Beatrice had something to give me.
“I think you’ll like it,” she said, tapping fag ash onto the table.
“Mum! Ashtray!” Rafe said, blowing the cinders into his palm.
“Rafe, go fetch the jacket. You know the one. It will look good on her, no?”
Rafe rolled his eyes and mouthed an apology behind his mother’s back.
“Maybe another time Mum, Jin and I have plans.”
“Are you going to that party, at the school?”
“Well, she can wear the jacket. Why not? George – go fetch the jacket will you? The red suede one? It will be so nice, with your colouring and black hair.”
Rafe’s father sighed and left the room to fetch the jacket.
Red suede? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, I thought.
George returned, holding the jacket between his thumb and index finger like it was a dirty rag.
“Ah, here it is!” Beatrice crooned. “This used to be mine when I was younger. It’s a little dusty but…” She began slapping it and clouds of dust rolled off it. She held it up across my chest.
It wasn’t red but a brownish maroon. It reminded me of the squares of pig’s blood my father used to eat with his noodles.
“Try it on!” she croaked.
With my most practiced polite smile, I slipped my arms into the jacket. After tugging it over my shoulders, the sleeves slid halfway up my forearms. I tried pulling the two sides together to zip it up, but it was too small. How the Amazonian Beatrice ever fit into it I can’t imagine.
“Ach! Look at you! It’s perfect! Isn’t it Rafe? Doesn’t she look wonderful?”
Beatrice tapped her Gauloise and ash fell onto her shoe. George left the room coughing violently. Rafe had nothing to say.
(Prompt: Give ~ 300 words)