Chapter Two: Lucy
By any normal standard, it had been a terrible day.
Lucy Pevensie stepped off the train, onto the platform, and into a puddle three inches deep. As her shoe and sock immediately filled with water, a huge groan escaped from somewhere just under the thick knot in her throat, the groan that always meant that the knot was going to become a sob pretty soon. She hurriedly shook the extra water from her foot and knuckled her hairline while squeezing her eyes shut, a trick to ward off tears she had learned from observing a certain older brother on his own bad days.
And what a bad day it had been. She had woken up twice last night after vague, uneasy dreams, which had made her sleep so late she had missed breakfast. Her favorite jumper was in the wash, so she had tossed on an old scratchy one that had once been Susan's for about five minutes before Susan decided that chartreuse was not her color and would suit Lucy much better. By the time she had finished dressing, Susan was yelling at her to get out the door before she made them both late for school, which they both were anyway, despite flat-out running to the station to catch their train. Frizzy-haired and winded, Susan had ignored all of Lucy's attempts at conversation for the rest of the day. School had been awful and dull for them both, as usual; worse, even, because the outdoor games festival the whole school had been looking forward to had been cancelled on account of the predictably unpleasant March rain.
During maths she had been staring out at the storm from her desk near the window, lost in memories of times and places where the rain was impossibly old, old with faces and memories, old like the ruins of a palace or a marble monument made by ancient people; her dreams from that morning had floated in and around this old kind of rain that was heavy and warm or sweet and icy, mixed with the pounding of normal English rain that never felt like anything but damp and cold; she had been lost in dreaming, halfway into a real dream, when her maths teacher Mr. Thexton had slapped her desk sharply with a ruler. He had berated her for a full five minutes in front of the class for being "impossibly stupid," reminding her that her grades would reflect her poor habits. Lucy's anger had broken through the surface, then; when chastised, she would usually nod meekly and cry away her feelings later (well, hopefully it would be later), but this time she slammed her own hand down, called the teacher a horrible word she had learned from another older brother, and stormed out of class, straight to the headmaster's office since she knew that's where she would end up anyway. She had wound up with a fortnight of detention, a note for her mother to sign, and an imperious frown from a still surly Susan.
Lucy shivered now, angry at the memory and angry again now that her foot was soaking. She glared at Susan's back, fifteen feet ahead, and paused on her way out of the station to glare up at the heavy black clouds as well. More rain tonight. Rain every night. Rain ruined everything.
They marched back to the Pevensie's grey little house without speaking. When they got to the gate, everything looked normal as you please at first glance, but as Lucy followed Susan through the front door and into the hall, Susan grabbed her sister's wrist in warning just as Lucy was taking in the tiny wrong details in the room. Something was wrong - traces of mud tracked across the otherwise clean-swept floor, a chilly dampness in the air as though the door had been open moments before and only just been closed, and several photo albums that ought to have been on their shelf in the parlor strewn across the bottom steps of the stairs. There was no light on in the house, except what dying greyness filtered through the drapes, and a tiny orange line under the closed kitchen door.
No one but their mother ought to have been home - but they could hear low angry voices coming from the kitchen. Susan looked down at Lucy, raising a finger to her lips. They both jumped slightly as a muffled thud sounded from the other room, as though something heavy had fallen to the floor. Silently they tiptoed across the hall. They entered the kitchen at the same time and together let out little yelps of surprise.
There was Peter sitting across from Edmund, both of them engrossed in a what looked like a heated but silent staring match, brows contracted and arms folded on either side of the table.
Lucy clapped her hands, her fear from moments ago and bad mood from school melting instantaneously in a rush of excitement. "What are you two doing here?"
The boys had been away at Eton since Christmas, and weren't expected back until Easter holidays next month. Edmund's glare flicked toward her for a moment then back at Peter, who had leaned his chair back and sideways to hug her, his frown vanishing as quickly as her own had.
"Surprising the living daylights out of you two, of course! We've only just got in. Mum went to pick up a few things for tea." Peter's smile was genuine, but a sort of tired tension remained creased across his forehead.
"Biscuits and Gloucester cheese, I suppose?" Susan piped in, smiling at the pair. It was family lore by now that Peter wouldn't usually take tea if there weren't biscuits to go along, and Edmund never took a normal tea at all, preferring to nibble on a fist-sized cut of cheese. The boys' faces cleared slightly, remembering, as Susan moved to squeeze Peter's shoulder and Lucy bear-hugged Edmund's neck.
"What were the two of you saying as we were coming in?" Lucy asked as she sat down next to Edmund at the table. "We heard something crash - have you had a row or something?"
It was the wrong thing to say, she realized too late. The two boys glanced at each other, both clearly still angry but neither volunteering any information. Lucy bit her lip and looked at Susan to press an inquiry, but Susan was carefully examining both faces for clues, and Lucy could practically see her sister's analytical mind already forming the conclusion that Lucy's hasty words had just blundered into. Clearly there had been a row, and most likely it was a continuation of the same row that had occupied the brothers for the past three and a half years - and it always seemed to end with someone yelling 'I'm in charge here!' or 'You aren't the boss of me!' In Narnia, Peter had been bossy, of course (a High King had to be), and Edmund had made fun of him for it - in Narnia that sort of joking was just a given; it was healthy, and they'd all enjoyed it. In England it was mean. And it broke the girls' hearts.
They all bickered, of course; but Peter and Edmund were the worst, at each others' throats at the drop of a hat. Sometimes literally, in fact; none of the Pevensies were physically timid when they were in a temper. The crash they'd heard seemed to have been Peter's trunk, which was lying upturned next to the table, a few papers scattered next to it.
For a long moment the kitchen was awkwardly quiet.
"Frank as ever, Luce..." Susan tutted, settling herself into the chair next to Peter, and trailing away when no one said anything. Lucy could almost see her searching for some topic that would pique the boys interest and break up the resentment simmering in the silence. She was searching for one herself, but as usual Susan took advantage of her ability to think of something, to think of anything, before Lucy did. "Anyway, I think it's our argument we ought to be discussing now."
"What's this, then?" Peter asked; Edmund raised an eyebrow.
"But I didn't even know we were arguing!" she spluttered.
"Lucy has been in trouble at school again," Susan reported, crossing her arms and resting them on the table.
Edmund laughed. "Go on then! 'Again'? I didn't know it was possible for anyone to accuse that angel face of making trouble!"
Lucy gave a nervous giggle, but the two older Pevensies frowned. "Headmaster told me she hasn't been paying attention in class," Susan began. "And she used foul language. In class."
"What bloomin' codswallop."
Peter crossed his arms too. "It's nothing to joke about, Ed. Let's have it, Lucy, the whole story."
She glared at Susan, but dropped her gaze to the floor a moment later, breathing hard, a sad wobble in her voice: "It wasn't my fault though!"
The time had come to play her trump card. She sniffed and let a tear form in her eye. She didn't have to fake it; she never did. On days like this, especially, she felt as though any and every emotion she could possibly have was right there in her heart, ready to jump up onto her face at a moment's notice. Expression - expressing emotions - she thought of it as her curse and her gift, extemporaneous and uncontrollable. None of her siblings seemed to share it, exactly. The grown woman in her knew it was a bit silly sometimes, and a bit unfair, but the little girl who actually did the weeping never cared much about silliness or fairness. They were all looking at her expectantly, the boys with sympathy and Susan with skepticism.
She took a deep breath. "It was in maths. Mr. Thexton was yelling at me in front of everyone. He called me stupid because I sometimes daydream a bit in the afternoons. He thinks I'm slow."
Edmund snorted and gave a low growl. "F-ing nincompoop."
"That's what I said!"
Edmund exploded with laughter as Peter attempted to gasp in dismay. "Not really, Lucy! Did you really say that?"
She blushed, feeling equally proud and ashamed of herself. "I didn't actually mean to, it just sort of slipped out... I mean, he asked what I really thought of him and his class, since I never seem to pay attention, and I just told him what I thought..."
Edmund laughed even harder, which made Peter lean across the table to punch his arm, though she could see him fighting off a grin of his own. "Don't encourage her! It was very wrong, Lucy."
"I know..." she was smiling now as she scrubbed tears from her cheeks.
"Promise you won't do it again," Peter asked, recovering some solemnity.
"I do, I promise."
"Because if you break your promise, the High King will have to decree punishment, you know," Edmund said, smirking at Peter.
"Oh no..." Lucy giggled.
Peter's tone became grave as he looked her in the eye and took a deep breath. "Oh yes. Death by tickling."
"This is serious, you two!" Susan huffed as the other three laughed. "Lucy, you have to swear you won't, swear you'll be more serious about school. We're all bored with it, you know, but if you act up like this, people will start asking questions." Lucy noticed that when she said that, Peter and Edmund stopped laughing, but Susan continued her lecturing.
"A little girl like you shouldn't know words like - that one," she said, making a face. Lucy caught Edmund's eye - they both hated it when Susan lectured them about 'acting their age' and 'avoiding foul language' - and he slipped her a quick conspiratorial smile, which made Susan even huffier. "Lucy! Be serious. Swear you'll be good."
"Ok, fine, I swear!"
"Swear on something important!" Edmund cut in.
"I swear on..."
"Swear on Finchley's rugby team, on their winning season."
"Not that serious, Ed," Peter warned. Susan rolled her eyes.
"King and country, then. Swear on the glory of the British Empire!"
"Edmund!"
"Swear on Churchill? Swear on Churchill's pants!"
Lucy saw Peter and Susan looked at each other, both trying not to laugh, as Edmund's suggestions became more and more irreverent and off-colour. Ever since their father had left for war four years ago, Edmund had taken to blaming anything and everything on prime ministers or MPs or the glory of the British Empire. Lucy and the others were genuinely patriotic, of course, but that didn't mean they couldn't laugh at their country once in a while, right? Her high emotions were working themselves out in hysterical giggles, and since they all knew it was usually either giggles or tears with Lucy, neither of the older siblings seemed inclined to interrupt them.
"Swear now, Lucy. On pain of death by tickling."
"What's all this swearing and death and tickling, in my house?" Lucy had been laughing too hard to hear Mrs. Helen Pevensie enter the house. She walked into the kitchen, arms full of groceries and a happy smile on her face. Hiccuping, Lucy jumped across the kitchen to give her mother an elated welcoming hug, nearly unbalancing them both as Helen struggled to keep the groceries from falling to the floor. Peter rose swiftly, at her side in an instant to relieve her of the groceries, starting to unload them onto the counter as Susan went to the cupboard for the kettle.
Helen squeezed Lucy warmly and turned to give her older children thankful looks, reaching around Susan's waist to light the stove. "Did the boys tell you why they're home?" she asked, a note of parental pride evident in her voice. Glancing back at the table, Lucy saw Edmund's face darken at her question, but it was Peter who answered.
"We've been presented special awards for good conduct and character," he said, a bit smugly, reaching over to grab a piece of paper lying next to his overturned trunk. He leaned against the counter reading aloud, smiling as their mother moved to read along over his shoulder.
" 'To Edmund - (and Peter) - Pevensie, in recognition of his academic excellence, outstanding moral character, unimpeachable good conduct towards teachers and students alike, his superior example of leadership and sportsmanship, his friendship, freely bestowed...' "
Lucy and Susan exchanged surprised looks, amusement growing as the list went on. 'Unimpeachable?' 'Good example?'
...Peter was popular in school, Lucy knew; charismatic as ever, he picked up loyal friends quickly, but those friends were generally of the loud, swaggering, and belligerent variety. Peter was by no means vicious, but he was good at violence, and the other students recognized it and capitalized on it. According to Edmund, Peter's group tended to follow the battle lines that had already been drawn, playing up Peter's power within the clique to lead fights against the other, more thuggish, factions. Everyone in the room except Mrs. Pevensie knew about these little battles. Edmund was even involved in them, from time to time. Lucy had seen them in a handful of fights together when they stayed with the girls on holiday, and though she hated watching them, she couldn't help feeling that it was better that they fight together against anyone else than against each other, which was otherwise too often the case. Even Susan at her most fastidious couldn't really object when she saw how Peter lit up and became himself again when taking on a bully or defending some other kid - they just all preferred that he enact those particular leadership qualities during rugby or football.
As to Edmund's 'freely bestowed friendship' - well, Lucy didn't know the details, but she was fairly certain he didn't have many friends at school at all, that he preferred to keep to himself. After they'd returned from Professor Kirke's house, he'd stopped going round with his old friends entirely (which Lucy and the others approved of, since those friends had been rather nasty), but it seemed he'd never bothered to make new ones. He was the one who needed the other siblings the most - without them he was entirely alone... But only Lucy could see that. Peter and Susan were used to blaming Edmund for anything, which made a certain kind of sense given that before Narnia he'd usually been to blame for almost everything - but he was different now. He teased still, but he never picked on her maliciously, as he had before.
She should know; she'd always borne the brunt of it. The older two were always forgetting that Edmund had nearly been destroyed that time before, a long time ago... So whenever Peter and Susan picked on Edmund now, she did her best to fight off their stings - but too often their alliance become an 'us against them' thing, instead of 'all four together', which Lucy desperately wished it could be... Whenever she sided with Peter and Susan, Edmund would frown and stomp off to his room or for a walk or anywhere to get away from them...
Even Edmund doesn't know how much he needs us, she realized -
She blinked and turned to look at him. Peter was still reading from the award. By the expression on his face, Edmund seemed to be aware of the irony in what Peter was saying, but he didn't seem amused by it like the girls. Peter hadn't noticed anything.
"It's signed by the Minister for Education himself; we had lunch with some of his secretaries. You even know one of them, Mum, it was Mr Creebourne from down the street, and his brother. Did you know he's a twin? Good bloke. He even caught us up after we'd left because Edmund had forgotten his award at lunch."
Peter snickered a bit and shot Edmund a smirk that Lucy couldn't interpret, to which Edmund scowled, and said sulkily, out of nowhere - "You didn't recognize him either. It's not my fault I haven't seen him since I was a kid, is it?
Mrs. Pevensie, who had been busy reading the award, didn't seem to have heard him. "Oh yes, there's his name at the bottom! He works in the Ministry of Education, does he? I'd forgotten. The most terrible thing, about his wife, did you hear? " Her eyes lit up as she laid out bread, butter, biscuits and cheese on the table, her voice taking on the low quick tone she used whenever she had some juicy tidbit to share. "She ran off with some French soldier about six months ago when she was working in the hospital there, and now he's decided to marry some dark foreigner too! I think she's a sweet lady, but Mrs. Winters, bless her heart, says it's a revenge wedding. Would you believe it! And did you hear..."
They all exchanged smiles as Susan brought over the tea. Mrs. Pevensie was the most wonderful mother in the world, a paragon of feminine virtues, they all agreed, but she did have rather a passion for gossip. The children had often joked that her three favorite words were "Did you hear," but they all generally enjoyed listening to her stories anyway, seeing her get excited about the twists and turns of neighbourhood politics. Susan was usually her best listener, lending her ear with interest every evening at teatime; Lucy, however, often tuned out rather quickly once she found something else to think about. This time her thoughts stuck on that word 'wedding'...
She stirred her tea, settling her cheek into one hand. She'd almost had a wedding, once. In Narnia. Three weeks before they'd stumbled back into England, she'd gotten engaged to handsome young Tae... Tae, son of Trevin, Duke of some minor Archenland principality she couldn't even remember the name of now. It had been a secret, even from the other Pevensies... they'd been planning to announce it on Peter's birthday. She smiled at the memory - some present! But she was sure her brothers and sister would have been excited for her...
They'd all pursued their little paramours from time to time - all except Susan, really, who had always been too intimidating and reserved, scaring off potential lovers with queenly intensity (Lucy had told her time after time that she ought to lighten up, but Susan never really relaxed at their court festivals and balls. She was always off managing something or other, tablecloths or dishes or something like that). And Lucy hadn't been the first to be proposed to, actually - Peter had been the apple of every court lady's eye, Susan had had that little thing with Rabadash; one rather domineering lady from the Lone Islands had once proposed to Edmund seven different times before he'd resorted to exiling her from the country - an incident which his siblings had never let him forget, of course. Before Tae, Lucy had always had a full dance card (Susan's idea, naturally, introducing dance cards to Narnian balls), but none of her suitors had been quite so kind, so handsome, so affectionate...
It had ripped her heart open to be separated from him - how heartbroken she had been! - but she remembered, too, that she'd been a little nervous of what marriage meant for her family anyway. Even if she'd continued to live in Cair Paravel after the wedding, it would never have been just the four of them again; it would always be different because she was married and the rest were not... That was why she'd begged Tae to keep their engagement secret, because she'd been trying to find a way to make it right, make it feel less like she was breaking their family into pieces...
She'd never found it though. When they'd gone through the wardrobe, she'd felt that awful heartbreak; when she'd made them all promise not to use Professor Kirke's game to return, she'd felt righteous indignation... the righteous indignation came easily. It always surprised her that her siblings obeyed her so quickly when she was like that, as though they'd all been waiting for someone to say what she'd just said. In the moment she'd been sure she was right, that she was speaking for Aslan, even - she'd been actually angry, actually brokenhearted -
But in the days and weeks and years that followed, she could never quite forget that a tiny part of her had actually been relieved, too.
This of course made her feel immensely guilty later on, as she thought of Tae, alone, and as the thought came back to her again and again that it was her selfish little wish to avoid growing up entirely that had made Aslan send them back, that she was responsible for dragging her siblings away from their happy life as rulers in Narnia and back to the drudgery of childhood in England. When they were all together, like today, they usually managed to make it feel like old times again - but she couldn't pretend things were as good as they had been. They'd all changed since they got back, all gotten a little darker somehow - Peter getting into fights; Edmund becoming more and more cynical and brooding, often going off on his own for hours, absorbed in some idea or puzzle in his head; Susan burying herself in Milton or Cicero, or practicing Beethoven or Bach for hours, wistful sadness sounding through even in the lightest tunes... But it was worst when they fought - Peter and Edmund, particularly - because they'd never fought like that in Narnia. Was her selfishness responsible for that...?
And worst of all, it hadn't been just selfishness - it had been fear... she'd loved Tae, but she couldn't deny that she'd also been afraid, a little bit. Lucy the Valiant had been afraid.
But she'd never told her siblings that, never told them anything about the proposal or engagement. They all had their secrets; she knew Peter and Edmund had one now...
And she had been just a kid then, just a little girl who'd laid in bed crying out her heartbreak for three days after they'd left Narnia, Susan holding her hand the whole time as she cried for Tae and the beavers and Mr. Tumnus and all the rest. She'd cried for three days straight - and then she'd gotten up and played cricket with her brothers because it was sunny out. The heartbreak was too weird and cramped for a child's heart. Knowing what she knew about adulthood, about love and kisses and even lust, had made her feel confused, complicated, but it was surprisingly easy to forget all those complications during a game of cricket, or tag, or climbing trees or any sort of play. Tae, love, kisses, were only a vague dream now; in fact his face had been in her dreams just last night...blurred but affectionate, teasing her gently, like he used to...
It was only a dream, but it was still a sad dream.
"Lucy...Luuucy..."
Peter was snapping his fingers in front of her face. She hadn't even noticed him sit down. She looked up, face colouring. All four of the others were grinning at her.
"Trouble paying attention, dear?" her mum smiled.
"Er - yeah..." she grimaced slightly, glancing at Susan, who she was certain would bring up Lucy's detention now, but Edmund spoke before Susan could say anything: "We were just saying how the awards Peter and I got came with rugby tickets for tomorrow. Four tickets."
"Oh! How exciting!" She gave Edmund a grateful look, but it disappeared when Mrs. Pevensie spoke again.
"What did you girls do in school today? Did you receive any special awards?" Her mother smiled again warmly.
"Er..." Lucy's heart began to race.
"Actually, I think it's time Lucy and I started our homework, if we're going to be at the rugby match tomorrow."
Lucy head shot up, a surprised, grateful smile of her own flooding her face.
"That's a wonderful idea, Susan. Boys, why don't you get started unpacking your things, I'll clear this away..."
They all stood, Edmund grabbing up the dishes and automatically moving to help their mother, since he hadn't helped with preparation. It was a small thing, but it made Lucy's heart warm and full, thinking about how naturally they all took care of each other on days like this. The fights, the dreams, the confusion - none of it mattered so long as they had a few moments of happiness together... on days like this.
Days like this. She'd forgotten the bad start entirely.