Chapter Two
The café could have been anywhere in the world. It happened to be in London, because that was where Violet lived, but it could just as well have been in Hong Kong. Maybe that would have been better, actually, now that she came to think of it.
White walls, chrome fixtures, a menu of things that were inoffensive and uninspired.
Violet had chosen it precisely because no one she knew would ever come here.
No one anyone knew would ever come here.
It was the kind of café that might exist solely for people fleeing arguments with their husbands.
She ordered a flat white and sat by the window, watching strangers hurry past in the rain. Her hands weren't shaking anymore. That was something.
The argument had been building for months, maybe years, the way pressure builds behind a dam.
Small cracks appearing. Water seeping through.
And then this morning, over breakfast, the whole thing had simply given way.
They'd said things. Trey had said things.
She had walked out of their house in Hampstead with her handbag and her laptop and absolutely no idea where she was going.
So. Here she was. Anonymous café. Flat white going cold. Rain on the window.
Her phone sat on the table. She should call someone.
She should tell someone what had happened.
That was what people did in situations like these, wasn’t it?
The obvious choice was Rosie, who would listen and sympathize and tell her what to do, except that Rosie had three children under the age of seven and calling her was always an exercise in fragmentary conversation.
She sighed and called Rosie anyway.
"Hello?" Rosie's voice was already strained. In the background, something crashed. "Lee, I said put that down. Sorry, Vi, what's up? Lee, I'm not going to ask again."
"We, I mean Trey and I that is, we… we had an argument," Violet said.
"You… Lee, do not throw that at your sister. Sorry, what? You've had an argument? Like, what? He left the toilet seat up again or something?"
"Um, more the ‘or something’ part."
"Oh. Right." A pause, filled with the distant wailing of a child who had presumably just been hit by whatever Lee had thrown. "Jamie, go and help your sister. Sorry, Vi, I'm here. What happened? What did you argue about?"
Violet took a breath. Where to even begin.
"Everything. Nothing. The usual things. How we never talk anymore.
How he works too much and I organize too much and neither of us is happy.
" She heard how clipped she sounded, how controlled, and hated it.
"We've been arguing for weeks now. You know that. "
"I know," Rosie said. "But you've always worked it out before." There was a long sigh. "Was it really bad this time?"
"He called me boring."
Silence. Complete silence. Even the children seemed to have paused their chaos.
"He what?" Rosie's voice had gone very flat.
"He said…" Violet stopped, pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose.
The words still sat in her chest like stones.
"He said he couldn't remember the last time I surprised him.
That I've become so predictable he could set his watch by me.
Yoga on Thursdays, French on Tuesdays. He said being married to me was like being married to a spreadsheet. "
"That absolute… Lee, not now. That absolute bastard."
"He's not a bastard," Violet said, though she wasn't sure why she was defending him. "He's just… tired. We're both tired. Ten years of marriage and we've run out of things to say to each other."
"That doesn't give him the right to call you boring. You're not boring, Vi. You're organized. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Of course there is. Just because you like things to be planned doesn't mean you're… Jamie, I said go and help her. Sorry." A crash. A shriek. "Christ, I've got to go in a minute. But listen, Vi, what are you going to do?"
The question landed like a stone in still water. Violet watched the ripples spread.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean…" Rosie's voice softened, the chaos fading slightly as though she'd stepped into another room. "I don’t know what I mean. Just… you have to do something, right?"
"I suppose." She thought about that for a second, but didn’t come up with any ideas.
"Vi, you’re the one that takes care of things, I get that. You were the one that stepped up when Mum died, without you me and Lily would have… I don’t even want to think about it. But maybe this time you take care of yourself, yeah?"
Violet blew out a breath. She didn't want to think about that. About the way she'd stepped into her mother's shoes at fifteen, making sure Rosie did her homework and Lily ate her vegetables and their father remembered to pay the bills. Someone had to. Someone always had to.
"I want to prove him wrong," she said. "That's what I want. I want to show him I'm not boring."
"Okay." Rosie didn't sound convinced. "And how are you going to do that?"
"I don't know yet. Something spontaneous. Something he'd never expect."
"Vi, I say this with love, but you've never done anything spontaneous in your life."
"Then it's about time I started."
She heard Rosie sigh. In the background, the chaos was building again, feet thundering, voices rising. "Vi…"
"I’ll leave him," Violet said, the words coming as a surprise even to her.
"You’ll… what?"
"I’ll leave him," she said again, more certainly. "Just for a while. Just a for a bit. Just while I get all this worked out. He’d never expect that. That’s not boring, is it? I’ll leave him and then when I come back I’ll be…"
"What? You’ll be what exactly?" Rosie asked carefully.
"Better," said Violet.
"You don’t need to be better."
"Fine. More exciting then."
"Vi…" There was a clatter and a scream.
"Go and deal with the kids," Violet said. "And don’t worry. I’ve got this."
There was a pause, another scream, Rosie swore and said she’d call back later, and then the line went dead.
Violet sat very still for a moment. The café hummed around her, anonymous and indifferent.
Right then. Spontaneity.
She opened her laptop.
The first thing she did was create a new document. Not a spreadsheet. A document. That was different. She titled it "Options" and stared at the blank page.
The obvious answer was to stay in a hotel. But hotels were expensive, and besides, what would she do all day? Sit in her room feeling sorry for herself? She needed somewhere to go. Somewhere with things to do. Somewhere that would force her out of her comfort zone.
She started typing.
Brighton? Too obvious. Bath? Too many tourists. Cornwall? Too far. She needed somewhere close enough to London that she could come back easily if she needed to, but far enough that Trey couldn't simply turn up at her door. An hour away max.
She opened a second tab and began searching for holiday rentals. Flats. Cottages. AirBnBs. She filtered by distance from London (one hour, maximum), price (reasonable, but not suspiciously cheap), and amenities (wifi essential, washing machine preferred).
After twenty minutes, she had a shortlist of twelve possibilities.
She eliminated four immediately due to poor transport links.
Two more fell away because they were in areas with no obvious activities, she couldn't just sit in a cottage for weeks doing nothing, not if she was planning on being spontaneous and exciting.
Three others had reviews mentioning noise or difficult parking or neighbors who played loud music.
That left three. She opened each listing in a separate tab and studied them carefully.
The first was a converted barn. Charming, but isolated. No nearby villages, no shops, no way to fill her days.
The second was a flat above a pub. Central location, but the reviews mentioned thin walls and rowdy Friday nights.
The third was a modern flat in a place called Oakguild. She'd never heard of it, which seemed like a point in its favor. The listing described it as a small market town, an hour from London by train, with local amenities including shops, cafés, and…
She stopped.
An adult learning center. She clicked on the link. French. On Tuesdays. Perfect. She wouldn’t even have to change her regular schedule.
A few weeks in this… Oakguild and she’d figure things out, become spontaneous, come home a different person, and Trey could suck eggs. Easy. She just had to prove that she could do the unexpected.
Her phone buzzed. Rosie again. "Tell me you didn't make a spreadsheet."
Violet looked at her laptop. At the document titled "Options." At the three tabs still open with her careful research. At the booking confirmation now loading on her screen. "I didn't make a spreadsheet," she typed back. "I made a document. Totally different."
Her phone rang immediately.
"Vi," Rosie said, and she was laughing now, the chaos in the background forgotten. "That is not what spontaneous means."
"I'm going to Oakguild," Violet said, ignoring her. "I've booked an AirBnB. I’m going to be spontaneous and exciting."
"You're going to be spontaneous?"
"Yes."
"By planning it?"
"It's not…" Violet stopped. Took a breath. "I'm going, Rosie. That's what matters. I'm doing something. I'm leaving. I'm taking control of my life."
"You’re… Right. Okay. I mean, that sounds like a good thing, I suppose."
"It is a good thing," Violet said firmly. She was feeling better now. On more solid ground. She had a plan, that always made her feel better.
Rosie sighed "Alright. I love you. Call me when you get there. Try to have an adventure that doesn't involve color-coded folders."
Violet ended the call.
She sat for a moment in the anonymous café, looking at the booking confirmation on her screen. Oakguild.
She could do this. She needed this. She'd figure it out. She'd make a plan.
No. Not a plan. A... a loose intention. A general direction.
She closed her laptop and finished her cold flat white and tried very hard not to think about the fact that she’d just decided to walk out on her husband. Temporarily.
Outside, the rain was easing. The sun was trying to break through the clouds. Somewhere in a small town she'd never heard of, a flat was waiting for her. She should go and pack her things. Not that Trey would be back from work any time soon.
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