Violet - Book Two

fourteen

I eventually decide to change into a periwinkle skirt and a white blouse after pondering in front of the wardrobe for a while. I pull on some dainty silk gloves which finish with frills at the wrists. My boxy camel-coloured coat hangs on my shoulders and I head downstairs quickly seeing as it is almost four o'clock. There is a definite buzz of childish chatter coming from the living room. Friday evenings are always when the seemingly endless supply of board games emerge from their drawers - my housemates have hours upon hours of fun.

I reach the last step and am puzzled to look up and see what is unmistakably Millard in some clothes for a change, standing beside the front door.

"Afternoon, Violet." He leans against the wall as I approach him; I shift my handbag to my other gloved palm.

"Good afternoon, Millard. Have you seen Enoch?" From the positioning of his flat cap I can tell that he is catching me in height - no longer the young boy he was when we first met.

"I have, actually. He asked me to send you to the beach." Millard appears to adjust his cap. "Miss Peregrine says return by half-seven at the latest."

Without another word, Millard pushes himself from the wall and makes a dash for the living room, presumably to join the others. I am left with no other instructions, so I exit through the front door and make my way towards the archway.

It is warmer this afternoon; as I make the short journey towards the cliffs I can see the sun beginning to edge towards the horizon. It looks enormous and blazes a particular golden hue which I cannot say I have seen before. The wind whips through my hair and about my skirt as I approach the edge to look down at the beach - I have to shield my eyes from the sun's rays.

My vision readjusts from the shock of the sunlight just as I am able to peer over the edge. The tide laps up against the pebbles, and not so far from the surf sits a grey blanket which I vaguely recognise from the living room. Atop the rug is a wicker basket with an arching handle. A meter or two to the right stands a certain Northerner wearing matching trousers and jacket as well as a clean, white shirt. He has really made an effort. I raise my arm and wave, and he responds by beckoning me down with his hand.

Obediently, I scuttle towards the worn-out steps and descend the cliff face with excitement-fuelled speed.

"What's all this?" I cry out as I reach the pebbles.

"Told you I'd make it up to you." He exclaims with a smirk as he wanders over to where I stand.

"You didn't have to!" I reply as we come face to face. He takes my left hand in his.

"I wanted to." He brushes his lips against my cheek before leading me towards the blanket.

He doesn't let go of my hand until I am firmly sat on the ground. I allow the skirt to fan out around my crossed legs whilst he lowers himself down opposite me. With my arms supporting my weight, I look up at the sky which is littered with wisps of clouds.

"Lemonade?"

"Yes please." I return my gaze back to him. He is pouring the cloudy substance into two chalices which I had only ever seen in the glass cabinets. "How did Miss Peregrine know about this?"

"I had to ask her - I didn't know how long we'd be out here." He hands me the champagne glass and I take a sip - it is refreshingly chilly. "She made us some sandwiches."

"What's in them?" I ask, taking the glass from my lips and precariously balancing it atop a lump beneath the blanket.

"Cheese and tomato, I think." He reaches into the basket and his hand emerges clutching a brown paper bag, rolled over at the opening. Both of us lean over as he unwraps it and, as he suspected, takes out two cheese and tomato sandwiches. Without a word, we dig in.

Without the looming presence of the headmistress, I throw all etiquette to the wind and make sure the thoroughly enjoy what turns out to be the first course of the picnic. Enoch watches on with a slight smile on his lips, which in turn makes me giggle.

"You're ever so pretty, do you know that?"

"Stop it!" I protest, feeling my cheeks flush while I struggle to swallow some food before I speak.

"But you are. Even when you're eating like a starving dog." He jokes before sinking his teeth into his own sandwich, perhaps a little more politely than me.

Right on time, I shove the final morsel of crust into my mouth and sit in silent triumph that I finished before he did. Whilst he eats, I shuffle over towards his side of the rug and settle myself beside him. I snake my hand into the crook of his arm and allow my head to sit on his shoulder. I feel like I could stay in this spot forever.