4. Chapter 4
"No human being can really understand another, and no one can arrange another's happiness."
The door opened with almost inaudible creaking. Had Edmund not been specifically listening for the noise, he wouldn't have caught it at all. His parents certainly wouldn't be able to hear it from the bedroom upstairs, and judging from the quiet hum the engine left in its wake, no one would hear the car leaving either.
He watched from the shadows as Susan poked her head through the door, and after a quick check to confirm the room's vacancy, slipped across the kitchen tile in her stocking feet. She had her high-heeled shoes in one hand. The door closed quietly behind her and Susan began walking towards the stairs.
Edmund stepped from the corner and into the moonlight.
"Ed!" she said in a whisper. "You nearly gave me a fright!"
"Back so late, Susan? Where were you?"
His kept his voice measured and smooth, even though anger was bubbling just beneath the surface. Edmund was generally very good at keeping his emotions in check. It was Peter whose temper sometimes got the better of him – though nine times of ten, it was usually righteous anger. On this particular night, though, with Lucy in such a state, Edmund wasn't too bothered with attempts toward civility. More than anything, he was keen to make his feelings known to Susan. And if that meant indulging his dislike towards her current lifestyle, then so be it.
"I. . . what?" she said, clearly confused at his cool tone. Susan glanced at the bird clock above the stove. "It's only four o'clock."
"So it is," he answered evenly. "Party get a bit carried away, then? You were supposed to be home at twelve."
"I –"
"Where's Lucy, Susan?"
She was frowning, and it wasn't becoming on her face at all. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. With crossed arms, his older sister addressed him like a mother scolding a small child.
"Don't ask me that, Edmund, because you know perfectly well. Robert told me you came and took Lucy home. And everyone was talking about the scene you made, causing a brawl. . ."
He held up his hand to silence her, and was surprised when she obeyed.
"There was no brawl," he told her. "That's nasty gossip that your gaggle goes on about. But I suppose you know all about that, don't you?"
Susan scowled. "What are you talking about?"
"Never mind it. I don't care about you or your ridiculous friends, it's Lucy I'm worried about."
"What about Lucy?" said Susan, portraying cluelessness perfectly. Resentment churned in the pit of his stomach. Had he never been taught otherwise, he would have gladly seized her by the shoulders and shaken her.
"Stop pretending you've no idea what I'm saying! You let Lucy go off on her own and start drinking, and hang around with the worst of your lot," he said, keeping his voice level with some difficulty.
"So what?" she returned. "They're not a bad sort, Ed. Bernice always has the nicest people at her parties. They never get too rowdy."
"You're her sister. You're supposed to look after her, take care of her! Not leave her with. . ." He closed his eyes for a moment, hopelessly wishing to expel the scene from memory. "If Peter had been with me, we would have caused a brawl."
A car rolled by on the street outside, throwing light through the windows and briefly illuminating the whole room. Susan's deep brown eyes shone as he hadn't seen in ages. For a fleeting moment, he saw his sister clothed in a sweeping gown, with rolling hills and deep blue mountains behind her. He was beside her, wearing his own royal finery, with the comfortable weight of his sword-belt hanging on his right side. They stood together on a high eastern balcony, awaiting the Narnian sunrise.
But the moment passed, and there was Susan in her party dress, standing with her arms crossed. He shook himself and remembered his anger. As unlikely as it might be, he was still hoping to carve some significance into this unpleasant encounter.
"You're being so selfish, you know? Going about with parties and boys and make-up, and dragging Lucy along with it – you haven't even thought about her at all, have you, Susan? But I'm sure you wouldn't care. It won't bother you at all – what people will say about her after this."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means exactly what I said," he replied. "You don't care that you let Lucy go stumbling around drunk at your stupid party, and you don't care that people will think our sister some – some – "
"Some what, Edmund?" said Susan, lowering her voice.
He didn't answer. He thought it would be unwise to travel down a road that might take them to what people thought about her.
Silence. Edmund could hear the ticking of the clock like great claps of thunder. "Hmph," said Susan under her breath, and he wondered briefly if he was talking for her sake or his own.
"And the worst is that you realize what you're doing," he went on. "Deep down, at least. I think you miss how close we all used to be. And I think tonight was your trying to get it back again, but you went for it too hard. Lucy's not ready to act that way just yet. I don't know if you'd realised it, but she hasn't quite had the time to develop a tolerance like we had in Narnia."
Susan looked at him. Too late, he realised what he'd said and mentally slapped himself. If she had listened to him at all, bringing up Narnia now ensured she would brush off the entire discussion.
"Narnia? Is that what this is about?" She laughed shrilly, and it echoed around the empty kitchen. Susan glanced up at the ceiling and lowered her voice. "I might have guessed. You're angry that I've grown up and stopping believing in those games!"
"Well, that was never a secret, but I don't even care about it anymore," he said.
If Edmund were honest with himself, that wasn't technically true. A piece of him still missed Susan greatly. They had been terribly close once – confidantes, conspirators, sharing a bond that surpassed words – but that was another lifetime. Another sister, practically. The woman standing before him, with her hands on her hips and a painted red mouth, was a different person entirely from the sister he had known in Narnia. He wished he could have captured her reaction on film. How Peter and Lucy could even think Susan would come to the meeting that was in the works, at which they all planned to talk of Narnia at great length, was far beyond him.
"Then what is it?" she asked, almost indifferently.
"Why did you take her with you?" Edmund whispered furiously. "She's only seventeen, if you've forgotten. Then you leave her with a bunch of blokes even Peter wouldn't get along with, and now she's in the toilet honking up whatever she's drank! What's the matter with you?"
Susan looked a little paler, but so far as that she betrayed no concern. "So?" she said. "What's the matter? She was fine! Girls her age aren't supposed to have their fun imaging secret countries, Ed. What do you want me to say, I'm sorry I wanted to show her a good time?"
"A good time? Oh, she had a jolly good time, blabbing on about Narnia and blubbing on the floor. I swear it, Susan, if you ever do anything like this again. . ."
"You'll what?" she said, tossing her hair and displaying the cool nonchalance she was so apt at.
He debated this for a moment, gathering his words together.
"Listen, all right? I've no problem lying to Mum and Dad for you. I don't much care. But if you do something like this again, I'll tell them and I'll tell Peter exactly what happened to Lucy. How her older sister ditched her at a party and I had to fetch her, drunk, and take her home. And I mean it."
She flipped her hair again. "Fine," she hissed, and stalked off toward her bedroom. He made no move to stop her. His piece had been said: there was no use prolonging the rather one-sided conversation.
He heard her bedroom door shut softly. Edmund sighed, rubbing his temples in a vain effort to ease his aching head. When had his relationship with Susan been reduced to angry confrontations and near-threats?
He had often tried to understand Susan's eagerness to distance herself from Narnia, their lives as kings and queens, and everything that had defined their childhood. Everything that, for the other three, was the core of their existence. Susan had resigned herself to searching for the best substitution for royal privilege – which, in this world, was pretty poor sport. And many times, he had wondered if she was truly happy. If there was something to be said about "feeling lost", because even if Edmund didn't want to admit it, he felt lost himself. Probably the only comfort was Lucy – her smiles, stories, and just general cheeriness – yet Susan felt compelled to steer her away from Narnia. . . and allow things like tonight to happen.
"What more can I do?" he asked the empty kitchen, but no reply came. He hadn't really expected one.
The smell of perfume and cigarettes lingered in the air. Edmund left the room with a bitter taste in his mouth.
A/N: Some readers have asked for Peter to make an appearance within this story, so I added a tangent chapter that follows the plotline of Chapter 2's AU Director's Cut over in my story scrapbook, Odds and Ends.
Next up: In which Edmund learns the whole truth when Lucy wakes the next morning.
