Violet’s finger pinged off the alarm and flopped back on the
pillow. She didn’t have to open her eyes; she was a snooze-button ninja. For
ten minutes she floated in a narcotic state; half in, half out of sleep. When
the chime sounded a second time, she knew she had to get up.
She threw back the curtains to be treated to a near perfect
sunrise peeping over the trees. Three years she’d had this view and it still
made her smile. To anyone else it was just a back garden. A strip of grass with
a water feature and a deck. The difference was, it was her back garden.
Violet. She never liked the name, but didn’t have the nerve
to do anything about it. She’d grown up in a family where little was expected
of her, and in fairness, she did little to dissuade them from the idea. It was
easy to hid in the shadow of her siblings’ ambitions, but she never counted on
being there forever. Every day she bowed under the yoke of her name, the more imbedded
in her skin it became.
The ghosts of her past made her shiver. She threw them off,
along with her night-wear, and headed for the shower. She dressed quickly; added just
a touch of makeup, then tied her hair in a ponytail. She looked at herself in
the mirror and wondered for the millionth time – who is that girl? She could
easily pass for nineteen, not her actual twenty-nine. Her eyes were a touch to
big, making her look innocent or startled. Her face was slim; her cheeks held a
thimble-full of shadow, without appearing gaunt. Nothing on her face stood out,
making her…ok.
She flicked a stray hair out of her face and wondered what
Jim saw in her? Ok, was never an adjective to be used on him. He was tall,
towering a full foot over her. He could talk to anyone; and that smile? That
man was a knee melter. But he wasn’t perfect. Oh no! He was a little full of
himself; cock-sure her mother would say. He could act like a spoilt teenager
when he didn’t get his way. Mind you, she didn’t mind letting others take the
limelight, never had.
The only time she ever put her foot down was over this
house. Jim had wanted to invest in a studio apartment in the city centre; all
shiny surfaces and exposed brick, but it was as big as a shoe-box.
“It will double our money in no time,” he’d said. To her,
and his, surprise, she flat out refused to consider it. If they were putting
money into anything, it was going to be a house. She never let Jim in on her
reasoning, but she refused to budge. Every time he tried to talk her around,
she just looked at him with her eyes wide open, and her lips clamped shut.
Eventually he gave in, and they started looking at three bed semis in the
suburbs.
The driving force behind this defiance was simple. All her
life she had to share a room. First with her older sister, then the younger.
Even when she moved to the city she had to share. That claustrophobia was what
pushed her into working two jobs, and Jim’s arms.
It was a seedy place, all dark corners and loud music, but beggars
couldn’t be choosers. The owners were just about staying on the right side of
the law by offering a never-used food menu on the alcohol-soaked counter. She
knew they must have been paying off someone or else they’d never get away with
running a nightclub on a restaurant licence. The very first night she bumped
into Jim; literally.
She was rushing around a corner with a crate of Heineken
when she crashed into him. It was like running into a wall. She bounced off him
and landed on her ass while he seemed to barely feel the impact. He rushed
forward and scooped her from the ground, his forehead lined by concern.
“I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” he asked, as he deposited
her back on her feet. She was covered in dust and before she could say
anything, he was swiping away the smudges. It was clear he wasn’t thinking
about what he was doing, because the fingers sliding over her legs felt just
like her mother’s. Then it clicked with him and his face went red. He jumped
back a step, the hand he’d been using on her, held up in surrender.
“I wasn’t…” he said, and then his words faltered. Whether he
was, or wasn’t, didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to make a fuss about it. Not on
her first night.
“I know,” she said and smiled. She picked up the crate,
checked she’d broken none of them, then said, “Got to go,” and scooted past. As
she rounded the corner she glanced over her shoulder and saw he was staring
after her, his hand still held up; which was sweet. Despite his black security
jacket, she thought he looked like a college kid, only XXL size.
After that, he always seemed to be around, calling over for
a chat, keeping an extra eye out when the punters worse for wear. Violet
thought he was like that with everyone, she never for a minute thought he was
interested in her, not her. Some of the other girls started teasing her about
her, Bodyguard, but she only said, “Get away, would you,” and blushed intensely. When he did ask her out, he
had to do it four times because she kept saying, “You’re messing,” and walking
away.
They had a date, then another, and then they slept together.
It was still dark when he left her that morning. She sat for ages in her bed with a
growing sense of doom.
“He’s got what he wanted now. That’s the last I’ll see of
him,” she said, burying her head under a pillow. She didn’t hear from him all
day. Not even a text. The walk to the club that night was the longest she ever
had to make, and her heart sank when she didn’t see him standing at the door.
She’d been right, he’d legged it. She nearly turned around and went home but
she needed the money.
Inside, the music was already deafening but the crowd was
sparse. She searched for him, but he wasn’t there. Probably out with some other
girl, or laughing about her with his mates. She took her coat off and handed it
in at the cloakroom. The girl behind the counter smiled and gave her a naughty
wink.
Jesus, she knows! Oh God, I’m such an idiot! she
thought, and hurried away. Money or no money, she wasn’t sure she could bare
the humiliation of the whole place laughing at her. She ducked under the bar
hatch and was stopped dead in her tracks. Beside her till was a huge bouquet of
flowers, and even from here she could see the lettering on the card. “Love Jim.” Her heart nearly burst.
That had been five years ago, and they were five good years.
They’d had rough patches, every couple did, but Jim was always there for her,
looking out for her, protecting her, loving her, and she felt so damn lucky.
***
The front door opened and she heard keys clatter into the
bowl. She looked out and watched him lean against the wall as
he kicked off his shoes. His shirt had two buttons open and his clip-on tie was
hanging from the pocket of his jacket. “You’re late,” she said, and he looked
up.
“Yea,” he said, tiredly. “Another lock in! I’m getting sick
of it.” His shoes are off but his jacket is still on. He looks tired, but not
the grey kind. There was colour in his cheeks to counter the bags under his
eyes.
“Why didn’t you leave them at it and come home?”
“I couldn’t, could I? What if it kicked off? And it’s not
like we don’t need the money,” he said, rubbing his hands through his hair as
he passed her.
She felt the sting of that last comment. Jim always
maintained the house was too expensive and that she spent too much doing it up.
He might be right about that, but…she couldn’t explain what it meant to her, even
though she had tried a few times.
“Why don’t I take on some shifts again,” she said, sipping
her coffee and reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder.
“No,” he said, moving out of her reach as he took another
step toward the stairs.
“Why, no? The bills are my responsibility as well.”
He stopped and turned toward her, his face stern and set. “I
told you before, I’ll take care of it. You do enough already. People will say
I’m sponging off yea if they see you working two jobs.”
“I don’t care what people say.”
“But I do. Look – I’m tired. I’m going to shower and sleep,”
he said. The words were sharp enough to sting but not shock. She reverted back
to a habit of a lifetime and clamped her mouth shut and looked at him with
Bamby eyes. “Don’t do that,” he said, partly annoyed at himself, partly at her.
She looked down into the mug and sipped again. His stocking feet thread softly
up the stairs and after a few minutes the shower started. She sipped her
cooling drink and stared into space.
She could go upstairs and look through his pockets but what
was the point in that. She’d seen the smudge of foundation on his collar and a
hint of Opium in the air that swirled around him. Always Opium. She hated that
God-Damn perfume. Searching pockets would give her nothing because she already knew everything,
everything except a name. In reality, she didn’t need another name to hate, her
own was enough.
She never told anyone Jim was cheating because she knew what they would say. They’d
make reassuring noises and say, stay strong. They'd ask aloud how Jim
could do such a thing, while inside they would wonder why it took so long.
Violet didn’t need to hear any of that, she didn’t need false reassurances or
pity, because above all things she was a realist. She knew that Jim believed he
was saving her from the heartache of watching him leave. Truth is, he’d been
gone a long time, only his body stayed behind.
He might stay a month, he might stay a year, but he already
has one foot out the door. And that was ok. The thing was, Jim never really
understood her, neither did her mother, her father…the world. She might look
innocent and crushable, she might be the picture of a shrinking violet, but she
wasn’t. She was much tougher than that. They should have called her Edel, like
the Edelwiss. That survived in the harshest environments, put up with being
trampled and crushed, spent nine months droning in snow and still it bloomed. That
was the flower for her.
She flipped off the light switch, stroking the wall lovingly
before leaving for another day at the grindstone.
