He thinks that she has an unladylike walk, bizarre neuroses, and inexplicable taste in music, and she doesn't know how to do much of anything without him anymore. Jill is surprisingly melancholy on the first day of summer.
Disclaimer: I'm not C. S. Lewis. Alas. I'm also not Wilkie Collins, whose excellent work The Woman in White is referenced. I've also forgotten how to write witty disclaimers. Sorry.
Jill is 16 here. See below for an explanation of my reasoning.
Summer was everywhere; she could smell it in the evening air (it smelt of honeysuckle and picnics), hear it in the clack of cricket bat on cricket ball, and see it in the lazy blue sky that stretched lackadaisically above her. She'd brought a bottle of rose lemonade with her. It had been expensive, as had the slice of Victoria sponge she'd bought at the same time, but they were more than worth it. It was the first evening of the summer hols, and she was going to enjoy it.
Her spot in the local park was exactly as she had left it at the end of Easter: nicely shaded by trees, but with a few patches of sunlight streaming through in case she grew cold; far enough away from the cricket that she wasn't in danger of being knocked on the head, but still within eyeshot if she finished her novel; it had been her spot for years and she was glad it hadn't changed.
Settling herself on the ground, Jill first pulled the lemonade and cake out of her antiquated carpet bag (she'd bought it for three pence at some charitable fundraiser, and Eustace always said that it made her look like a mad cat lady) and then, with a deep-rooted feeling of bliss, a copy of The Woman in White. She'd been saving it up for this very day, even posting it ahead of herself to her father's house so that she wouldn't be tempted in term-time. Beneath the novel, there was a battered cushion that had long since been thrown out of their respectable drawing room; she set in on a nice mound of grass, and lay back with a happy sigh.
There was something wrong. Jill realised that before she was more than a paragraph in. It wasn't the novel, she was sure of that; it had always been a favourite of hers, and she hadn't read it in over a year. Even then, snatching the odd moment in the common room, with Eustace always demanding to know what she was reading and why she liked it so much, she had been completely absorbed. She began to laugh, remembering that once he had wrestled the book from her and, highly amused by the unfortunately flowery nature of the hero's lovesick musings, had proceeded to read choice passages out (with an affected accent). He'd never believed her protests that she actually found the romance in the book a little too cloying (she tolerated it, she'd always insisted, for the sake of a good mystery).
She sat up and took a mouthful of her lemonade, putting the book to one side for a moment. It had been over a day since Eustace had last insulted her. The thought made her smile: a sarcasm-free summer. At least, it would be sarcasm-free if only she could control her own tongue; she'd grown so used to answering his insults and injuries with barbed ones of her own that she'd already caught herself, repeatedly, on the verge of making a retort that her father wouldn't really appreciate. She supposed the habit would wear off with decreased exposure to Eustace.
Two months. That was an awfully long time. With a jolt, she realised that she was missing him. That simply wouldn't do. Admittedly, she hadn't actually spent more than three weeks away from Eustace for a few years, what with always visiting the Pevensies or Aunt Polly during hols; still, though, if she wasn't missing Tate, she really shouldn't be missing her other school friends either. After all, there were only two years left of school. Sooner or later (probably sooner), she would have to get used to not seeing him every day. That's what happened when people left school; friendships drifted, new friends were made at university or at work. It was just the way of things.
Oh, this was silly. With a loud humph, Jill shifted herself to get a better view of the cricket. It was one of the few sports she was never forced to endure at school; Experiment House excelled at football and rugby, and the girls' lacrosse team were starting to improve, but cricket had always been a weak point. Once, she'd been to see a school game with Eustace, but mostly just for the sake of having something to do on a sunny afternoon. She had actually become rather engrossed, clapping and cheering like the rest of the spectators. He had laughed at her unexpected enthusiasm until he nearly cried, and afterwards told her that she was at her most ridiculous when excited.
This was not helping her not to think about Eustace.
Honestly, she didn't know why she missed him. He was rude and inconsiderate and frequently ridiculous himself. She was perfectly capable of enjoying the summer without him. Lucy had two weeks of annual leave coming up, and would be arriving in three days to spend half of it with Jill. They had all sorts of things planned, and time would fly, and before she knew it would probably be the end of the summer and she would wish that she'd relished the time away from Eustace a little more. Why, the other day, he'd announced (out of the blue) that she had the most graceless walk of anyone that he'd ever met. At the time, it had mostly made her laugh (although she'd given him a good thump in the arm as well), but it was precisely that kind of thing that she could do without for a while. With a particular air of determination, she picked up The Woman in White, lay back so suddenly that she hurt her head a little, and began to read once more.
...Perhaps she could write. Not that he was likely to write back, but she'd heard an awful lot of family news since that morning, and if they were at school she would automatically tell him. He never even pretended interest, but she did it anyway; it was nice to have someone to talk to (talk at, at least), and one couldn't talk about serious things with Tate. Yes, that was it. She could write and get it out of her system, and then she could go about the rest of her summer not thinking about him at all.
Not at all.
A/N: Firstly, their ages. I know there are many quibbles re: the official timeline of the book, but I've always held to the timeline I read at The Lion's Call, which has a gap of seven years between SC and LB, making them 9 in the former and 16 in the latter. In my opinion, this fits most comfortably with the way they are portrayed—the others have all left school, even Lucy, by the time the Friends of Narnia meet in LB; in VotDT, Lucy strikes me as not significantly older than Eustace, yet she must be at least 16 to have left school, and probably 18. Both Eustace and Jill have matured quite considerably in the time period between the books-Jill is much more emotional and demonstrative; with Eustace, she discusses "growing old and stupid", and the fact that they'd both rather give their lives for Narnia than that. That seems like quite a mature viewpoint. Finally, there are hints (canon hints) at attraction: Jill's shyness around Eustace after she's seen him fighting; Eustace's occasional overt admiration of her (her bravery; her ability to be as silent as a cat). Regardless of whether you agree that they are genuinely interested in each other, all these things mean that they come across almost as young adults. Additionally, they do actually all die. I don't think CSL could have killed off his characters if they were still children, even if they ended up in Aslan's country. For this reason, in fics of mine like this, Eustace and Jill will always be sixteen and about the start their first year of sixth form.
Also, this was initially a small collection of thoughts, not intended for publication, and I'm not sure how well it translated into text. Constructive criticism sought, please? And I was thinking about doing a companion piece with Eustace. Thoughts?