𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐘 || A Narnian Autumn Writing Challenge (Oneshot Book)

16. Cigarettes and Old Parchment

england // november 27, 1947
prompt: "jumper"
word count: 1,667

xXx

Jill nudged the ball of yarn with one finger, sending it bumping over the length of the sofa as Mittens scrambled after it, grey paws padding it over the edge onto the sitting room floor and tugging at a bright yellow trail that still connected back to the scarf she'd given up knitting long ago.

At least the cat was having fun.

A Nancy Drew book lay propped beside her elbow on the back of the sofa, open to her last dog-eared page, but even "The Mystery of the Tolling Bell" couldn't seem to hold her interest tonight as rain pattered mournfully against the window.

It looked as if the upcoming December would be a wet one, if things didn't let up soon, the outdoors a drab mess of puddles and soggy brown leaves, the indoors little better, if only warmer and drier.

Mittens pawed at the yellow string and pounced when it moved as if it had been the aggressor, twisting over onto her back as Jill watched distractedly.

A door closed and she looked up just as her mother bustled in, striding quickly across the room and almost passing the sofa without notice before glancing at Jill for the briefest of instants.

"Whose jumper is that?" she asked absently, moving on to rifle through the coat rack by the door.

Jill glanced down to the oversized garment, lifting an arm slightly as the sleeve slipped down over her fingers and hung loose around a much narrower wrist than that for which it had been intended. "Oh— Just a friend."

Mrs. Pole hummed in distant acknowledgement as she pulled a silver-cased lipstick out of the pocket of one of her raincoats and retrieved a hand mirror from her bag, popping it open to examine her face and twisting the lipstick with a manicured finger.

Jill shifted a little on the sofa, her awkward answer evidently having been more than enough to assuage any curiosity the woman may have felt over her own daughter's social life.

She cleared her throat. "You remember Scrubb?"

Mrs. Pole glanced up and cocked her head, furrowing her brow for a moment as if the name rang only the most distant of bells. "Is that who visited in the summer?"

Jill nodded, and her mother went back to touching up her lipstick.

"You weren't home much," Jill tried again, fidgeting with the hem of one sleeve and slipping her fingernail in between stitches.

"No… I was awfully busy this summer, I'm afraid." The woman snapped her pocket mirror shut and tucked it back into her handbag with the lipstick, lifting a fluffy coat from the rack. "I'm sure he was a fine guest."

"Are you going out?"

"Oh, yes, dear, there's a society meeting at the Winterblotts'. If you get hungry, there ought to be something in the icebox, or you can walk to the store."

Jill averted her eyes and reached down to scratch her cat behind the ears. "Is Father working late?"

"No," said Mrs. Pole, fluffing her hood, "he's on a business trip."

"Oh, when did he leave?"

"This morning, dear."

Jill swallowed, trying not to think about the fact that he hadn't said goodbye.

"Have a nice time," she said as cheerily as she could manage, and her mother smiled, fastening the last button of her coat before taking an umbrella from the stand.