Violet - Book Two

six

"Take this up to Enoch, would you Violet?" Miss Peregrine extends her arm out to me. Her talons clutch an envelope. "It's from his parents, I believe."

Although I am certain he will not want it, I stand from the kitchen table and take the letter from her. The headmistress gives me a brief smile before turning back to slave over some soup. I proceed towards the hallway and give Bronwyn's hair a ruffle as I walk past her; the little one has suddenly appeared to where I was sitting only seconds ago.

As the vast majority of my housemates reside in the garden, the house is relatively quiet. Upstairs is close to empty, if not deserted. Whilst I walk, I read the face of the envelope:

Enoch O'Connor
Cliffside Hall
Pembleton
Devon

The handwriting is similar to his - large and calligraphic, so much so it is difficult to decipher.

I reach Enoch's door, and give three simultaneous knocks.

"Enoch?" I say, rather loudly, into the wood. No answer. "Enoch, are you in there?" Still, no sign of any reply.

Slowly, I curl my fingers around the handle and twist it. With a bit of force, the door creaks open. Unfortunately, the room is empty and, as I expected, extremely malnourished. His bag lies on the floor, opened, and his sheets have become creased - perhaps he is still in the bathtub. I go towards his nightstand, where I recognise a photograph which is resting against the lamp. It happens to be the one which I had sent him last October, and also the exact image which is framed in my own room. A flattery-fuelled smile spreads over my cheeks and I cannot help but let slip an airy giggle.

A door squeaks on it's hinges somewhere in the corridor, and the sound of bare feet pat along the floors. I spin around on my heel just as Enoch walks through the door. He jumps upon seeing me. The boy's hair is wet, and he wears nothing except a white towel which he hold around his waist.

"Bloody hell, you scared me." He breathes, placing a hand on his bare chest.

"Sorry." I reply, before holding the letter addressed to him out at arms length. "Miss Peregrine asked me to give this to you, although I wasn't sure if you'd want it."

"Why not?" He asks, taking the envelope from me with his free hand. "Who's it from?"

I remain silent for a moment while he clamps the top of the envelope between his teeth and uses his hand to tear the top open.

"Your parents."

Enoch stops, and released the torn envelope from his mouth. He wrinkles his nose at it, and I snatch it back from his clutches before he can throw it away.

"Violet-"

"I'll read it." I cut him off, and go to pull out the chair from behind the desk. Whilst I settle myself, the scot retreats behind the shelving and I hear him opening and ferreting through the drawers.

"To Enoch," I start, squinting at the near-unintelligible scrawl I am faced with. "Your father and I are glad to hear of your imminent return, and write to the house in the hope that you will read this once you arrive home. The headmistress wrote to us throughout the time you were serving to update us on where you were. However,"

I look up over the notepaper briefly and watch him emerge from behind the shelf in a pair of dark trousers and a grey shirt, and his fingers are still working on the buttons.

"In recent weeks she has been informing us of a future gathering at the house for the families of her charges." My eyes widen in disbelief - and Enoch freezes in his button-fastening tracks. "She tells us this will take place on November the first, so we will see you then. Love Mother."

I lower it from eye level, and the silence ensues for a short while.

"My parents would never show up." I announce to break the lull. "They were always convinced this place was a madhouse."

"At least that's two less people." He exclaims, fiddling with his shirt cuffs. "We had one of these godforsaken garden parties at the old house when we were younger, not long before the last loop." His eyes roll irritably, then look to the door somewhat anxiously, as if somebody may be listening in outside. "Olive's parents are a nightmare." His voice becomes a hushed, paranoid whisper.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, her mother was an absolute loon. She didn't talk - she screeched like a banshee." He leans in close like a gossiping child. "And her dad is the most pompous little git you'll ever meet."

"Even more so that Horace?" I say with a smirk, trying to shed light on the conversation.

"Ever more so. His head is so far up his own arse, he has a tonsil in each lughole."

His analogy makes me laugh, only a little at first, but I find myself howling the more I think about it. Enoch stands above me, hands in his pockets and a grin on his lips.

"You're ridiculous." His hands escape the confines of his pockets and grab my hands, pulling me up. Weak with laughter, I let myself fall into him and I continue snorting into his shoulder. His arms find their way around me and hold me tightly, like he'll never let go.