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.
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