Chapter 2
Violet
Adrenaline kept me going until I reached the park at the end of the road, after which panic took over. Collapsing down on to the nearest bench, I put my head in my hands and tried to stop my legs from shaking.
The hated blazer I’d bought specifically for the job I’d just lost was no match for the chill of the afternoon, late May having presumably decided that sunshine wasn’t yet necessary, at least not when it came to the city of Cambridge. Mallorca, I imagined, was far warmer. The small Spanish island boasted an average of three hundred sunny days a year, while England only managed a paltry fifty-nine. I knew because I had looked it up, had done so purely to torment myself, a punishment of sorts for pain caused. My mind and I often played this game, one reminding the other of all the reasons to feel undeserving, ashamed, self-pitying, and it had rendered me weary.
My phone buzzed. It was bound to be Bobsy, terminating my contract of employment in writing, but it could also be something else, another emergency, him...
The latter made me check.
The text was from the same person who’d messaged me less than an hour ago, back when I still had a job, a purpose, some semblance of hope. There were no words, only a link to a Balearic Properties website. Steeling myself, I clicked on it, knowing what the photos would show yet staring at them anyway, my heart immobile in my chest as I scrolled down to the description.
Exceptional house for sale in Pollen?a old town, Mallorca north coast
Loved locally for its quirky turret design, orange walls, and mature citrus trees, this one-of-a-kind property is situated close to the Calvari Steps – one of the most sought-after locations on the island. Lovingly restored by one family over twenty years, it has four bedrooms and three bathrooms set across three levels, with breathtaking views across the town and mountains beyond.
The hillside plot offers the benefits of being close to the town’s amenities yet secluded enough to provide an escape from the bustle of tourists. In short, it is the perfect family home, suitable for year-round living or holiday stays – and to see it is to fall in love with it. Viewing highly recommended.
Price on application.
The perfect family home.
Struck by a wave of nausea, I bent double, my head between my knees as I drew in one deep breath, followed by another. I didn’t want to be here by myself, not in this state, but I was alone, had never been more so, and it hurt.
I sat up slowly and swiped the screen of my phone, searching through my limited list of contacts until I reached the name I was looking for – someone I knew still cared. She answered on the second ring.
‘Sí? Bueno.’
Hearing my old friend’s voice brought me almost to tears.
‘Ynes, it’s Violet.’
She tinkled out a laugh. ‘Cabecita roja!’ she cried – little redhead – ‘This is a nice surprise.’
A few feet ahead of me, a pigeon had begun to inspect an empty crisp packet, its silvery grey head tilting to the side as if it was admiring its reflection in the foil. There was half a flapjack left over from lunch in my bag, and having taken off its wrapper, I broke it up into pieces and tossed them across the grass. Ynes was chattering away as she always did, sharing snippets of Mallorcan gossip, asking when I would visit, saying that it must be soon, that I was needed, that there were things to be resolved. I had no idea how to answer, and so waited in silence until she said, ‘So, why is it that you are calling me? What has happened?’
I swallowed. ‘I’ve done something stupid,’ I said, and heard the air-hissing sound of a wince.
‘Háblame,’ she said soothingly. Talk to me.
Haltingly, I explained about the buyers I’d put off, the trouble I’d got into as a result of it, and the strident way by which I’d walked out of my job.
I didn’t, couldn’t, tell her about the other reason I’d been forced to quit.
‘You hate this job?’ Ynes asked.
‘Sí,’ I mumbled.
‘Then why do you care, cabecita roja?’
How best to make it clear that I did care, not about the job, but about the salary it provided? I needed money, more now than I ever had before, and the stakes were terrifyingly high.
Ynes, who did not know the full story, remained pragmatic. ‘Who needs to work for an imbécil like this?’ she said. ‘It is done now. You will find other work.’
She made it sound easy, but it wasn’t – not for me. I had no formal qualifications, no degree, no experience aside from what I’d gleaned during the few years spent working for a business I’d long since abandoned, and no savings.
‘Who’s going to offer a lucrative role to a thirty-seven-year-old woman who’s moved back in with her mother?’ I said joylessly. ‘Nobody.’
Ynes snorted. ‘So, take a holiday.’
The pigeon strutted and weaved, picking through the grass with its beak. I looked up at the pallid sky, tuned into the rumbling growl of cars and buses as commuters idled along rush-hour roads, all of them with somewhere to go, and with somebody waiting at their journey’s end. I had neither; no purpose at all other than to be there in case anybody needed me – in case he needed me.
‘The house is on the market,’ I said, to an audible gasp from Ynes.
‘No? I do not believe it.’
‘I’ve seen the advertisement.’
Ynes rattled out a stream of Spanish disparagement. ‘You cannot let the house go,’ she exclaimed. ‘This is not the right decision.’
‘Isn’t it?’ I countered, in a murmur so low that she demanded I repeat myself. ‘It’s the only thing left that belongs to both of us. We can’t keep it, not after— I don’t want to sell it, of course I don’t, but perhaps it is for the best.’
In the beginning, when the future was still unclear, I’d felt the same way as Ynes, the idea of the house no longer being a part of my life abhorrent enough to cause me sleepless nights. But things had changed since then, I had altered in ways I thought impossible, that first mistake acting as a domino to hundreds of others, each one steering me towards this moment, on this bench, trapped, scared, and fast running out of options.
Ynes had begun to mutter under her breath, the rapid Spanish indecipherable. My friend was disappointed in me; she didn’t understand why it had come to this, or how I’d allowed it to happen. The only thing I could think of to say was sorry, but it was so worn out, that word; threadbare and desultory.
‘It’s only a house,’ I said meekly, and was rewarded with a snapped ‘qué ferte’.
‘Listen to me, cabecita roja. I am your friend, and because of this, I will not tell you lies, not even the little white ones. It is better to snip the stem than wait for the petals to drop, you know this.’
Again, I could think of nothing to say.
‘Selling the house is a mistake,’ she went on. ‘One that you will both regret.’
‘It’s not that simple,’ I protested, but Ynes shushed me.
‘Life becomes complicated when you complicate it.’
There they were again, the words of my father.
‘Whatever you decide to do, sell or not sell, you must talk about it,’ she urged.
‘I’ve tried,’ I said insistently. ‘You should see all the messages on my phone, the emails that go unanswered – he doesn’t want to hear me.’
Ynes drew in a long breath, and the exhalation that followed sounded sorrowful. ‘Then perhaps,’ she said, ‘it is time that you gave him no choice but to listen.’