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Emily stared up the front walk to Mrs. Pevensie’s house, clutching her sparkly clipboard in her hands.
Mrs. Pevensie could be very intimidating. She wasn’t the oldest of the other old folks who lived on Emily’s street, but even though she lived alone and used a cane, she was always working in her front garden every morning as Emily passed on her way to school. Emily and—and Nicholas always said “Good morning”, and Mrs. Pevensie always said “Good morning, girls” back, and she came to Mum and Dad’s dinner parties several times a year, but still. She looked like a black-haired Margeret Thatcher, who Mum always used as the villain in bedtime fairy tales. Emily wasn’t entirely sure who Margeret Thatcher was, except that she was evil, and that she looked a bit like a blonde Mrs. Pevensie. So, she was a bit scary, despite the morning greetings.
That’s why Emily was visiting Mrs. Pevensie last. See, Emily had a problem: she had just lost her grandmother. Honestly, it wasn’t the end of the world, but her Mum and Dad and Nicholas had spent a bunch of late nights talking and crying about it, and Emily wanted to do something nice for her brother, so Emily had hit upon an idea. There were lotsa old people who smelled weird and had too many lace doilies and stale biscuits, and a bunch of them lived on their street! And just because Mrs. Pullman didn’t work out (who had that many cats? Emily was allergic!); and Ms. Walker laughed herself silly before saying “No”; it didn’t mean that Emily couldn’t find a replacement Nana.
Emily steeled herself. The rest of her family could be brave—it was time for Emily, too. Quickly, before she could lose heart, Emily rushed up the walk onto the nicely painted front stoop and rang the bell. Nothing happened.
Emily rang again.
And again.
And ag—movement! In the fancy crystal-like glass, Emily saw strange shadows moving, and the clunk of an unlocking door. Her dread returned, but before she could flee, it opened.
“Emily, you don’t need to ring so many times. Older folks just need a tad to get up,” said Mrs. Pevensie, peering down from behind her spectacles, a face like craggy stone. “Could I receive an apology?”
Emily gulped—she had forgotten Mrs. Pevensie had a thing about manners. Holding her clipboard like a shield, she said, “I’msorryMrs.Pevensieforringingtoomanytimes.”
“Hmph. Be a dear and slow down next time. But how can I help you, young lady?”
Emily looked at her clipboard, and read, “Hello Mrs. Blank, I am Emily Asriel, from 41 Jordan Court. I am doing a confidential survey of the older folks in the neighborhood for quality assurance purposes”. Dad worked in ‘quality assurance’, which sounded quite official, and Emily had chosen it as cover for her true purpose. And she had just learned “confidential” from one of Mum’s Thatcher fairy tales—the plan of the heroine to sneak into Thatcher’s castle to steal a magic staff must be kept confidential— and Emily was really good at being confidential and saying it. Con-fi-den-shal. That word, and precocious. Pre-co-shus. It had the same ending sound, but spelled two different ways!
Mrs. Pevensie had the look that adults frequently had around Emily—Emily didn’t know what it meant. But Mrs. Pevensie said, “Well, you better come in,” and stepped back from the door. “Want a biscuit?”
Emily gratefully accepted the tin of biscuits Mrs.Pevensie gave her as she was led into the sitting room, which was richly decorated with embroidered cushions and blankets, and yes, some lace doilies. She took a careful bite of a biscuit—not stale at all! Emily made a quick note on her clipboard. Then she looked across the coffee table at the older woman, who carefully laid her dark wooden cane, carved all over, against the armrest of her chair and sat down with a sigh.
Mrs. Pevensie dutifully relayed her full name—“Susan Pevensie”—and her age—“Old enough”—and her occupation—“Why, I sit on the front stoop and observe my court!” Then it was time to get down to the important questions.
“Do you like children?”
“I like them fine, especially when they aren’t pestering me with a ringing doorbell.” Emily cringed, as Mrs. Pevensie continued, “They can get into trouble like you wouldn’t believe, though you don’t need to be told that.”
“What should girls wear?” Emily liked dresses fine, but she didn’t always want to wear one. Emily’s old Nana was crazy about them.
Mrs. Pevensie narrowed her eyes. “Clothes, hopefully.”
“What about dresses? What do you think of dresses? And girls?”
“I always loved a pretty dress. I have some beautiful ones upstairs. But I don’t think that’s what you’re asking.” Mrs. Pevensie was a clever woman. Emily made a note, and decided to move on quickly.
“Do you know any fairy tales?” Nicholas might be too old for fairy tales, but Emily had to look out for herself, too.
“I know lots of fairy tales—some of them are even true.”
Emily scrunched up her face; she had never heard of a true fairy tale. Them being about fairies was kinda the point. Doubtfully, she checked the “has plenty of stories” box. Next was a question added after Mrs. Pullman: “Any cats?”
“No, I never particularly cared for them,” she said, with a hint of laughter in her voice. “What in the world is this survey for?”.
Darn, Mrs. Pevensie was figurering her out. Emily decided to skip to the end.
“What’s the most important thing about family?”
Mrs. Pevensie’s smile dropped, and with it, Emily’s fear returned. Without a smile, Mrs. Pevensie had a face like granite—inhuman. Her blue eyes, which were never very warm, turned into burning chips of ice. Emily was struck with the terrible certainty that Mrs. Pevensie had known great power, and power knew her in turn, as an old friend.
“Playing mean tricks on an old woman? Why are you asking these questions, girl? ”
“I asked you first!” Emily was stunned that those words came out of her mouth, and even more afraid, almost quaking on the couch. She didn’t mean to say that—that’s not how you’re supposed to talk to a prospective Nana!
As if Mrs. Pevensie could sense her fear, the face thawed. Not granite, but a beautiful worn marble, like the statues at the museum Mum had taken Nicholas and her to see on a surprise school-day trip last month.
“I’ll answer,” Mrs. Pevensie started, “but only if you promise to tell me why you’re asking. The real truth, mind you.”
Emily nodded.
“Family is—well… oh bother. It’s hard to say.” Mrs. Pevensie’s face struggled with itself, eyebrows facing off. “Family—they’re who you stick with. They, they—families stick together. Or you want them too.”
Emily’s hope, already dimmed, extinguished. That wasn’t the answer she was looking for at all! She was struck by the whole unfairness of the world. All she wanted was to help her parents and her brother! All she wanted was a Nana who could replace—and she could feel tears start to leak, the world turning watery.
“Oh, Emily,” Mrs. Pevensie got up and crossed the room, sitting down next to her. “There, there, it’s okay.” She put her arm around Emily’s shoulders, bringing the scent of some flowery perfume. “I’m sorry I snapped at you—my husband passed a couple years ago. I gather your grandmother…?”
“No, she’s rotten! I hate her! We all hate her! I never want to see her again!” Emily could feel a horrible, sickening rage burning within her. This was so unfair!
“Hate your grandmother? That’s a very strong word to use.” Mrs. Pevensie sounded faintly disapproving, but didn’t move from her place at Emily’s side. “You know, when I was young—a bit older than you, but still young—I lost my whole family. My brothers and my sister, my parents. And, to be sure, we didn’t agree on everything, and wouldn’t agree even if they were here today. But it matters that they’re your family. You shouldn’t throw that away.”
Mrs. Pevensie punctuated her words with gentle rubs on Emily’s back. But now the tears were really flowing, and Emily’s breaths were ragged, and she leapt up and stamped her foot, knowing she was acting like a child and hating it all the same.
“But she threw us away first!” Already Emily was regretting exiting the hug. “Mrs. Pevensie, isn’t family supposed to love you? And kiss you on the forehead, and buy you mittens, and give you hugs after Sunday dinner? And Nana stopped that first! We all still love her!”
Mrs. Pevensie was surprised. “I think,” she said slowly, “that I’ve made a critical mistake. Emily, why don’t you be dear and start from the beginning?” She took a handkerchief from her pocket, and held it out for Emily. Emily didn’t take it, but she did grab another biscuit and angrily stuff it in her mouth.
“My brother—”
“Your brother?”
“My brother—”
“I wasn’t aware you had a brother.”
“Well, I do, and his name is Nicholas!” snapped Emily, overcome with rage, suddenly clear-eyed. “His name is Nicholas, because he told me his name is Nicholas. And I love him! Because he’s always been my older—he’s always helped me! And I want to help him!” A terrible disdain rose within her for Mrs. Pevensie, who like most adults seemed impotent and stupid, incapable of understanding.
Mrs. Pevensie only nodded, and said, “And … Nicholas, I take it, um—well, you walk to school together each day, yes? He’s in Sixth Form?” Maybe Mrs. Pevensie did get it.
“Yes.” Emily could feel the rage draining away, leaving emptiness behind.
“And, your grandmother—there’s conflict. Over Nicholas.”
“Yes. And so,” Emily sniffled, the tears returning, “He told me his name ages ago, and I had to keep it confidential , but then he told Mum and Dad, and almost an entire month ago they told Nana before Sunday dinner, and then, and then,” She hiccuped, once, and let Mrs. Pevensie tug her down to sit on the couch, her arm around Emily’s shoulders. “They all got in a massive fight, and Nicholas and I were in the garage, but we could still hear them yelling, and Mum and Dad came rushing out and we haven’t been back since even though I know Nana’s been calling because the voicemail keeps filling up and the internet is really slow, but Mum went over last week but we still aren’t going to dinner, and Nicholas is really sad and Mum has been crying at night a lot and I thought—” The tears were really pouring out now, and Emily’s voice had gone all weird and shaky, “—I thought that if I could find someone new to be our Nana I could help cheer everyone up because it seems like I can’t make anything else better and I keep on messing up his name and not helping at all and. And. That’s what I’m trying to do.”
“Oh, Emily, Emily,” Mrs. Pevensie turned the awkward side-hug into a full on hug-hug, one that wraps you up tight, and smells like rose and jasmine perfume, and though Mrs. Pevensie felt like an old person—kinda frail and thin, with a scratchy warm cardigan—it only made it better, feeling like the best hug that had ever happened. “Oh, you’re the best little sister someone could ask for. Oh, I’m sorry.” She kept up a constant stream of babble as Emily felt like she was about to dissolve into a puddle in Mrs. Pevensie’s arms.
Finally, after all the tears had left her, and Emily was damp and wrung out like a kitchen towel, Mrs. Pevensie gave her another biscuit.
Emily slowly nibbled on it.
Mrs. Pevensie said “Emily, you’ve been very brave, and very thoughtful, and I mean it when I told you that you’re being the best sister you can be. You’re a hero, and I want you to be proud of that—because helping isn’t easy.” Mrs. Pevensie smiled at her, and Emily was shocked she could have ever described Mrs. Pevensie as ‘scary’, because with this she seemed as glorious as an angel, and beautiful as a queen; love pouring out of her face.
“And what you’re trying to do—for your brother and your family—that’s the most important thing with family: sticking together. You’ve done it much better than I said it earlier.” Impossibly, Emily felt like there were new tears bubbling up within her, and set her face against them. Mrs. Pevensie was trying to say something that mattered.
“And Emily, I’m honored—perhaps more honored than I ever have been before—that you’d ask me for this.”
“I asked Mrs. Pullman and Ms. Walker first” said Emily mulishly, trying to distract herself from the well of emotions within her.
Mrs. Pevensie laughed, bell-like. Then her mouth grew serious: “Emily, I can’t just become your family’s new Nana. You haven’t asked your family about what they want, for one thing, and—well, your Nana hurt you, and hurt your brother, and your parents. When we’re hurting, it’s not right to pretend as if we’re fine. We can’t pretend that I’m your Nana, because that—it denies us the opportunity to heal.” Emily was dubious.
“Us humans, we’re not meant to bottle things up. That’s why family is so important—because family are the people that we can be honest with, and free with. And if your Nana is never part of your family again—that’s okay, and I, honestly, support it. It sounds like it might be the best for your brother and your mother, and it’s a sad fact of life that we all lose family members. But when we do, we have an opportunity to make a new family. To find the people with whom we can be free. Who we can love.”
At this, Mrs. Pevensie took Emily’s hands in hers. “Emily, I would be honored to be part of your family, and your brother’s and parents’ as well.”
“Really, Mrs. Pevensie?”
“Yes, truly. I swear on my honor, ” Mrs. Pevensie smiled, radiant. “And for family, I think I’m Susan, not a ‘Mrs.’, hmm?” That would be hard to remember, Emily thought.
“Now, how does giving your parents a ring sound? We could set up a dinner—I was wondering why I hadn’t seen them around. I’ll bring a fruit cake.”
Ugh, Emily thought. What a disgusting old-person dessert to bring.
The next morning, Emily and Nicholas walked down the street past Mrs. Pevensie’s—Susan’s!—house. She was out in the front yard, inspecting her garden.
“Good morning, Mrs. Pevensie!” Emily shouted.
“Good morning to you, young madam and sir!” came the reply.