Violet - Book Two

thirteen

Several heavy footsteps signify that somebody is descending the stairs. All heads at the breakfast table swivel towards the doorway, awaiting it's imminent opening. The hinges creak against their age, and the door opens to reveal a hunched figure - dressed in a familiar quilted robe.

"Ah! Enoch." Miss Peregrine exclaims from her seat. "I assumed you might want your eggs scrambled this morning."

Her remark is met with a somewhat responsive grunt before he slumps into his chair, a hand clutching his forehead. The free hand scoops up his fork and pokes at the variety on his plate. Now that he is closer, I can see the bags beneath his eyes. His eyelids squint in the morning sunlight entering the dining room.

"Enoch, are you ill?" Bronwyn chirps through a mouthful of toast.

"No." He replies bluntly without even a glance up.

"Maybe you should have some water." Olive murmurs. She rises from her chair and scuttles away into the kitchen before he can protest. His fingers pull the skin on his face left and right, as if he's trying to knead the headaches away.

Miss Peregrine's mouth is flattened into a stern line. She must have figured something is the matter. Wishing to forget the majority of last night's' affairs, I lower my gaze and return to my breakfast - even though the taste has weakened.

    ~

After breakfast, I hunch over the sink, scrubbing at the plates slick with grease from the bacon. The water is warm against my fingers, but the melted margarine makes my fingertips slimey, and I am forced to retreat from the water and wipe my hands on the tea towel.

"Violet."

Towel still in hand, I turn towards the doorway where the walking hangover stands - his hands stuffed into the pockets of his robe.

"Hello." I reply, following a small sigh. I replace the towel back on the Range's rail and return my gaze to the dark eyes squinting back at me. "How are you feeling?"

"Absolute dog shit." He replies, the sides of his mouth beginning to twitch into a smirk. "Don't think I'll do it again for a while."

"I'd rather you didn't." I force a giggle, taking a few steps towards him. "I do not especially want to have to baby you when you're paralytic."

"I know. I'm sorry." Enoch begins to approach me. His expression depicts embarrassment at the highest. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"No, you don't have to." We are almost nose to nose now.

"I want to." He replies in a whisper, before wrapping his arms around me and holding my body close to his. It's comforting not to smell the pungent scent of the liquor or have the smokey sheet before my eyes, and I grab hold of him tightly.

     ~

I spend the majority of my day basking in the back-end September sun, which has decided to make a final appearance before autumn begins. A variety of hardbacks are stacked on the bench beside me, with works from Virginia Woolf to Dickens just waiting to be delved into. Occasionally my eyes will wander from the page when Claire emerges with her dolls or Horace finds something in a magazine which he believes I'll find appealing, however I am mostly engrossed in my reads for the larger part of the afternoon.

"Enoch says to go into the conservatory."

A small face appears at my side. Bronwyn clasps her hands at her abdomen before bouncing away, leaving me with little explanation to what might be in the conservatory - or who for that matter. I return the book in my grasp to the pile and push myself from the bench and set a path towards the lattice doors. From what I can see, nothing is astray from the ordinary.

The door creaks slightly as I push it open delicately - delicately as it always feels as if it will shatter in my hands. On the coffee table lies a folded sheet of paper, hidden between some tangles of plants which cannot keep to their terracotta homes. I reach out without hesitation and unfold it to reveal the scrawl which I recognise as Enoch's.

Violet-
Meet in front garden at 4. Bring something to keep warm.
-Enoch