Violet watched as the smokers got up for what must have been their third break in as many hours, and tried to choke down the quiet anger she always felt watching them. She couldn’t stand laziness. She knew, of course, that the job she worked was largely pointless, just busywork to keep money circulating between a handful of dying businesses, but that didn’t matter. That was the work. And these people had no right to slack off, just standing around chatting among themselves. Violet didn’t like this part of herself. She knew her personal standards were extreme, and she shouldn’t judge other people for not meeting them, but she couldn’t help it sometimes. She couldn’t imagine being fulfilled as some housewife, placid and content in gentle domesticity, terrified of the world beyond your own four walls. Work was freedom, it was how you made your own life, and all too often she found herself hating people who didn’t seem to appreciate that.
When the clock ticked over to half past one, Violet almost leapt up, quietly letting her manager, a solid, unremarkable man named Bob, know that she was taking her break. It took her less than six minutes to eat the salad pot she had bought for lunch, and then she was out the door and into the dusty night air of the city. She walked quickly, as if she could hurry along the relaxation, and tried to figure out why exactly she was so on edge. There were no special stresses at work (Bob was foretelling imminent layoffs, but he was always going on about that), everything was fine at home (Marie had brought up maybe wanting to move out next year, but that was a while away) and there weren’t any money problems (the agency said rent was going up soon, but she could afford it, just about). So why did it feel like every nerve in her body was twisted up tight? It was as if she were about to break into a run at any moment.
Violet was so caught up in trying to examine her mood, she didn’t notice them standing there until she was halfway down Augustine Road. Three figures, just at the edge of the street, no details clearly visible, all obscured by hoods and caps and thick jackets. They could have been talking to each other, probably were, but from where she was walking it wasn’t clear. They seemed to just be standing there, motionless, the light of the streetlamp shining down on them.
People were exactly what Violet wished to avoid on her late-night walks, their messy presence always breaking through her quiet communion with the city. Instinctively, she started to turn, to retrace her steps and find another, more secluded route. But as she did one of the figures looked up, and his eyes beneath the bright blue baseball cap met hers. They were young, cocky, and even from the other end of the road she felt them judging her. He thought she was scared of him. A tiny surge of defiance rose up inside her. This was her city, her time, and she would not let the second-hand fears of her mother rule her. So what if she had looked him in the eye? If they wanted to hang out late at night in public, that was their business. There was nothing sinister to it, nothing obvious, at least, and she was certainly in no position to criticise them for being out late. So, she continued down Augustine Road, her footsteps a lot louder than she remembered them. In the back of her mind came that insistent pressure to cross the road, that urge to keep her distance, but she fought it down, determined not to let this fear win. The man exchanged some short words with his companions, watching her as she walked in their direction with all the confidence she could hold on to.
Violet was now within a few feet of them and could smell the waves of body spray covering up old joints and unwashed jeans. She ignored it, just a few more steps and she’d be past them, she’d be at the end of the road, turning a corner and breathing normally again. But as her eyes once again made that briefest moment of contact with his, she saw a sudden change in them, and her whole body spasmed in terror as he lunged at her.
‘Boo!’
It took her a second to process what he had said. The young man had already turned back to his friends, who burst into mocking laughter, then just as quickly returned to whatever conversation they’d been having.
Violet tried to regain her feet, but her every nerve was on fire and her legs wouldn’t stop shaking from adrenaline. She wanted to say something, to scream, to hit them, but it seemed like they’d already forgotten her, so instead she just started walking again. She turned right at the end of the street and headed immediately back to her office.
It took hours for the shaking to subside, and the work she was supposed to be doing sat forgotten on her screen. She was so angry she could barely think, and not at the arsehole that made her jump, but at herself for letting it get to her. It was harmless, a joke. She was overreacting. But that didn’t do anything to soften what she felt.
Violet left the office that morning exhausted, utterly drained, and travelled back to Banyan Court in a daze. She felt disconnected from the space around her, and with every step she found herself surprised that her foot landed on solid ground. She didn’t remember the train home, and moved off the tube like a ghost, drifting into the building and up the stairs without really taking anything in. She only stopped for a second as she got out her keys, dimly registering the faint scent of old tobacco. She looked listlessly to the next door over, but it was closed. The corridor was empty as always.
She had no appetite and Marie was still asleep, so Violet quietly moved through the darkness to her room and crawled into bed, barely remembering to kick off her shoes. Sleep hit her like a fist, and she spent that day dreaming of three figures whispering to each other under a street light. But no matter how close she got, the words remained muffled and secret.
Her eyes opened slowly, groggily. How long had it been? She looked at her clock. 8 a.m. She’d barely slept an hour and her head was pounding. No, it was the door, Someone was knocking and—
‘Violet?’
Marie’s voice. She pulled herself slowly out of bed and opened the door a crack. The light from the hall stung her eyes and she blinked several times before the lights resolved themselves into the figure of her flatmate, still wearing her pyjamas.
‘Aren’t you going to be late?’
Marie shook her head. ‘I need a favour.’
‘What?’ Violet’s stomach dropped slightly.
‘I’ve got a thing I need to be at today, but I kind of double-booked myself.’
‘I thought you had work?’
‘Yeah, like I said, double-booked. So I need to call in sick.’
Violet tried her best to suppress the little flame of rage that rose up at Marie’s blasé tone. This certainly wasn’t the first time Marie had done this, her approach to work was no different than it had been at university, but right now Violet had to bite her tongue. Had Marie got her out of bed literally to just rub her laziness in Violet’s face?
‘Say you have a migraine. That usually works.’ It took all her self- control to keep her voice level. She just needed to sleep. She had work to do in the evening.
‘Sure, for a day, but this might end up needing to stretch out a bit, you know? I figure if I’m “too sick” to call in for myself, like a fever or something, and need you to do it for me … I mean, that’s got to be most of the week taken care of. Look, I know it bugs you, but I’d massively owe you one.’
There was a very long moment where Violet could feel herself about to reach for the phone in Marie’s hand. To call the office and tell them exactly what Marie was doing. To let her feel all the consequences of her useless shirking. But instead she just closed the door. It took all her restraint, but she did not slam it, and she did not vocalise any of the thoughts that flooded uninvited into her mind.