You can be a right muppet with women sometimes, and if I had to have a guess, I’d say you’ve not been as forthright with her as you think you’ve been. So tell her, all right?
Maybe Billie’s right. If she thinks that all of this has been just about proving something, Violet could think it was all part of our arrangement. Or, it’s possible she’s protecting herself, since she knows we live so far apart. I need to think on this some more.
It’s killing you that I’ve told you literally nothing about her, isn’t it? I can feel the smirk on my face.
Can I get her name at least? When I stalked her on Instagram, there isn’t even a bloody name on her account.
Violet.
Right, Violet is stunning. Violet is a perfect name. Wow, you must be head over heels—and not the pathetic little stumps some queens have, but the proper six-inch heels that I wear.
I start laughing properly now. Billie has come to this conclusion with absolutely no information, but they’re not wrong.
Do you want to ken what she sang for karaoke? After telling me she doesn’t do duets, only showstoppers.
Wow, fucking legend. Aye. Go on.
‘That’s Life’ by Frank Sinatra.
Billie stares at me through the phone screen. That’s a song worthy of a drag performance. And how did it go?
I grin. She smashed it. Had the whole pub on its feet.
There’s a pause.
Oh my god, right, this is serious. I feel like I should get on a flight. This is—
A sudden crash comes from outside the front of the cabin.
I know, without knowing—tapping into Billie’s sixth sense shite maybe—that it’s Violet. And not a moose. I hope it’s not a bloody moose anyway.
Got to go Billie, but you’re a braw mate if there ever was one. I end the call before Billie can reply, launching out of bed. When I pull open the front door, I find Violet lying in a heap on the ground.
I feel a laugh thunder out of me.
You all right?
Don’t look at me, she says, her voice a little small. Go back inside, there’s nothing to see here.
I go down the steps and pull her hands, which she’s using to hide her lovely face, helping her up off the ground.
What the hell happened?
I tripped.
I take in the scene and remember the loud sound, like she’d knocked into something.
Coming down the steps?
Yes.
Why didn’t you knock?
Well, I was going to, but— she fidgets with nothing, her eyes darting away from my face, before her words come out in a rush, You sounded busy, I mean, I could hear you laughing, so, I didn’t want to interrupt.
I feel something bloom in my chest at this, a tiny seed of something like hope. Is she jealous? If not full-blown jealousy, something like uncertainty hangs in the air between us. It makes me feel like there’s a chance.
It was only Billie, I say, keeping my voice as neutral as possible. Here, come inside I’ll patch you up.
