Healing - Book One

thirteen

Dear Violet,

I hope you're doing well, sweetheart, it's hard to believe you've almost been gone two weeks now. Be sure to say hello to everybody for me!

Anyway, the reason for this letter is to let you know that Oliver and I almost have our wedding plans finalised. It will be held at the little church in my village, I think you remember it? The wedding will take place at 5pm on October 5th - it may sound soon but a wedding is always better on the back end of summer.

I am so excited for everybody to be there. Love always, Aggie.

Lowering the paper towards my stomach, I look on as not quite everybody has moved their attention away from my voice yet. Claire begins to clap her hands in excitement, an enormous smile is plastered across her rosy cheeks. Gradually, the same emotion ripples around the room; an excitable babble erupts from the younger ones in particular.

"Thank you Violet." Miss Peregrine pats my shoulder as I hand her back the letter. She folds it back up and tucks it into her pocket. I nod to her and head out to the garden, hardback book under my arm. Taking refuse from the sun under the tree, I immerse myself in tranquil bliss while I bury my nose in the story.

Today's date is September 28th. I have only nine more days until I turn seventeen. I cannot say I'm too excited: sometimes I do not want to get older, leave the safety of wherever I may be living and go out into the world by myself. If I was still living in Oxford, I can not be sure my parents would ever let me out if the front door unless I was staying behind the garden gate. Although I'm sure many girls my age would be shocked, I was always jealous when Rosanna would go off to school. She would irritate me when she came home and told me how boring the whole ordeal was.

Apart from the entire home-schooling fiasco, I pretty much taught myself everything I know about the outside world through the books I acquired over the years. Once I reached the beginning of my teenage years I longed to go out dancing like Rosanna did with all of her friends at the village hall. Once, they even went into Oxford and did not come home until the small hours, much to the dismay of our parents. They did not let her out again for quite a while.

"Violet?"

A pre-pubescent male voice drags me from my thoughts. Upon raising my gaze from the comfort of the pages, I see what appears to be an entity which can only be Millard. His cap tips once he realises I have acknowledged his presence.

"Hello, Millard. How are you doing?" I pat the spot next to me on the tree roots, where the boy obediently takes a seat.

"I'm alright, I suppose. There's just something on my mind - I don't really know who else to go to about it." His voice is clearly troubled; his hat is turned in such a way I can tell he's looking right at me.

"Tell me about it." I tell the boy, closing my book and setting it in the lap of my skirt. I hear him exhale loudly.

"It's Fiona." The cap adjusts itself nervously. "I know she likes Hugh but... I really like her Violet." Millard's voice gets progressively faster as he speaks. My heart swells at how sweet this all is. "I don't want to say anything because I know she'll get all embarrassed and-"

"Millard. Calm down." I let the tiniest chuckle slip, for I cannot help it. "You should say something to her, but keep it subtle - in other words do not make a big deal of it." I babble out advice, even though I am completely unqualified to do so. "Be a gentleman about it. There she is-"

Right on cue, Fiona emerges from the back door and dives into her garden. I hear Millard gulp animatedly, and the grass moves under his feet as he rises.

"Wish me luck..." he whispers, before his clothes stride in obviously false confidence across the lawn.

I look on as he greets the young girl. Their conversation is silent to me, but their mouths move in smiles. However, my heart sinks as I was Fiona's face drop. She clasps her hands together and her lips move only slightly.

Then the encounter ends; Millard, hat pointing towards the ground, his entire unseeable presence radiates melancholia. It seems that love stories cannot always replicate the trials and tribulations of real life. It does not give me much hope for Aggie's marriage.