The Silent Child

After the washing up is done I sink down in David’s chair with a sigh. Even though it’s been months, I can still smell his lingering scent on the chair: cigarettes and a lacing of whiskey and his crisp after shave. I close my eyes and sigh. I can almost hear him saying “Come on, old girl. The kitchen’s clean. Let’s go to bed.” I think of going upstairs with him and kissing in the dark. I curl up in the chair and sigh a bit.

“Alright, Mum?”

I open my eyes quickly. In my nostalgia, I forgot that Peter was there. I smile at him, trying to keep a mother’s composure. “Yes, fine.” I nod to the window. “Any sign of her?”

I turn out the light so Peter can peek through the blackout curtains into the dusk. After a few minutes of prolonged watching, he lets the curtain drop and rearranges it carefully, shaking his head. “Not yet.”

I check my pang of worry and stop myself from asking what will happen if she comes home after dark, what if she gets stuck and there’s a raid. I won’t fuss, because I’m not going to let this war ruin everything for my children. She deserves a first date just like any other girl. Just like I had.

Peter wanted to be the only one keeping the watch. He’s been nearly as excited as Susan since it’s his best friend Michael taking her out. Right now he chances another peek through the blackout curtains. “I told Michael to take her somewhere nice,” he says vaguely. “I want her to have a good time.”

“Mmm,” I agree, remembering Susan’s flurry to get ready. I lent her my only pair of stockings and some of my jewelry to smarten up her dress. I would have bought her a whole new one, but Edmund is growing like a weed and he needed new trousers; that took up all the clothes rations. Besides, there aren’t any dresses worth having these days anyway. I sigh a bit and as I inhale I get a whiff of David again. Tears prick at my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.

Eventually we hear the murmur of voices outside, and then the lock turns and Susan slips in. She tries to be subtle, but Peter bounds up from the couch. She raises her eyebrows at him as though she has no idea why he would be looking at her with suppressed excitement, and I choke back a giggle.

“Well,” Peter demands. “How was it? Was he a gentleman? I’ll thrash him if he wasn’t.”

Susan shrugs nonchalantly and smiles past him to me. “Hello, Mother. I’ll go put your jewelry back in your jewelry box, shall I?”

I nod, still trying to repress a smile at Peter’s exasperation. “Yes, dear. Thank you.”

She smiles serenely and floats upstairs while Peter trails behind her and peppers her with questions. I stand and let my hand slide over the back of David’s chair. I half want to follow her myself, but I know what David would say: “Don’t fuss, Helen. You make too much of them.” He’s right of course, and besides, a girl has a right to her own little secret romances. I remember how I used to store up the sweet little kisses David would give me and play them over in my head as I drifted off to sleep. I wander in the kitchen humming softly and make tea.

I drink a cup, absorbed in daydream, and put on another. While I’m waiting for the kettle to boil, Susan wanders downstairs in her nightdress. I have to pause for a moment at the sight of her because right now my daughter looks so perfect. She has always been astonishingly pretty, such that people always noticed her on the street. She was so shy though that she would hide against me or shrink closer to Peter. Now she is glowing with happiness. She feels special, as any girl would do, and somehow that makes her seem a little girl and a grown woman all at once. Her pretty porcelain skin has not a single shadow of worry in this moment, and her dark hair is glossy on her shoulders. It is vain to be proud of a daughter’s beauty, but I am lucky—my girl’s prettiness only reflects her sweetness. “Hello my dove,” I say warmly. “Do you want some tea?”

She nods, pulling the cuffs of her nightdress over her hands and murmurs, “Alright, Mum. Thanks.”

I take another mug down and add a spoonful of fresh tea to the pot. I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear and I cannot restrain a little smile.

“Aren’t you going to ask me like Peter?” she asks when I don’t say anything.

I shake my head and turn away to pour the tea. “A girl’s allowed her secrets,” I say. “That’s half the fun.”

Susan takes her cup and smiles, giggling a bit. “Peter’s bursting to know.”

“I know it.” I roll my eyes conspiratorially, and she laughs again. She looks happy, and she is laughing very easily. Good signs. “I expect all your young men will have to contend with him. It’s lucky the first one was his mate.”

“Yes…lucky,” Susan muses. She sits down at the table, sipping her tea slowly. I think rapidly that she deserves someone who will love her as much as her father and brother do, who will think of her as a princess and take care of her. I know that she in turn with her warm heart and tender ways will be the best of wives and mothers, the joy of any man. That is what I set out to be for David. I think of the words of his last letter. He is a terrible letter writer, all stiff and with no real news. He gives more advice and instructions to the children than tender words of love. But I can read between the lines, and in his short little message to me, I know he is saying “I want to come home and be with you.” So to tell him I will always be here, I write him warm effusive letters where I detail everything and tell him how much I miss him and what I will do for him when he comes home. And he writes back, “Don’t waste so much paper, you soft thing,” which means “I love you too.”

Susan’s voice rouses me from my thoughts. “He’s very sweet. He asked if he could kiss me.”

I raise my eyebrows and lean forward excitedly. “And?”

She blushes scarlet. “I said yes. That wasn’t improper, was it?”

“Not at all,” I shake my head and pat her hand. “Everyone’s allowed a little goodnight kiss. Especially if you like the boy.”

“I’d like to go out with him again,” she muses, her face still rosy and happy. “I really like him, Mum. But don’t tell Peter, alright? He can suffer in ignorance.”

I laugh and nod. “I won’t say a word.” I watch Susan sipping her tea, flush with her first taste of romance. Somehow she looks younger than ever despite her recent growth spurt. I had to let down all the hems of her dresses a couple of weeks ago, but she doesn’t look any older for it. She looks as delighted as she used to when she had a surprise as a little girl. The innocent sparkle in her eyes belies the fact that she is not a woman just yet. I watch her drink her tea and store up wishes for her. My girl is made for romance and falling in love and all sweet and good things. If I have anything to say about it, I will see that she comes to the happiest of endings, because she came from the warmest of beginnings.

David’s family had always been terribly proper. My family was never much for manners; in fact, Father didn’t hold with anything ‘bourgeois.’ I always despaired of this and tried to learn the best manners I could. When I married David, I realized that all my observation had failed to teach me several things; I found I was always making little mistakes when we went to his parents’ house. I had earned his mother’s respect because I was a proper wife and not some sort of modern girl who wore short skirts and wanted to go out working. Nevertheless I would persist in horrid shows of manners such as smiling when my husband came into a room, or greeting people very warmly. I tried to be a credit to David, but I could never quite seem to earn his mother’s approval as David’s brother’s wife, Eleanore, had.

The main trouble was that the Pevensies, being a stoutly middle class family, believed that every English wife should be all meek obedience and stiff propriety. Her role was a duty, not a joy. When Peter was born Mother Pevensie came to visit when I got home from the hospital and asked when we were going to engage a nanny. Even if we wanted a nanny, David’s meager salary would never have allowed for it, much less a place to put her. I clutched my baby to my chest and announced proudly that I would be caring for him myself, thank you, that David and I had decided. She raised her eyebrows at this but said nothing. I am sure to her the idea of dealing with all a baby’s messes was utterly repulsive.

But Peter was a good baby, but there were an awful lot of messes. I didn’t mind one bit, though. I got to kiss his soft little tummy after I changed him. I was the one to lull him back to sleep after he woke sick in the night. Peter had a special smile that was reserved just for me, and I could imagine ceding any of those things to a nanny. No more could I imagine some maid ironing David’s shirts to starched perfection, or some cook preparing his dinner.

In December, she issued an invitation to come and spend Christmas. I protested—I wanted Peter to spend his first Christmas at home, and I only wanted to be with my two boys. I had visions of sitting by our Christmas tree with Peter in my lap while David showed the baby the presents as they were unwrapped and smiling and shaking his head when I exclaimed over everything. David always called me over-sentimental and warned me not to fuss too much over Peter. “You’ll spoil him, Helen,” he warned me frequently. I always replied with “No I won’t. He’s too sweet.” It was a sort of banter between us because I could see in his eyes the love he had for us. Every night when he came home from work he would give me his hat and his coat, and while I fixed his drink he would go and watch over Peter in his cot as he loosened his tie.

Despite the daily routine of intimacy David overruled me regarding Christmas. “She’s invited us, Helen, and we’ve got no good reason not to go. Especially when we were at your mother’s for Easter.” There was nothing else left to say, especially considering David had gone to my mother’s with relatively good grace, and he and Mother were always at odds. The least I could do was put up with a disapproving frown or two. So I packed up all of Peter’s baby things with the best grace I could muster, noting unhappily that David seemed rather excited. Wasn’t I enough for him at Christmas?

When we arrived, there was a round of cordial greetings and kisses. After taking Peter upstairs to change him, I brought him into the parlor to show him off to his grandparents. Peter grinned and waved his little stuffed bear at everyone. Mother Pevensie nodded her approval and sipped her tea, but she didn’t reach for the baby or even grace him with half the enthusiasm he gave her. All she said was “Fair babies do not run in our family. He is very handsome, Helen.”

I could tell from the expression on David’s face that this was high praise indeed, and I glowed with pride to hear it. Considering she had never so much as nodded approval at my hairstyle, I took this as high praise. I gave Peter a smacking kiss on the cheek and murmured to him “Do you hear that? You are a very handsome boy.” In reply he babbled blithely and patted my face. I chuckled and rubbed noses with him.

David coughed. “Helen’s quite attached to him,” he said as if explaining something that should be pardoned. I couldn’t restrain giving him an odd look when not two hours before he had been so charmed by the both of us.

“Yes, well I can imagine she would be without any help,” Mother Pevensie replied. Before I could open my mouth to defend David and say that I didn’t need any help, she continued. “Which brings me to a little surprise I’ve arranged for the two of you. I’d imagine it’s been awhile since you’ve had a solid night’s sleep, so I’ve hired a nanny to come for a couple of days and help with the baby. As a Christmas treat.”

David spoke for us. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Mother. We’re quite grateful.”

I glanced at David and held Peter a little closer. I was torn. On the one hand an entire night’s sleep seemed like a long forgotten luxury, but on the other I couldn’t imagine someone else caring for Peter when he cried. David patted my arm and looked meaningfully at me, repeating “We’re quite grateful.” And that settled the matter.

Admittedly, the first two nights it was a treat. I had a little blip of conscience that I couldn’t even hear Peter when he cried, but before I could really even have a chance to be troubled I was fast asleep.

Things were not as blissful during the day, however. Peter’s every need was catered to by the supremely capable but coldly distant nanny. As for David, all my little wifely duties were taken away from me—I couldn’t cater to him because they had staff to do such things. I couldn’t serve him at dinner because my mother in law presided as the hostess. Moreover, David himself was different. He didn’t seem to want to talk to me anymore, but expected me to withdraw with his mother and sister in law after dinner. At home, that hour was reserved for conversation, when he would tell me about the office and his research, but here he only seemed to see his father and his brother. He spoke to them in a loud, officious voice that was rather unlike him. Once, I brushed his shoulder and leaned over to tell him something about Peter, and he frowned. “Tell the maid we need a refresher on drinks, won’t you?”

By Christmas night, though, the novelty of sleep had worn off and I longed to have my old family comfort back. The family adjourned to the parlor for conversation and ‘aperitifs.’ Everyone had a drink but me; I was only allowed a very small measure of sherry which I finished in about a swallow. I looked at David who was talking animatedly with his father, and I wished for home. I would perch on the arm of his chair while he read me the news, perhaps, or sit on the ottoman and rub his feet, which he always liked. I dared to brush his hand, and Mother called my attention away, but not before David gave me a little frown and a shake of my head.

Finally I grew so exasperated and empty feeling that I went upstairs. I thought to check on Peter, but the minute I crossed the threshold of his nursery, the nanny was out of her rocker. “He’s just gone down, ma’am,” she explained. “Best not to wake him.”

I peered around her, trying to catch a glimpse of my sleeping son. It felt like a very long time since I had heard his gurgling giggle. As I tried to peer, though, the nanny blocked my way and raised her eyebrows. I pasted on a smile and nodded, and as there was nothing else to do, I left. I stood at the top of the stairs for a moment, frowning undecidedly at them. I realized I couldn’t go back to the parlor again. I was far too homesick. Instead I went and changed for bed.

I tried to get to sleep, but my exhaustion was all worn off. I could hear the vague noises of polite merriment drifting up from downstairs, and I stared into the dark room thinking of the warmth of my little home. Everything was different here. Peter was far away and David had become a properly distant husband. Finally I gave in and had a little cry. I knew I was behaving like a spoiled child, but I so wanted to go home and be with my husband and son and no intruding mothers in law and nannies, however well they meant. All my childhood I wanted to be genteel and middle class, and now that I was I found it miserable. I wished that I could sit beside David and hold his hand while he talked. I wished that I when I found him particularly handsome or sweet, I could kiss him freely. I wished that there weren’t rules governing everything, even the bedroom when we were alone. I knew even without a lecture from my mother in law that a lady couldn’t show passion, or shouldn’t want to kiss her husband all over, and above all, she should want him, or think about lying with him. I tallied it up in my head—it was nearly a year since David and I had made love. We couldn’t all while I was pregnant, and then we didn’t after because Peter was so much to care for. I missed him. I missed the way he whispered to me, and his touch in a darkened room. I wanted him, however inappropriate it was, and the worst of it was that I knew I couldn’t have him, certainly not here in the land of manners. I punched the pillow down and frowned, hating the rules that kept me from my family.

Eventually I must have drifted off because the next thing I knew, the door opened and David slipped in, silhouetted by the light of the hallway. I pushed myself up on my elbow and shielded my eyes from the sudden brightness.

“Oh, Helen, I didn’t mean to wake you dear,” David whispered. I smiled at his tone. He sounded boyish, like a child at Christmas, and warm. More like himself than he had since our arrival.

I sat up a little and shook my head, watching him. He closed the door and began to undress in the moonlight. “I was having a bit of trouble sleeping,” I murmured to him. He stumbled as he made his way over to his side of the bed and pulled out his pajamas. When he leaned over, I could smell the alcohol on his breath, and I hid a giggle. “You’ve been drinking,” I played at reproachfulness.

“A bit, maybe. The eggnog was very good. You must have some next year.” He bit his lip as he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt.

I got on my knees and shuffled over to the edge of the bed, helping him smoothly with the buttons. It was most improper, but David was just drunk enough not to care. “You should have snuck me a taste of yours,” I said softly, pulling the tails of his shirt out of his trousers.

He stood very still, looking down at me for a long moment before he caressed my cheek roughly but tenderly. I closed my eyes to feel his caress. It felt so good to have my husband back again. I peeled his shirt off his shoulders and he raises his eyebrows when I caressed his shoulders with the very tips of my fingers.

Just as he was leaning forward to kiss me, there was a rap at the door. David cleared his throat and called “Yes?”

A muffled voice answered. “Mrs. Pevensie wanted to know if you needed anything, sir.”

I pouted, thinking “Mrs. Pevensie wants to be left alone with her husband, if you please.”

“No,” David called back. I could tell from the heat of him that he was blushing. “We’re fine, thank you.”

The maid departed with a muffled call of “Happy Christmas.” I turned back to David, but he was already managing getting into his pajamas himself. I stroked his hair and kissed it, and I laid down on my side, frowning back more tears. My body throbbed with stifled desire.

After a moment, he lay behind me and wrapped his arms around me, kissing my neck once, warmly. I felt myself melt, and I turned to him at once. He hadn’t buttoned his pajama top, and I stroked his chest with my fingers, biting on my lip. Then all at once he was kissing me, hard and urgently. I didn’t wait for him to push me onto my back. I rolled myself and pulled him with me and I felt his warm weight on top of me.

I arched underneath him and whispered. “Your mother…” I wanted David very much, but I didn’t like the thought of her somehow finding out how wanton I had been with her son.

He lifted his head and looked at me, his eyes glittering merrily. “Then, my darling Helen, we shall just have to be silent, won’t we?” He murmured.

And then we were moving together, slowly so as not to creak the bedsprings. Our gasps and sighs mingled with the soft rustling of the bedsheets. The moon went behind a cloud and I could hardly see. I could only feel the warmth of his body, his sweat rubbing against me. I could smell him, clean and sharp but also manly. I could smell his desire. And lastly there was his mouth, his warm red, eager mouth on my skin, on mine, silencing both our moans of pleasure. There, in the silent proper house on the well groomed street, I discovered the secret a good wife should never know.

I look at Susan, so young and innocent with her hands wrapped around her cup. Her expression was quietly dreamy, and I wondered if she was replaying a goodnight kiss in her mind. The romance of it fills me up too, and I remember David that Christmas night, so tender. He doesn’t say it often, but I learned then that he always loved me, underneath. And so I can read the codes in his letters. Caught in a reverie between my pretty daughter and my dear husband, I cannot resist leaning forward and cupping her cheek, thinking how from that sweet Christmas night came my sweet little girl. Susan is a silent child; she does not easily confess what’s on her mind or what she’s feeling, but I know that underneath she has a warm heart, full of tenderness for everyone. That is something she shares with her father, because, only those of us who know her well know this truly.