V for Violet by Alison Rattle Read Free Book Online Page B

she’s not back yet, love. That’s why I’m surprised to see you. Didn’t you stay out with them all?’
    ‘Stay out where? With who?’ As soon as the questions are out of my mouth, I groan. I wish I could snatch them back, but it’s too late now.
    Brenda pours tea into two of the cups. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she says. ‘Wendy’s, was it? Or Pauline’s? You know, one of her new friends from Garton’s. They were all having a girls’ night in or some such. Whatever one of those is.’ She glances up at me before I have time to wipe the dismay from my face. ‘Oh, love,’ she says gently. ‘Didn’t you know about it?’
    I force a smile. ‘Oh, yeah. Yeah, of course I did. I couldn’t go though. Too busy at the shop, you know. Forgot all about it!’
    ‘Shame,’ she says. ‘Well, never mind. Don’t expect you missed much. Sit and have your cuppa. She’ll be back any minute.’
    I imagine Jackie breezing through the door, her face all lit up and shining with secrets I know nothing about. I imagine how her smile will disappear when she sees me sitting at her kitchen table. She’ll be nice enough. But I’ll know what she’ll really be thinking.
Oh, God. Not Violet. Not boring old Violet with her frizzy hair and hand-me-down clothes. Not dull old Violet who’d rather read a book than kiss a fella.
    ‘Actually,’ I say. ‘I can’t stop. There’s something I have to do for Mum. Sorry. Tell Jackie I’ll see her some other time.’
    Brenda opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, I’ve dashed out the door and I’m half walking, half running back home. My teeth are clenched together so tightly that my jaw hurts. I ball my hands into fists and I thump my thighs as hard as I can as I stumble along the pavement. I hate myself. I hate myself so much.
    Idiot
    Idiot
    Idiot
    I don’t want to be boring and dull and left behind. I don’t want to be stuck in a bloody chip shop. I don’t want to end up like Mum and Dad or Norma and Raymond. I don’t want to be stuck in the past like all the bloody people around here, who still talk about the war and let their kids play on the bombsites. I don’t want to care about what Jackie does, or who she does it with. I want to be doing it all
with
her. I want the boy from last night to come back in the shop and lean across the counter towards me again, so I can taste the beer on his breath as he kisses me. I want him to grab me by the hand and pull me out of the shop. I want to climb on the back of his motorcycle and wrap my arms around his waist and rest my cheek on the soft leather of his back, and I want him to speed me away, faster and faster until all I can feel is the wind in my hair and the rush of promises.
    I’m back outside the shop now. I stop and uncurl my fists. I peer through the window at the Sunday emptiness inside and the ghost of myself standing behind the counter. I rest my forehead against the glass and think about Mum and Dad. Perhaps they’ve only just realised that they married the wrong person? Or perhaps they just don’t love each other any more? You can’t love the same person for ever, surely? Unless that person’s dead of course. Like Joseph. Perfect bloody Joseph.
    Perhaps it’s all to do with money. Perhaps the letter Mum tried to hide was a massive bill they can’t afford to pay? Perhaps they’re going to have to get rid of the shop? I let my breath slowly cloud the glass. Could that be it? I can’t imagine what would happen if we lost the shop. It’s all Dad’s ever done. He
is
Frank the Fish. He couldn’t be Frank the Builder or Frank the Rag and Bone Man or Frank the Anything Else. That’s why Dad’s so angry and Mum’s in such a state. It all makes sense. I use my sleeve to polish my breath from the glass. If I’m right, it would be the worst thing in the world for Mum and Dad. But even though I know this, I can’t help smiling at the thought that it would be the
best
thing in the world for me.
    I walk away