A Slow Paced Envy (15/15)

[fumblingmusings]

A study of a potential Female England characterisation. Snapshots through the years showing how and where her attempts at parenthood and romance run dissonant to the reality of being the motherland of the world's largest empire. There's a lot of people in her head who don't belong there, and it soon becomes everyone else's problem.

Also available on Ao3.

Chapter Fifteen: 1998-2000, or a new millennium

London, England

“Are you tired yet?”

Evelyn snorted, walking along the river side by side with Matthew. The space between them was wide enough for it to be noticeable, but not so distant that the two could not hear each other talk. It was a cloudy but warm enough day, the bank holiday filling the riverside with tourists. England was wearing nothing more than a sleeveless plaid shirt and a not very interesting pair of brown trousers. Against Canada, who was in what had become his usual red hoodie and jeans, they looked a bit of a mismatched pair. Clearly not a couple from their body language, but not family either. Maybe.

“I don’t know. Help me count what we’ve done this month.” England held up her hand as a fist, and Matthew smiled, pulling up each finger as she rattled off May’s events. “Let’s see. Eurovision in Birmingham, at the start. You must have enjoyed the show.”

“I will not pretend to understand it, nevermind that time I lent Vash Celine Dion that one time.”

His retort made Evelyn nearly keel over with laughter. “And he is very grateful, even if he won’t admit it. Then G7 -”

“G8, Eva,” he interrupted, gently reminding her of Russia’s first attendance.

“Tcht. Good Friday agreement of course…”

“Thank God.”

She nodded, earnest for once. “Yes, thank God. In whatever way he wants to be thanked. I’ve never seen Patrick so happy. Erin too, for a long time. The hope it has given us all! Then the reopening of your High Commission of course. And then…” her smile faltered, just for a moment, as her list came to an end, “some state visit. I don’t know. No-one important.”

Matthew paused in his walk, not liking her despondent tone with regards to the Japanese visit, then immediately went to catch up to her. “Did you get to spend time with Kiku? In between the G8 and the palace?”

“A little,” she said cryptically, only to change the subject back to Matthew. “Never mind that. Did you get much work done in London this month? You must be happy with Canada House’s refit?”

“You say that as if I have not been there or with you nearly all month.”

“And what a wonderful guest you have been.” Evelyn looked across the river, downstream. “No. Guest is the wrong word. It’s your home. That will never change. Hmm. I think we should put something there. Right? By the river. Next to the old County Hall, see? Just begging for something. There’s talk for the new millennium for each town and city to have a gift. I want more green spaces.”

Canada watched her watch the water, then said, “It will be lovely, whatever it is, I am sure.”

She turned around, backing up against the black painted railings and walls that separated the Thames from the path. Evelyn smiled shyly.

She wore glasses now, thin gold framed with huge lenses. The same as what Matthew wore. It softened up her face considerably. She had needed them since the fifties, when one London’s smogs had almost blinded her and killed thousands of her people, not that anyone had admitted to it.

She had not recovered, not fully, not quite correctly. Matthew had not seen her then, it had happened in between his visits to his brother, but Alfred and Maia, who had been staying at the time, described it to him not long after. Evelyn had complained once, about how her health seemed to be an open topic for discussion without her knowledge, but it was not as though Matthew had asked, Alfred had just mouthed off about it, seeking advice.

He knew that Matthew had spent a long time seeing after her physical health, as if he had ever managed to fix her woes or had anything meaningful to offer aside from simply holding her hand as she went through whatever sickness she was fighting. When Matthew had told him that, his brother had grown angry.

She’d screamed when her sight went, Alfred had said, dripping in frustration. I couldn’t help her. And you should have seen the thing she coughed up. Christ. Looked like she hacked up her own lung. Black and red and…

Wasn’t just pollution if you ask me, Maia had concluded. Matthew thought there was more to that statement than anyone would openly admit, and Alfred had given her a funny look at the statement. Matthew suspected he didn’t like the girl particularly, though why he could not say.

Oddly, it was the first conversation they’d all had since the war which was not painful, awkward or stilted.

And it was about Evelyn being sick. Some topics felt eternal.

She did not look sick now. Quite the opposite. No, now she looked warm and so much softer than Matthew had ever known her. Her frizzy blonde hair was tied up high on her head, a green ribbon wrapped around the band.

Well. Maybe he could remember her being that soft. Once, a feeling more than a reminiscence, of being carried through her house. In her arms. So fuzzy and unclear that it felt more of a memory of a memory over a real recollection.

“I think so too. I feel so much more… awake - if that’s the right word - this decade. Like everything will…” she stared at Matthew, still grinning, “Like everything will be better than before. You haven’t answered my question. Tell me, have you had a nice trip? You have been very lucky with the weather.”

“It has been nice,” Matthew agreed. His unending politeness made Evelyn bashful, although she wished he would just be more open with her. Her feelings did not need sparing.

“What will you do when you go home?”

Canada shrugged, “Keep quiet, mostly. I have had my fill of excitement for the decade. I don’t know if Quebec has been laid to rest, but for the moment it does seem so.”

“You handled it very well.”

“Not really.”

Evelyn paused, knowing she would not change his mind. Her own thoughts wandered, and she began to scratch at the stone, clawing and leaving marks behind.

“Have you seen Leon?” she asked suddenly, reluctant to say his name.

Matthew blinked, catching up with her train of thought. He shook his head. “You should ask Kris.”

“Those two used to be joint at the hip.”

“Still are. They would be happy if you came to see them.”

“Not Leon.”

“I don’t think so. Besides, Yao complains about them all the time. ‘Oh Hong Kong and Singapore, all they do all day is shop and disrespect traditions!’”

His impression of Yao was quite good, and Evelyn swallowed a snort.

“Do they?”

“They are very young,” was all he said in response. The glint in his eye gave away his approval, and Evelyn’s nerves settled.

“Rebellious youths . Ah, I know something about that. What did they do I wonder? Egg Yao’s house?”

“You’re terrible.”

“I’m old.”

He joined her by the water, watching her lean back and catch what little sun there was peering through heavy clouds. She was pale, of course she was, but pink. Rounder than she had been fifty years ago. Still small, a little fragile looking, very much akin to a rabbit, but Matthew knew she could kick just as well as any rabbit. Better, truly.

“Your freckles are out,” he muttered.

She opened her eyes, squinting at him. “What an odd comment to make.”

“It means you look well.”

She blushed, pinker than her usual flush. “I feel well,” she said. Evelyn looked Matthew up and down, then smiled gently. “You don’t look half bad yourself.”

“Do I? Everything feels odd right now. Like in limbo or something. Or maybe this is what it should be. Maybe I’m there now. Maybe it isn’t so bad to just stop and take it in.”

“That sounds nice. It feels an odd time because we’re on the cusp of a new thousand years. When the wait for such a large event takes so long, anticipation cannot last. It’s impatience. Restlessness.”

“Did you think that last time?”

“Francis had me convinced that the world was going to end. You don’t wanna know what stupid shit we got up to thinking we wouldn’t live to see another year.”

Matthew laughed. “And now?”

She thought about it. “I like where I am. I like what has come to pass. The idea of stopping and taking it all in, I like that. It sounds like healing, don’t you think?”

There was a concept rarely heard in this family. Matthew mused on her words for some time.

The pair stood by the water, catching dozens of conversations in dozens of languages as her people and tourists walked by. Evelyn’s hand twitched, wanting very much to reach for and hold Matthew’s. Screwing it up into a fist, she flipped around instead, looking out over the grey water once more.

“Mattie,” she began, then stopped herself. “Would you… Do you…”

She stopped, finding the words very hard to say.

Matthew saved her from embarrassment and changed the subject. “Alfred is roping me in to help plan a new year’s party. But next year . I have no idea what goes through his head sometimes. He’s either planning something five year’s in advance or”-

“Pulling something out his arse last minute,” Evelyn sighed, resting the palm of her hand on her cheek, squishing it cutely. For the longest time Christmas and New Year had been the one annual chance she could get Matthew, Jack and Maia with her in the same room. This was no longer a guaranteed thing, but she had hoped they would agree for the new millennium. Alfred took precedence though, as always.

She swallowed the lump of disappointment.

“Well. This is something he wants to do. Bring in the new millennium. Who’s the party for?”

Matthew immediately blew away her sombre mood.

“All of us, he said. Everyone who’s like us. The entire UN plus some.”

She coughed. “Oh Jesus. I await my invite with trepidation.”

“You’d come?”

“Of course I would. No-one should spend New Year’s Eve alone. It’s a time for celebration.”

“You’d rather not be at home?”

She thought for a moment. “I would like to be with my family. Ali does New Year’s better than I do. I just get quite drunk, especially alone. He sets things on fire and needs two days to get over the hangover. Oh! How about next January - if you liked - I take you and your siblings over to Whittlesey for the straw bear festival? You’ll like it. It’s near Cambridge. The Fenlands cover a lad from head to toe in hay and they move along the streets with musicians and dancers. He goes from house to house for gifts, people giving him food or beer. It’s done on Plough Monday, to kick off the agricultural year. It’s genuinely so funny seeing these poor lads head to toe in straw.”

Matthew smiled. “You hold on so tight to your traditions.”

Evelyn nodded, enthusiastic now. “I was starting to forget, before the wars. The greed and superiority killed them. But my people brought them back. And yours! Like your wonderful folk singers; they do such a beautiful job. Thank you! Each song and dance and costume. Everything that wasn’t convenient or proper or… God, I love them all for saving them, for making me remember. I won’t forget it now.” She put her hands together, curling them into a tight fist. “I won’t forget. I’m the land of hope and glory, but I so need others to give it to me. Tomorrow will always be better than what came before, so long as I have you all to help me. I hope I can be of use to you in turn.”

Matthew rested a hand on top of her clasped ones. It did not surprise Evelyn how quickly she uncurled her hands. His fingers were warm, gentle, but sparking fire up her arm. Evelyn wanted nothing more for him to slip his fingers in between hers, and cling tightly. She always needed to be held; how much strength she drew knowing there was someone beside her, behind her.

Matthew argued, “Being of use? I remember you told me once that such things should not matter between us.”

“But I don’t want to be a burden anymore.”

Gruffly, Matthew retorted, “I don’t think you quite know how much I needed you, back then. When I saw you at the harbour, when you took me to the meadows, when you wrote to me and stayed for weeks, months , at a time. I know what brought us together was… what it was. I know why you were so obsessed. But knowing there was someone who wanted me, who fought to keep me. You have no idea how much that mattered, especially for that forgotten boy in Quebec.”

“Darling -”

But Matthew did not let her finish, instead he slowly retreated from holding her hand, as if regretting the action and words.

“Matthew,” Evelyn started again. “I wanted to apologise, to you specifically. Not… not England to Canada. I don’t think I should for that.”

“What do you mean?” he asked slowly.

Words she had not been able to say for a long time bubbled to the surface. “My grief leaks out like poison, destroying everything I touch.”

Matthew saw a little girl drop her ice cream nearby, bursting into tears. He watched the mother drop down to her knees and pick up her daughter, carting her away with coos and sounds of sympathy. He thoroughly empathised.

With his silence, Evelyn began to fumble her words. “I started thinking about it again with the Japanese visit. My veterans, you see. Where the line is between me and England.”

England picked at her nails and cuticles, never quite able to stop herself from the hurt when she became upset. She could not get the image of her old soldiers turning their back on Japan’s Emperor as he and his wife went by earlier in the month. It was not an easy topic to talk about.

Her and Japan were close. But not that close. Her future lay with Europe, supposedly, and with the Commonwealth to a far lesser extent, if they wanted her. Japan fit into neither sphere, but Evelyn supposed neither did America, and yet that relationship was beyond one sphere. The trouble with being tied to the world’s only superpower - America had his fingerprints everywhere, including Japan.

England and Japan were partners. Evelyn and Kiku were tentatively friends. Evelyn still looked at him with despondency. Yes, things would work out that were meant to be. No the two were not what they once were, entirely for the better. So why was simply asking the question of would you like to try again so hard? There was no conflict of interest this time, the two of them were left entirely alone by their governments and monarchs, they had no duty of care to anyone but themselves.

And yet. And yet. And yet.

Evelyn had the terrible feeling that the answer would be no. She was not worth trying for particularly. It seemed an unfair burden to ask for it.

Evelyn continued, “So, I refuse to forget from now on. That’s what I tell myself, though I know it’s not enough, but I still think it is worth trying, for surely something is better than nothing, or perhaps that’s arrogant to think and - ”
Matthew took her hand once more, pulling her away from doing any damage to her skin.

“Sometimes you say things that I wish I didn’t bite my tongue over. I don’t know if it makes you brave or thoughtless.”

“So I’m rambling?”

“You are absolutely rambling. But I understand your meaning and your intent. Having said that…” Canada nudged England gently, squeezed her hand once, then let it go. “I am not the person you should be saying this all too.”
“You’re not? But I wanted to - I wanted to say I’m sorry. Even if my government won’t. I want to… I’m sorry.”

Matthew frowned, not expecting the words to come flying out of her mouth.

“Have you said this to anyone else?” he asked, thinking of his siblings.

“Alfred, a long time ago. But no. Not really.”

“What a weird time to say it,” Matthew mused.

It was not the reaction she had been hoping for. Neither had she been wishing for adulation or tears, but in her heart of hearts, she had wanted nothing more than a thank you and all is forgiven.

How arrogant to even hope for such a thing. To expect such grace.

“Sorry,” she muttered again.

He then kissed her temple. She sighed, but it was not a relieved and happy exhale, rather a pained one. Twisting, she reached up and wrapped her arms tight around his neck. He made a funny little noise, but did not push her away.

“Love you,” she murmured. “Loved you from the moment I was allowed to hold you for the first time. My precious boy.”

Evelyn felt Matthew flush, heat rushing to the surface.

“Why?” he begged.

She was unfalteringly honest when she said, “I don’t know. You were just perfect. You always have been. Sweet and gentle and so thoughtful. I thought the rest of the world was mad for not loving you as much as I did.”

Matthew squeezed himself even closer, voice cracking against her hair.

“Love you too, maman.”

Despite the sincerity in his voice, it did not escape England’s notice that he neither accepted nor rejected her apology. Even if he believed she had nothing to apologise for, Evelyn could not escape the feeling of discomfort.

The ’L’ word was not dropped easily in this family, but even it could not be a cure all balm.

Desperate, Evelyn held tight. “What if you all don’t forgive me? I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

Matthew picked her up in his hold, as if she were a little girl, constricting her, then set her down.

“And? Do it anyway. You are no coward Eva.”

The urge to dispute this rose, but she simply bit her tongue. Going in circles truly would help no-one.

“Oh. Yes, of course. You’re right.”

He let her go, Evelyn following suit reluctantly. They pushed away from the wall and continued on their walk. Matthew lingered just a little closer to his mother, fingers very nearly touching.

It was something.

*****

Texas, USA

America threw good parties, and everyone, even someone as perpetually miserable as Ivan, had to admit it.

It was a good thing Alfred had a ranch in the middle of nowhere, it made for quite the excellent venue. The lights of the house were visible from miles away, the entire surrounding area approaching complete darkness despite the relatively early hour.

“Argh, Jesus Christ Paddy, you’ll ruin the clutch!”

The four constituent nations of the United Kingdom were bickering in some truck they had hired at the airport. Patrick had insisted on doing the drive. Rhys had gritted his teeth and nodded, Alasdair had complained, and Evelyn had shrugged, glad that at least she didn’t have to endure Ali’s crap jokes on her driving.

She was a perfectly competent driver. Matthew had taught her in the sixties with a little red Mini that she still had to this day, provided Alfred continued to volunteer as her mechanic.

As it turned out, Alasdair was just a backseat driver. And Patrick was indeed not very good.

Understatement, Evelyn mused. He was in fact rather shit.

“Leave him alone!” she snapped nonetheless, “They all drive on the wrong side of the road here, it’s tricky.”
“I haven’t died in sixty years, I won’t do it now,” Rhys muttered to himself, holding on very tightly to his door behind Evelyn. “I haven’t died in sixty years…”

“Come on, pull over. Let me drive,” Ali protested. His hand came forward to the driver and passenger seats, flapping ineffectively. Faster than a snake strike, Evelyn slapped his arm back. “Ow! Ya wee bugger -”

Patrick harrumphed, letting go of the wheel to complain and wave his hands dramatically. “Eh, no! I think not! We are fine !”

Evelyn cried out, grabbing one of his hands and shoving it back onto the leather wheel. The entire car jerked sideways, then corrected itself.

“We’re nearly there,” she wheezed. “Nothing but open ground, there is nothing -”

“You fuckin’ jinxed it, oh my god .”

“Have a wee bit of faith, lads,” Patrick protested, only to promptly swerve and slam the brakes.

England was thrown forward, smacking her head off the dashboard. Absent-mindedly, she baffled at the apparent lack of air cushions. Wales and Scotland also jolted, Rhys giving off a very dignified scream.

“Look!” Patrick complained. “Something jumped in front of me, it’s not my fault!”

“That something better have been bigfoot ya wee shite -”

“How about a hare,” Rhys muttered, and the four watched it hop across the road, uncaring of the chaos it was causing.
“They dinnae have hares here. That’s a jackrabbit,” Alasdair said, watching the creature disappear into the dark.
Evelyn pouted. “A jackrabbit is a hare. Smartarse.”

The car was quiet for a beat, then erupted into bickering.

“For the love of all that is holy -”

“I’m no dyin’ before we even -”

“He won’t learn unless -”

“...Anyway!” Paddy declared, slamming hard on the accelerator and the four shot off once again, arguing the entire time.
When Canada opened the door to greet the four, he could hear them arguing before he could see them. They stopped the minute Alfred’s heavy wooden door opened, then turned and smiled, the picture of civility.

“You hit your head?” Matthew asked, concerned about the growing red mark on England’s forehead.

She rolled her eyes, then glared daggers at her youngest brother. “Glad to hear you think I did it to myself.”

Patrick looked bashful, ducking under Matthew’s arm to see how Alfred had decorated. Matthew got a pat on the back from Rhys, a slapped shoulder from Alasdair, and a kiss from Evelyn.


“I didn’t mean to say you hurt yourself,” he apologised.

Evelyn kissed him again. “I know. Paddy’s driving leaves a lot to be desired. We were all arguing when he nearly ran over a jackrabbit. Or a hare. Whichever. Bonked my head.”

“You’re early.”

“Paddy’s driving leaves a lot to be desired,” she repeated, being the last to step through the threshold. “You’re well?”
Matthew shrugged, ready to give his response when Alfred’s booming voice came from the landing.

“Mattie!!! Kiku says he’s stuck at the airport; lost his suitcase, so knowing his luck they won’t find it until the next millennium. He might not make it in time to -” Alfred stopped abruptly and smiled when he saw England and Canada below. “Hi Evie! You’re early.”

She swallowed a groan, and said derisively, “Hi Alfie, so we are.”

He shuddered at the nickname, then hopped down the stairs. His arm went around her shoulder, squeezed out a squeak from her, then merrily moved on, wanting to speak to Patrick, who had already found his way to the bar. Alasdair was on the other side, apparently electing to be bartender for the night.

Alfred’s ranch was exceedingly modern. Not the shell, the foundations and walls seemed quite old (for America), but the boy was forever looking forward, and had gutted the place several times. Now there was a huge open space, rooms that seemed to have no doors to let the air flow. Bright furniture in unnatural colours dotted the space, not to mention the rainbow lights dotted around and swinging up high. No music was playing yet, nor was there any food on the long stretches of tables. Through another set of doors she could see the set up on his extensive porch. On the other side of the square were the stables, in the distance.

“You still have the horses in?” she asked.

Alfred’s voice came from the kitchen, which she followed through to see what he was doing.

“Don’t worry! There’s no fireworks tonight. The music shouldn’t bother them, not really.”

“They’re not exactly war horses, used to banging and clattering,” England stated, joining her eldest by the fridge. “Can I help?”

“Uhhh, not really.”

“Oh.”

“Jack said he wanted to cook on the barbecue outside, I know better than to get in his way.”

Alfred slammed the fridge doors shut, arms full of assorted dips and sauces. Evelyn reached up and took a couple from the pile, following Alfred out onto the quad. He truly had gone all out. Benches and chairs and tables were sheltered under a lattice of climbing vines and plants. Small heaters had been tied to posts alongside lights, keeping the temperature pleasant enough to remain out all night.

Evelyn set down the containers where directed.

“This was a nice idea,” she admitted. To her surprise, Alfred seemed delighted she thought so, smiling broadly.

“Yeah! Francis told me what the last one was like for you two”-

“Did he.”

-“So I suppose anything is an improvement on that. ” Alfred looked at her, and his smile grew broader. “Your freckles are out.”

“Why does everyone keep telling me that,” she muttered.

“Means you look healthy.”

“They’re just freckles.”

“Yahuh. Anyway. Enjoy tonight. I bought some Pimm’s, so make it however you want.”

“You have lemonade?”

“Not your kind.”

“Sprite will do.”

“Sprite isn’t -” he cut himself off, seeing she was teasing him. He coughed. “Whatever old lady.”

Evelyn found the strawberries and oranges she needed back in the kitchen, and began to slice them up thinly, thinking they could be put to use by her brother at the bar. She delivered them in neat bowls, noting that Alasdair already had a glass of scotch in hand. Rhys was with Matthew inspecting the music. He looked through the CDs, scoffing at each in turn.

“I have a better selection in the car, let me get them.”

Matthew burned red. “No, but I spent weeks-”

The doorbell rang, and Evelyn went to get the door. It seemed like it would be a long night.

*****

Jack was quite drunk when he yelled in her ear, “I still get to be your first kiss of the new year, right?”

Another tradition, started from when he was so small he could not stand on his own two feet. A kiss for good luck for the rest of the year. Evelyn did not know if she actually brought him any luck, nor if it had ever portended good things in the year to come, but still, the mere fact that Jack had asked her was intensely heartening.

“You don’t want to ask Mei?” she said, jerking her head over to Taiwan. “She’d say yes in a heartbeat, you know.”

Jack shook his head. “Tradition is important.”

Evelyn snorted, and inhaled deeply the smoke from her cigarette. Neither party was going to have nice breath, even for their usual closed mouth peck.

“Wipe off that sauce from your mouth and the answer is yes.”

Dignified as usual, Jack simply smushed his mouth on his sleeve.

Alfred and his impossibly loud megaphone began to make a speech, reading directly off a printed piece of paper. Everyone was congregating in the square or poking their heads through the large doors to catch what he was saying. Evelyn tried to pay attention, but she was quite drunk, and little movements kept catching her eye.

Ludwig was balancing a remarkably not lucid Feliciano in his back, who was cooing and clinging and not at all paying listening to the countdown of the clock, not that Ludwig seemed to care, himself also tipsy and for once enjoying himself. Matthew was hidden in a corner, sitting at a table with Katya. He appeared so dopey eyed (in love, her thoughts argued, in love ) that his mother almost felt sorry for him. When Ukraine’s hand came up to pat his never settled curl, Evelyn looked away. Maia had her cousins all piled on top or around her on one of the lounges. Samoa, Tuvalu, Tonga all tangled up in such a way where it was impossible to tell which hand or foot belonged to whom. All were smiling, all were happy.

Evelyn continued to look around, spotting Francis and Belle, Ivan and Natallia, Antonio and Gabriel, on and on… but she could not spot Kiku.

“Okay! Okay, countdown time! Hopefully our computers don’t explode haha! Ten! Nine…”

Everyone began to join in - a deafening cacophony of two hundred voices. When the clock struck zero, streamers and confetti shot out from seemingly nowhere. Music blasted even louder, and the cheering was deafening. Evelyn took Jack’s cheeks in her hands, squeezed tight until his lips puckered like a fish, then gave a light and sweet peck before releasing him.

“There,” she insisted. “Now go and ask Mei for hers already.”

“Happy New Millennium ma!” he laughed, then disappeared into the crowd.

The joy and hope was palpable. Dancing, jumping and general merriment followed, for once the lull of the midnight bells leading only to more joy and not an odd melancholia.

“Do you have a barrel?” Evelyn heard her brother yell at Alfred above the clamour.

“Why?”

“A tar one preferably!” Alasdair stated. Erin was leaning on him, nodding emphatically but too drunk to speak.

Alfred paled. “Why?”

“A whisky one will do if no!”

“Why?”

“We need it for the fire!”

“...Why?!”

Evelyn slipped back, back across the quad, moving towards the stables. Walking past the bar, she collected the cut up fruit she had sliced earlier. The crowded space was rather overwhelming, and she needed another cigarette to calm down.

The stables were dark, and quiet, with only the light of the square filtering through. The music was loud enough to thump through the walls, but muffled enough that, to her delight, all four horses were awake but rather unbothered. Alfred had them less for working and more for purely leisure.

The largest of the four, a gelded draft horse she had gifted to Alfred from her own estate last decade, wandered up to the gate. His huge grey head bobbed as England approached with her pile of sliced strawberries.

“Happy new year you lot. Think you deserve some celebratory food too, right?”

It did not take long for him to discover how tasty the fruit was. His neighbour, a smaller chestnut horse, looked over from their side, curious. Evelyn passed pieces along, laughing at the tickling sensation of their dry mouths hoovering around on her palm.

“He’s taking good care of you, isn’t he?” she murmured, rubbing the shire’s nose. She looked around the stable, impressed with its cleanliness and modernity, even in the dark. “Alfred is a good boy, really. Always has been. I think I forgive him too much, but then he has shown me the same grace. So there we are, tangled as we ever were.”

Evelyn was not paying attention, her sense dulled with alcohol and endless cigarettes, when Kiku came up behind her.
“He looks like one of yours.”

“Oh! Fuck!” she squeaked, dropping the bowl of fruit.

Immediately Kiku was on the ground, picking up the pieces. Staring, just for a moment, she too got down on her knees to help him.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Kiku said.

“It’s fine. When did you arrive? And um, yes, he is one of mine. He was a present to Alfred in eighty four.”

Kiku stood, the bowl of fruit in his arms, gently pushing away the gelding from sniffing up the rest of the food. The two moved along the gates, reaching the other end where Alfred’s two mares were kept. One was much more friendly than the other, and had curiously been watching the interaction from above her stall. She chuffed when the two got close, gladly nibbling on the orange slices. Once the other female saw there was food involved, she too poked her head over her own gate.

“The airline lost my luggage. I have been trying to sort it out, but it appears my clothes are now in Dubai.”

“Oh dear.”

Kiku groaned. “They were not very helpful. And I was too late for the countdown. I saw the door to the stable was open and wanted to be sure no-one had gotten out. I am moping. My plans got rather ruined, and for such an important date!”
“You’ve not seen Alfred? He’ll be so happy you made it.”

“Not yet.”

Kiku stared at Evelyn, quite content to let her finish up feeding the horses.

“You look pretty,” he managed to say.

The flush visibly grew from her chest and shoulders up her face, ears turning a vibrant scarlet. The dress she was wearing could only be compared to a disco ball. Magpies would love her. Kiku, meanwhile, had not had the opportunity to change, and was in a simple black suit. Impeccably tailored. His hair was ruffled, for once. The agitation of a difficult flight and getting out on time to the middle of nowhere had gotten to him.

“I - uh. Thank you. You… you too.”

Evelyn cursed herself, as if her authors and poets had stolen all of her words for themselves, leaving nothing but monosyllabic stumbles for their nation. Pretty. She doubted that was an adjective Kiku cared to hear.

Still, he smiled all the same. And he was. Pretty.

Evelyn continued to play with the strawberries, getting juice all over her fingertips.

“Well. Happy New Year Kiku.”

His smile broadened so much that his eyes appeared closed. His joy was a rare thing, so it was delightful to see. He had opened up so much these past decades. Being around others had been good for him.

“Happy New Year.”

Evelyn turned away, assuming the conversation had ended. She wanted to be alone. Perhaps she was moping, but it was the new millennium, and she found all she wanted to do was feed some horses.

She really was an old woman.

Kiku did not leave however. He tugged on his jacket, straightening it out, then patted a pocket. He had come to a decision. Perhaps his timing was not bad after all. Better to do it in private instead of in front of 198 spectators.

“I spoke to your brothers the other day,” Kiku began.

Evelyn looked back, green eyes shining in the dark. “Willingly?”

He snorted cutely, then gently took the bowl out of Evelyn’s hands to get her full attention.

“I thought I had ruined the night by being late, but maybe not.”

Her ears nearly pricked up, nothing catching her attention like a mystery.

“What is it?”

“Scotland said you and he share a new year tradition - something about a first foot?”

Evelyn impossibly turned pinker, not so subtly wiping her sticky hand on her sparkly dress. “It is… yes?”

Dark haired man walks through the threshold bringing luck with them for the rest of the year… just a silly superstition. Even though they all made Scotland do it each year, a bottle of whisky in one hand and a bag of coins that he would promptly throw at England’s head without fail. The luck it provided was… debatable.

“I have been thinking a lot,” Kiku began earnestly, hands clasped in front of him, as if presenting a business deal, “about this last century. We have never really spoken on it.”

“And you want to now?”

Evelyn’s throat felt very dry. All that alcohol and smoke she told herself.

Kiku appeared equally nervous, and his next breath was deep and shuddering. Unable to help herself, Evelyn stepped closer and took his hand.

“Are you alright?”

“Nervous.”

“You need not be. Not with me.”

“You’re shaking too.”

“Am I?” she laughed, near hysterically. She had not prepared at all for this topic to be converses, but she had to deal with it. Kiku seemed quite firm in his intent, even if he looked very close to bolting back out the stable doors. Waving one hand as if it were a fan, she poorly joked, “Oh goodness. It’s very stuffy here. Say what you want to say, please, before I swoon.”

Kiku retook her hand, twisting until their fingers were intertwined. His palms were sweaty, and yet Evelyn found she did not mind.

“We truly poisoned everything, a lifetime ago. I do not blame you for how it ended. Not anymore.”

Evelyn felt her heart stutter. Poison. It was odd how much he understood without even seeming to try.

“You don’t?”

“I did. I was so angry. You promised me you would stay and I could only see you picking Alfred above all. And I thought you were weak. I thought I had loved you more than you ever said you had loved me. Ludwig told me, during the war, what you two did together, and then how you rejected him.”

“I…” Evelyn looked away. “I can’t excuse it. I was sick.”

Kiku looked nothing but sympathetic. “I thought that was just who you were, someone who would blow in like a hurricane, dump all that love you had and then take it away because it was inconvenient. But… I understand now. The circumstances we navigated would never have allowed us to be happy and peaceful. It was always going to break, and we were too slow to understand. But now, it is different.”

The breath he took in was deep and incredibly shaky. He was struggling to meet her eye, for every time he did the very open and fragile hope on her face made him bashful. Even after all this time, vulnerability did not come easily to him.
“I know how hard it was for you then. But I did hate you, for what happened. Really, genuinely hated you,” Evelyn said. She didn’t feel sorry about it.

“Not now though.”

“No. Of course not,” she replied. She returned to an earlier point, prodding, “You loved me? Did you really?”

Her begging for affirmation was difficult to hear. She sounded so young, so close to being happy. The mere thought of once being loved, even if it was a long time ago, would have been enough to satiate her.

The fact that Evelyn did not even attempt to hide what she thought or felt for Kiku was a heavy burden. She trusted him. The concept was humbling, and made Kiku protective.

“I did. I… I am sorry I could not say the words. I still don’t think I can.”

“You showed me in deeds.” She squeezed his hand. “You made me very happy. I would dream about being human with you. That’s all I wanted. To grow old with you. Of course reality would let it crack. Were we foolish to think otherwise?”
Her rhetorical question went unanswered.

“I have been thinking,” he repeated, beetroot red. He finally looked her in the eye, and Evelyn felt her breath stolen from her. He had always been such a beauty, but also so shy at letting anyone see him. Really see him. “We are better equipped now, to be something to each other again. We would never harm the other, I believe. I think we are both in a state where there is no conflict, where we can slip under the radar, be true to ourselves and to our people.”

Was this happening? It felt real. The smell of horses was too pungent. Kiku’s face was too blotchy.

“I want to believe so too.” Swallowing felt like sandpaper ripping her oesophagus to shreds. “But we are not bound to each other the way we once were. What if something changed?”

“Alfred said you would think that. That you would try to reason yourself out of it. He also said that you trust openness more than you admire stoicism. I said that seemed backwards, for England.”

“Alfred?” Somehow it never failed to surprise her how much the two had turned their relationship around. Between herself and Kiku, Alfred apparently had a knack for making friends out of old adversaries. Still, she forever felt as though she were finding out about events after they had occurred.

“And the others. Matthew said you think very little of yourself. Maia said you still don’t know how to be happy and are restless, trying to impress those who never cared. Alfred said you have a persecution complex. Jack said you threw all your pearls away in grief.”

Her eyes watered, but she did not cry. She knew perfectly well who she was.

“I burnt the books you made for me,” she confessed, stuttering. “I’m so sorry. I was-I was heartbroken. I just wanted to forget, but I was sick and… All that love you gave and I just threw it away. I was trying to do the right thing, but I did not know how. I still don’t. So I just threw it all away.”

“I know. I won’t pretend that those gifts were solely benevolent, I was using you, a little.”

“I never cared about that. We all do it.”

“I’m not sure if that makes things better or not. The point remains, and I forgive you.”

Japan saw the woman jolt, a full shudder running through her body. Her next breath sounded distinctly like a sob, until she grunted and shook herself back into sternness.

No, it didn’t get to be that easy. Nevermind that her and Ludwig had laid all manner of things to rest in forty-eight in between the planes dropping supplies. Nevermind that she hadn’t touched anything stronger than a cigarette since eighty-seven and could cross her heart and call herself sober (if one did not count the alcohol or nicotine, which she did). Nevermind all the conversations with Matthew and Jack and Maia and Alfred and Leon and Francis and anyone who bothered to answer the phone.

She tried to grow angry to protect her feelings, but failed to do so. She so often failed at cultivating rage.

“So you spoke to my brothers, and you spoke to my children before you spoke to me.” She laughed incredulously, then muttered, “Why does no-one speak to me first?”

“You can be hard to navigate.”

“...I disagree.”

Kiku took her other hand. It was sticky.

“I am trying to be open.”

“I know.”

“I am trying to ask for…” he swallowed, loudly, “for a fresh start.”

Both of their knuckles were white with the force of the grip with which they held onto each other.

“Oh,” England said. Did they deserve one? She wanted one this time. So did Kiku. Did that make it right?

Japan tilted his head. “‘ Oh ’? See? You’re hard to navigate.”

“Oh.”

“Would you like to?”

“What?”

“Be mine. Again.”

She shivered, a hot flush ripping through her chest at the thought. The sad question of why came to mind however, and instantly cooled her gut reaction of yes, yes, I have been waiting for too long.

“Why?” she uttered, barely audible.

“If you are willing to wait, let me write you why. I’m sorry, I still struggle to say the words. But I want it. I want you, so much that I become very foolish at the mere thought of you. Eva, my nerves are getting to me, I need your answer, please.”

England removed her hand from Japan’s hold. The momentary distress that flashed across his features was soon gone however when Evelyn instead opted to wrap her arms around his neck and shoulders.

“You’re so brave!” she said. Her cheek found its resting place, right in the corner of his jaw. “I barely know what I am feeling, and you see right into the heart of matters. You always have.”

“Ah. If you say so.” His hand trailed up and down her left arm, creating goosebumps as he moved. “Eva, what’s your answer?”

Evelyn pulled away, but not far enough to stop holding Kiku’s hand. She straightened her back, and tried to remain serious.

“New millennium, new start, is that it?”

His cheeks puffed out at her oversimplification. “We are not who we once were.”

“No. Therefore, I would like to continue to know you a bit better. I’m still selfish. I would keep you with me forever if I could.” Her thumb touched his top lip, then down and around his lower. “You won’t be my first kiss this year. Jack beat you to it.”

His dark eyes sparkled. “You will still be mine.”

Another shiver ran through her torso.

“Is that why you mentioned first foot? You wanted to be the one for me through the threshold.”

“I even brought…” he fumbled with his pocket. “Your brother said it required a gift. I brought you this, but I understand if it is too much and too soon. It is not food or drink, but it is for you and you alone.”

It was a little velvet black bag. Evelyn took it, feeling the ring inside, and pulled it out.

Her eyes watered again, but she somehow remained poised. A perfect pearl ring.

Kiku explained, “It is nothing meaningful! Well, no, it is. I mean - I should explain. Alfred helped me. He said you had a ring from a long time ago, older than you had ever known him. He showed me a portrait, of when he was young that he kept, a small one. He was a fat baby.”

Evelyn remembered the portrait, and her heart stuttered. She thought it would have burned with the house in Virginia.

She inspected the workmanship of the jewellery.

“He was a fat baby,” she recalled distantly.

“Yes. But you had this ring. It is not a replacement exactly but -”

She interrupted him quietly. “On what finger do you want me to wear it?”

Kiku paused, not sure where her question was leading him. “I… Right hand?”

She smiled broadly. “I am teasing. Yes, right hand. Help me?”

Her hands were small, like the rest of her, bony with protruding knuckles. If she were human, it would be a sign of oncoming arthritis for when she was older. Now, Kiku had to push a little to get it past her second knuckle, almost to the point of pain, but once it was there, it fit perfectly, not easily removed.

The white pearl gleamed in the soft light. Distantly, Evelyn was aware of the horses making noises around them, the smell of hay and dander, coloured lights changing the dim space, lighting up from the outside in. She twisted it back and forth, admiring the craftsmanship.

Kiku smiled even wider, breathing shallow but elated.

“The pearl is mine, as they all were. If you will allow it, I will help you rebuild the collection.”

Her hand came up to pet his hair, still tousled and a mess. England endeavoured to get it back into its usual neatness, so soft and silken, especially against her frazzled straw hair.

“No, I don’t want you to. Let us leave them behind. I loved them for as much as they were a gift from you as they were valuable and beautiful. Your words, I miss them most of all. Write me more poems, write me more letters. Nevermind telephones. You can even email them, if you like, though I still love your handwriting.”

Standing on her tiptoes - even for Kiku, even in heels, she was such a small creature - she kissed his forehead, then nuzzled their noses together. Like a cat, she was very content to cling and rub, getting settled into a space she had been denied for years. The last remaining heaviness seemed to be lifting. All would be well. All would be well.

“You would write to me and call me your pearl. That is worth more than anything you could give. But I do not know what I can give in return.”

Kiku took his turn, pressing his lips to her cheek. The warmth of her skin was staggering.

“You will figure it out. You are not as you were, everyone sees it.”

“Nor you.”

They stared at each other for a moment, both smiling as if they were young children on a playground. Evelyn cracked first, pushing forward so she could kiss Kiku on the lips.

He reciprocated immediately. The explosion of joy was palpable, love and desire swelled in her chest, threatening to burst out as she gasped and -

Immediately pulled back, an apology on her lips.

“I’m so sorry, I must taste of cigarette smoke, how vile.”

Kiku did not seem to mind, only pulling her back in close.

“There is such a thing as too much apologising.”

“Says the nation of Japan.”

“Shh. You don’t need to always have the last word.”

They kissed again, pressing closer and closer. How softly Kiku kissed, how slowly and unhurriedly. Because why rush? They had just started a new millennium. They had gone one thousand years apart, who was to say what the next thousand would bring?

Her stomach flipped, butterflies making her giggle in that little cackle of hers, until she simply had to break away, pressing her hand to her mouth.

“What?” asked Kiku, breathless and flushed and alive.

“I’m happy,” she stated, playing with a button on his shirt. “I’m happy Kiku.”

“Well… Good!”

It was later, after the sun was threatening to rise following a half hearted attempt to tidy the house, with half the nations asleep on assorted sofas, mattresses, carpets or - in Evelyn’s case - actual beds, that Alfred fell down next to her. Matthew snorted at the disruption, having himself face planted into Evelyn’s stomach sometime ago. Everyone was drunk and still in their party clothes. Proprietary had gone out the window a long time ago.

Evelyn could not find rest yet. Her mind raced at a thousand miles an hour, rich and overflowing with possibilities. Kiku had been very gentlemanly, refusing to sleep with her on account of her increasing non sobriety. She had moaned at the time, but now at six in the morning, surrounded by at least four other nations, she knew he had a point. Matthew must have had the same thought regarding Katya, for Evelyn could not think of a reason why he had ended up curling into a ball on her mattress instead of downstairs on the large and soft patio sofas with Ukraine. He snored gently, Evelyn stroking his golden hair as if he were a cat.

As Alfred settled down next to Evelyn, and without opening her eyes, she could feel the smugness radiating off his person.

“Happy New Year,” he whispered right into her ear, knowing full well she was awake.

Evelyn sighed, stretching with her other hand to pat at whatever she came into contact with. It was his shoulder, implying he was lying on his side.

The sleep was starting to creep in. Alfred had always been a soothing presence, when he wasn’t giving her hernias.
“Happy New Year, love. What’s wrong with your bed?”

“ You’re in my bed. This is my bedroom.”

“Oh. Jesus. Sorry.”

She said that, but made no attempt to move. She was too comfortable. Besides, Matthew was settled. She didn’t want to wake him.

“You are happy then?” America asked, repeating what he had heard. Evelyn did not click that this meant he must have overheard his best friend and mother’s (how strange a combination) reconciliation. “Kiku kept his nerve?”

“He said he spoke to you.”

“He did.”

“And you gave him good advice.”

“I did,” he said, entirely too smug for Evelyn’s liking.

Reaching back, Evelyn fumbled down Alfred’s arm until she was able to find his hand. He did not fight her when she pulled it over, kissing the palm.

“Thank you.”

Even after she released him, his arm remained in place. Too lazy or tired to move it, perhaps, but its placement also felt somewhat protective. One boy on her stomach, one boy at her back.

They had not slept like this for several centuries.

Silence ensued, save Canada’s obstructed breathing, for a few minutes.

England felt herself finally dozing off, the feeling of safety impossible to fight. Mind well and truly playing tricks on her, she felt a phantom pressure to the back of her head, one she could pretend was Alfred kissing her goodnight.

Sleep was encroaching closer, and she welcomed it.

And yet, as she felt herself slipping away, she was sure she imagined America whispering to her. She did not understand his words, not truly, but he spoke as if she should have done. There was no hope of reply, of asking for clarification, as she lost consciousness moments later. His statement spun around and around in her mind, both a reassurance and a mystery that she had no hope of understanding. There was something off about his last words, something childlike and self satisfied. All she could understand was that he had spoken confidently, as if some great labour had been successfully completed exactly to plan.

“We’re all together now, just like I promised.”

Evelyn would not remember his words a few hours later, but in that moment, it was enough to have one lucid thought cross her mind.

What promise?

With that, sleep stole her away, and the new millennium began.

*****

Final History Notes:

- Leading up to 2000, the Millennium Commission distributed money from the National Lottery to communities across the UK. The Millennium Wheel (London Eye) is the most famous, but things like the Eden Project, Millennium Bridge and Dome, the Seed Bank Project, Tate Modern, Angel of the North etc., also have their origins in that bank of money. On the smaller scale, it also included community centres, green spaces, cycle paths, restoring canals and ports… just anything to improve local communities.

- One quote regarding the projects, which is relevant for the fic, btw: “If the great spate of new buildings in London has any theme it is that the city is moving from imperial grandeur and industry to a lighter, more fluid future, a city which lives on its communications, tourism and its culture and wits.”

- Yes. I am comparing Evelyn to a giant metal wheel. What about it?

- May 1998 was busy! Birmingham hosted Eurovision and the G8 Summit in May. The Good Friday Agreement was overwhelmingly voted through by the Irish and Northern Irish public; Canada House reopened as the High Commission building in the UK after a back and forth on whether or not to sell it (it has since be refurbished again); and the Emperor of Japan had a State Visit.

- The 90s had a couple of downward turns for the Japanese economy. Growth was slow, and in 1997 the Asian Financial Crisis restricted any future boom. It’s called the Lost Decade(s) in Japan. There’s an argument that Japan hasn’t ever really gotten out of it.

- In 1997, Hong Kong was returned to China. It and Singapore are seen as the two financial hubs in Eastern Asia.

- In 1952 a heavy smog fell over London. At the time it was thought that 5,000 people died over one weekend, but recent estimates have put it up to 10,000. One reason for this case to be so much worse than anything Victorian London spat out was because Britain was exporting its good, 'nice' coal abroad to help pay for war debt, leaving the shitty coal behind for domestic consumption.

- 1984 is the 400 year anniversary of a charter by Elizabeth I to Walter Raleigh to do some colonising. Shire horses are the largest horse breed and are known for being gentle and not for spooking easily, on account of them being descended from war horses, but later more used for agriculture, even to this day. Evelyn has consistently rode what would be now known as a shire horse throughout the fic.

- First-footing is a Scottish/Manx/Northern English tradition. You want a tall dark handsome lad to walk through your door, as he’ll give you luck for the rest of the year. They have to bring a drink, a snack, a coin, and a piece of coal - warmth, money, food and drink to get you through the year. We love to set stuff on fire. Also the straw bear festival is exactly what it sounds like.