“Her friend Cheryl sorted out her place after she passed away. Ali didn’t have much, but what she had was split between Cheryl and I. The rest of her stuff went to the charity.”
“When I read her notes, I feel closer to her.” Vi’s fingers trace over Ali’s handwriting, a sad smile tugging the corners of her lips. I have a box full of letters from her mum. I’d love to let her read them, to know her mother, but they contain secrets she can never know.
“You have plenty of notes here.” I hold up three more books, all with Ali’s handwriting in.
She takes the notebooks from me. “What are these?”
“I told you she liked to write stories.”
Her eyes sparkle. “These are Mum’s stories?”
I nod, though I haven’t read them for a while. Some I haven’t read at all. After she passed, the memories were too painful.
20
VIOLET
“You should definitely get that dress. It looks good on you.” At this point, I think Yaz would say anything looked good on me to get out of this store. I’ve tried on about twenty outfits so far. She’s tall and slim, so can wear just about anything she likes—anything black, that is.
I stand sideways in the mirror and have to agree. The black skater dress looks cute, coming halfway up my chubby thighs, showing off my purple tights.
“Hurry or we’re gonna miss our appointment.”
I pull out my phone to check the time and notice my battery quickly dying. With five minutes to spare before our hair appointment, I quickly change and pay for my dress. Kane wouldn’t take any money from me for my board, so my wage is all mine. I was desperate for new clothes and also desperate for my hair to be done.
Maybe Kane will notice me with my hair curled and a full head of deep violet instead of the purple and blue streaks. Lilly was always dolled up to the nines, and he dated her.
Yaz gets her black hair washed, trimmed and blow dried while I wait for my purple hair to set. I pull my phone from my bag and the battery is completely flat. I should have given it a full charge this morning. Not to worry. Kane knows where I am.
After getting our hair done, I change into my new clothes in the toilets. I want to look my best when I arrive home. “We should get our makeup done, too. Let’s try all the testers.”
Yaz rolls her eyes. The only products she uses are black lipstick and eyeshadow, along with the usual thick eyeliner and mascara. “What look you going for?” She scans the testers at the makeup on the small display, fingering an array of colours from vibrant neons to more natural shades.
I've never played much with contouring, but Yaz helps me add some around the edges of my face and over my cheeks to make my cheekbones pop. I brush on a little pink blush to the apples when I make the sucked a lemon face.
My hand hovers over a few shades of red lip gloss and I grab a dark bold red colour similar to the one Lilly wore at the pub. It’s not really me, but I doubt Kane could resist me in the shade ‘Ravish Me Red.’
“What do you think?” I smile at Yaz and she adds a little more shape to my eyebrow with a brown pencil.
“Perfect. You look older, borderline hooker,” she stifles a laugh as she touches up my brow one last time.
“Good. That’s the idea.” I don’t recognise myself in the small store mirror, but I’m hoping my new look will make Kane see me in a different light. Nerves swirl in my belly at what Kane will think. I want him to give in to his feelings and accept that we could be great together.
* * *
By the timeYaz drops me off at home, the house is shrouded in darkness. A flicker of light peeks through the living room curtain, giving me an indication that he’s home. I walk up to the door, laden with bags full of my new attire, and swish my newly dyed violet hair over my shoulder. Walking inside the house, I check my makeup is still intact in the hall mirror.
I drop my bags at the foot of the stairs and smooth my sweaty palms over my new dress, flowing over my purple thighs.
It’s been a while since Kane really looked at me like he didthatnight. In truth, he’s been avoiding me out of guilt, shame, or denial. But there was no denying the hunger I felt in his eyes that night. I need to feel it again, like a drug.
The aroma of his home-grown brand hits me when I open the living room door.
He stubs out the joint on the side of a beer bottle and places it on a saucer, all the while glaring at me with heated eyes. “Good day?” It’s more of an accusation, but I ignore his mood.
“Yes, thanks.” I lift my chin high and walk into the room, picking up the joint and re-lighting it with his zippo from the coffee table.
He snarls, rage burning in his eyes as he leans forward, hands clasped together.
