unfair!" I said. "Untrue! And unimportant. Do what you want, don't expect me to pay any heed to youanymore. You've forfeited your right. You don't seem to realise, this is England."
"Don't you realise? There's not as much difference as you think," Peter said quietly.
"What nonsense," I said. "Anyone can see there's all the difference in the world."
He shook his head. "Susan?"
He said it so gently I leaned in toward him again, expecting him to give in to the obvious way of thinking. I should have known better. "Peter?"
"You'd better make sure your David doesn't get the wrong idea," he said.
"Oooo, Peter!" I said, losing the dignity of the queen for good. Not eloquent, but certainly expressive. I think tossed my hair as I said, "Just because you don't know how to interact, in England, doesn't mean I'm such an idiot. I've talked about it with my friends, and with Mother too, you know. Maybe you should, too."
"I just want you to think about what you're doing," Peter said, completely ignoring the part he didn't want to hear.
"I do," I said, too quickly. I wasn't going to get anywhere like this, I needed dignity.
"Not enough," he said quietly.
"Peter. Just because I don't agree with you doesn't mean I'm wrong," I said.
"It doesn't mean you're right," he said, and I could see the whole conversation was worse than useless.
"Right," I said, putting all the exasperation I felt into the word. I turned and left, briskly but not too quickly. It was a measured decision, and I was behaving exactly as I should. I was in the right on this.
He called after me, but I looked back and he hadn't even got up to come after me. He doesn't think I'm important enough. Thinks I'll get over it. Come round to his way of thinking. I always do. Well, this time I won't! I'm still angry, whenever I think about it.
The tone. The assumptions.
Honestly, they're all such children. Especially Peter.
