The letter arrived out of the blue, her cursive scrawl delivering the blow with elaborate swirls and loops, like a bow decorating a gun. One click on Facebook confirmed the news. It knocked the wind out of me.
Before boys and even before crushes on popstars, there was Violet Anderson. Friendships between girls can crackle with all the turbulence and infatuation of romantic love. And that’s how it was between Violet and me.
Dear Rachel,
By the time you read this, I’ll be dead.
The first time I saw her, she was stomping through the school gates in Doc Martin boots, blowing bubblegum. She flouted the school rules with an air of nonchalance I’d never seen before in all my eight years. I was mesmerised.
My popularity shot through the roof by association with Violet. Illuminated by her, I was no longer just boring Rachel. Bullies couldn’t touch us: she’d turn anything they said back on them so that they strung themselves up with their own words.
But Violet had a dark side. Sometimes a switch would flick and a shadow would descend, freezing me out. Plunged into darkness, I’d fawn blindly, doing anything she said to repair my wrongdoing. Anything to bask in the light again. Give Violet my necklace. Make a friend cry. Flash my knickers to the boys. My pain recharged her.
I’ve always known, deep down, that I’m not special enough.
Her dark side surfaced more often over the years. I wasn’t staying long enough; I went to bed too early; I didn’t drink enough. I’d leave drained, gasping for air. I started ignoring her calls.
Then one day, she appeared outside my house. I was easing the pram through the front door, readying myself to creep upstairs for a nap whilst baby Matilda slept.
“Hi Rach.”
I spun around, the pram sliding off the step and waking Matilda with a jolt. Her bleating cry rang out as I took in Violet’s mascara-stained face.
“Can I come in?”
She was getting divorced, she told me. Dan was an arsehole. I nodded and made tea between nursing and nappy changes. Not once did Violet ask me a question, coo over the baby, or offer to help. Then came the bombshell:
“I’m moving here. For a fresh start! Can I stay with you while I house-hunt?”
My future flashed before me, Violet draining my time and energy, leaving nothing for my family.
It was the first time I’d said “no” to her.
Hearing it from you was the final straw.
I braced myself for her response, but she simply stood up and walked out. Her car disappeared, leaving behind a trail of smoke and a sense of foreboding.
I loved you intensely. You filled a void inside me. My emptiness is too heavy to bear now.
Thanks for the memories; the ones with you were the best.
Love, Violet.
And with that, Violet’s words curled into a thick cloud of smoke and I inhaled, absorbing her darkness forever.
