“Hey, petal. Where do you want the rest of your things?”
“You can just put that box in the spare room for now. I’ll sort it tomorrow.” She folds the last item of clothing and places it in the wardrobe, then reaches up on her tiptoes to peck my lips. “Is the oven working now? I’ll put some dinner on.”
“It’s all sorted.” I balance the box on my knee while I get a better grip, then carry it to the spare room that’s become a bit of a dumping ground while we get everything sorted.
As I bend to place it on the floor the box tilts, causing a few of the books to slip from the top.
I lift one of Ali’s notebooks out of the box. It’s filled with a multitude of coloured post-it notes. A smile creeps onto my face, and I sit on the chair and open up on a random page with a pink post-it note. A warmth spreads through my chest as I run my fingers over her handwriting. I’m grateful to still have something that belonged to her.
It occurs to me I’ve never read this notebook. No doubt one of her stories. Vi said she was working on her mum’s stories as she wanted to publish at least one in her memory.
I called her Violet after him. For him, though, nobody will ever know she’s his, or that I loved him. I’m pathetic, still loving him after he rejected me. Rejected us. But when I close my eyes, it’s his face I still see. Violet is the colour of his eyes when he makes love to me under the moonlight. It’s the flowers he picks for me at our secret spot by the lake. It’s the bed of flowers he laid me on for our first time in the woods. With him, I felt alive, as though I’d been set free, and I could be anybody I wanted. Even if it was just for an hour until he’d had his way with me. Violet is the colour I see when I think of him and our afternoon delights.
I’m no angel, not like Kane saw me. With him, he only saw the good in me, what he wanted to see. Even when I told him I was pregnant, his first thought was that I’d been forced. How could I tell him his perfect angel had been unfaithful when he knelt down on one knee? Letting him believe the lie seemed like the perfect answer to solve all my problems.
Nobody wants to be a single parent. I was still only eighteen. That glistening rock was like a beacon of hope shining a light in my crappy life. It was pure selfishness to let him believe what he wanted to believe. After I told Gavin I was carrying his child, he told me to get rid of it, and he distanced himself from me. I’d never felt so alone.
Who wouldn’t want to say yes to a man who worships the ground I walk on? The only problem was, he’d been away for months. He would know the baby wasn’t his. I sometimes wonder how far I would have gone. If I was just a month along, I could have kept my mouth shut and he would have believed the baby was his. Nobody would have died and nobody would have been hurt. Except me.
But I was three months along. I had to refuse his engagement and tell him I was pregnant. To my surprise, he didn’t blame me. He blamed him. I let him believe it. I let him drive to the lake where he worked, and I let Kane beat him to a pulp because I wanted to hurt Gavin. He deserved to hurt like I was. The rejection, the loneliness I’d felt for the past months. I wanted him to know what he’d put me through.
When I arrived not far behind Kane. I was there to witness his bloodied teeth and his smirk when he said I couldn’t get enough of him. Kane was gone. In his place, something I’d never seen before. Gavin fell to the floor, his head bouncing off the concrete, then nothing.
Kane shouted to get up, but he was stone dead. A piercing scream filled my ears. It was minutes later I realised it was myself screaming. Kane looked down at his bloodied hands as if he was looking at someone else’s trembling limbs, not recognising who he was or what he’d done.
Our eyes locked for a second. He needed me. I knew he needed me right then. But I needed Gavin, the father of my baby. The man I loved. He didn’t deserve to die. I wanted him hurt, but not dead. I was still hopeful he would come round. I hoped when the baby was born he’d want to see it. We could rekindle what we had at some point in the future.
Kane was remorseful. He never meant to kill him. It was all one big mess. The only consolation Kane had was knowing there was one less rapist in the world. How could I tell him the truth, that he killed an innocent man, and it was all my fault because I felt abandoned?
I’m no angel. I’m weak. A coward. I can never tell him the truth. He can never know. After everything, he still wanted me. Still wanted to take care of me and the baby. I will let him continue to believe in his angel and hope that if he ever finds the truth after I’m gone, he will be able to forgive me.
I did love him, but it was tiring on the pedestal he put me on. He thinks I called her Violet after the pet name he gave me. His shrinking Violet, but with Gavin, I was no wallflower.
The visits to the prison have been less frequent. At first I went out of guilt, but I couldn’t look him in the eye. I can never look him in the eye. What’s worse is that I can’t come clean and confess how sorry I am without making things worse.
Kane seems happy to serve his time, knowing what he did was for love, for me and bringing justice to what I went through. If I tell him the truth, it’s all for nothing. The next ten years will be for nothing and it’s all my fault. He thought he had an angel. He didn’t know while he was away; I fell from the heavens.
Forgive me. God, please forgive me.
Tears leak from my eyes. I hadn’t realised until my vision blurred over the last line. Vi has marked this page. She’s read it. She knows the truth, and she never told me. How could she after she asked me not to keep secrets from her? I swipe my face, wiping the tears from my cheeks. Anger taking over the outburst of emotion.
“Kane?”
I lift my head, slamming the book shut, my chest rising and falling with each ragged breath as my nostrils flare.
Vi walks towards me, snatching the book from my hand. “I told you I’d unpack my things tomorrow.”
“Is that so I don’t read your notebook?”
She smiles. “You don’t want to read anything in here. It’s not that interesting.”
“I’d say your mum’s stories are very interesting, wouldn’t you?” I stand from the chair, my body vibrating, needing an outlet to slam my fist into something.
“What’s got into you? It’s just Mum’s stories.”
“Let me read it then.”
“No, you can’t read this one. It’s private.” She holds the book against her chest, clinging to it like a life raft.
