Lucy had happened to mention it last Christmas, perfectly seriously. Susan had laughed.
"Yes, what fun we used to have, playing that game!" she said, flipping her lustrous black curls over her shoulder. "Fancy you remembering that after all these years!"
They were sitting in the old nursery in their house in London. Peter, 22, was down from university for the holidays. Susan had been visiting friends in Brighton, and expected to attend quite a few parties now that she was home. Ever since she turned eighteen and discovered the advantage her beauty and wealth lent her, she had become a society girl. Now 21, she reveled in it so much that her father occasionally apostrophized that all she cared for was nylons, lipstick and her beaus. Edmund, fair-headed and rather good-looking, was just out of school and Lucy was in her last year, her blonde hair no longer in pigtails. Peter had that noble, masculine look to his face that would lead someone later, as I'm sure you know, to say he had "the look of a king and a warrior." He now turned that expression of authority on his sister—albeit with some puzzlement.
"You know it was much more than a game, Su," he said, almost sternly. "Remember the missing hats and galoshes?"
"Oh, yes," Susan trilled, although she began to feel a little uneasy. "Where did we hide those? I've forgotten. Professor Kirke was such an old dear to play along and believe we'd lost them in Narnia."
Lucy and Edmund exchanged glances. "Are you joking, or do you really not remember?" Lucy asked quietly. "Did you really make yourself forget it all?"
Susan began to feel irritated, and almost—yes, almost frightened by the way her siblings seemed so serious about that old nonsense. "Oh, for God's sake!" she exclaimed, throwing up her hands. "Haven't we all grown too old for those stupid games?"
She seemed to think she was so grown up now. Edmund shook his head. He remembered when she was really an adult—Queen Susan the Gentle, with her ebony hair falling almost to her feet, and suitors from as far away as the Lone Islands and Calormen came to Cair Paravel to seek her hand. Her current state was a poor, misguided parody of that glorious example of womanhood.
"Don't you shake your head at me, Edmund Pevensie," Susan said irritably, putting on her "older sister" voice. She stood abruptly and left the room, muttering to herself.
"Why oh why didn't I stay in Brighton with Nancy?" she said quietly to herself. "She invited me to stay for Christmas, and what do I say? 'Oh, no thank you, Nancy, I'd rather go home and see my brothers and sister for the holidays.' What was I thinking? I get no respect from them. They don't know a thing about how to get on in society. Look at Lucy! She could never land a boy like Edward."
She stomped her way irritably down the stairs, remembering the last time she's seen her boyfriend. It was a rather loud party, if she recalled correctly. Several of Edward's friends were down from university, and they had had quite a bit to drink. Edward wasn't totally sober, either. And soon, neither was Susan, which accounted for her only hazy recollection of the party.
Edward had cornered her in the corridor. "C'mere, love," he said, his voice slurring a bit, a bottle in one hand. "C'mere and give us a kiss."
Susan giggled. "Your breath smells like liquor, Ned."
"So does yours," he answered reasonably, although the force of his argument was rather diminished when he lost his balance and almost fell over.
Susan's shriek of laughter led Nancy and James into the corridor. "What're you doing here in the dark, Ned?" James pronounced in an over-loud voice. "Come on out!"
Nancy giggled as James dragged Susan's paramour into the parlor. Just before they reached the light, Edward leaned over and whispered loudly in Susan's ear, "You'se the prettiest girl I've ever seen." Susan smiled at the recollection. That was where she belonged: with people who knew how to have a good time. Not with siblings who professed to believe in a silly made-up world with talking animals for heaven's sake. Even a talking lion…
A sudden shudder ran through her at that thought, and she pushed Narnia firmly from her mind.
000
In early January, Susan's siblings went off to visit Professor Kirke at his house in the country. Their cousin Eustace and his friend Jill were going as well. Susan went with them to the station to see them off. She herself was leaving again for Brighton in about a week, so she declined the professor's invitation. It would have been dead dull, anyway.
There was a surprise for them at the station: Miss Plummer, or Aunt Polly, as they generally called her, was on the train. She was going to visit, as well. Susan had what she called a "jolly little jaw" with Aunt Polly on the platform, but she had the sneaking suspicion that Aunt Polly didn't think much of her anymore. No matter; her siblings were soon on the train and waving out the window to her.
She and her parents were vastly surprised later that week to receive a wire from Peter saying that he and Edmund would be coming back early. The very next day after they returned, Susan spied them out the window, coming back to the house in the wee hours of the morning, wearing workmen's clothes. She was vaguely curious about their plots, but she had to pack for Brighton.
The next morning, Peter, Edmund and Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie went to the station to meet the train. Susan was in a bit of a pet about having her trip to Brighton moved back a week due to Nancy's great aunt being ill, and in a fit of bad temper, refused to accompany them to the station. This really was for the best…
I'm sure, Dear Reader, you have figured it out by now and understand why I say this. For that very morning at the station, there was an accident on British Rail, and three of the Pevensie children, their parents, Eustace and Jill, and Aunt Polly and Professor Kirke were all killed. You know what came of that. But Susan did not know. Susan never learned what had happened to her family in the land of the living, because there was something left uncompleted in her life.
Susan was in a black humour as she tramped down the stairs to the cellar. She was making herself lunch, and wanted some of the canned peaches. She found the shelf she wanted, and took one of the quarts of peaches, heavy and solid in their Ball jar. Whipping around to go upstairs, she almost smacked her head on an open door.
An open door? There wasn't a door there! Susan had been in that cellar many a time, and never was there a door in that wall. It led to a dark passageway. Susan cautiously stepped inside it, the quart of peaches clutched tightly in her hand. She cautiously felt the wall with the other hand, thinking, If there are spiders in here, I am going to scream. But there were no spiders. The stone walls were dry and clean, free from spider- and cobwebs.
Her brothers sneaking out of the house in the early morning dressed in workman's clothes was one thing. Finding a tunnel in your cellar where no tunnel should be is something else. She had a right to know what this was all about. So with a show of bravery she wasn't sure she quite felt, Susan stepped boldly into the tunnel.
It was 11:52 in the morning. The train carrying her younger sister derailed at the station. Susan never heard of it.
After a few yards, the tunnel turned, and at the end, Susan could see daylight. That's strange, she thought, the ground doesn't slope up to the surface. She was soon out in the light—and staring at a beautiful June day. Before her was a field soft with grass and flowers, and then some cool, dark woodland. The sun shone brightly around her. But these were not the first things she noticed. The first thing she noticed was a man who had seen her sudden appearance, and was now striding purposefully toward her. He was dressed in lovely shades of green and blue, in a style that Susan could only assume was meant for a costume ball. Stopping before her, he made a graceful bow.
"My Lady," he said in perfectly English, "have you enjoyed a look about these ruins?"
"Ruins?" Susan exclaimed, momentarily distracted from all the other odd things that were going on. "What ruins?" She turned around to look the way she had come. "Oh," she said softly. For where she expected to see her house in London, there was only a manor house built of stone, in ruins, with grass growing where floors should have been, and the tunnel she came from only entered into the great hall, overgrown with late spring flowers.
"Oh, dear."
AN: Thanks to my mom for the suggestion of how to get her to Narnia. You have not seen the last of the peaches. :) So what do you think? And no, you're not SUPPOSED to like Susan. At least, not yet. Press that little review button at the bottom of the screen to make a poor little fanfic writer very happy!