Violet

Bebe Sanders

• Publisher: Oberon Books
• Year: 2019
• ISBN:
  9781786827234
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: Gerontology
• Index: Social Sciences

Violet is starting to forget, but she's got a long life to remember before she does. There are rights to wrong and ends to tie up; a life well lived is never neat. Generations younger, Bertie is at the beginning with no idea what lies ahead. She's looking for something to point her in the right direction. A new play about human connection and inter-generational friendships, Violet quietly explores themes of mental health, dementia, and loneliness without forgetting the often funny and absurd moments of ordinary life.

[1]

A change is as good as a rest. That’s what they say, isn’t it? A change, is as good as a rest. But what they really mean is like, a haircut. Or a new duvet cover. Or, I dunno, a spin class.

Do you know how much a spin class costs in London? Millions of pounds. Seriously. Same with yoga. And as far as I’m aware no one found enlightenment via sexy, expensive activewear and Namaste hashtags.

I tried early nights, I tried journaling my feelings. I bought a notebook especially FOR journaling my feelings. Has a peach with a face on it saying ‘Life is Peachy’. But – it’s not, is it? That’s just Paperchase doing marketing. It’s just a lie. I tried a pot plant. Genuinely – bought a pot plant and put it next to my bed in the hope it was physically going to remove the sadness from my head whilst I slept through photosynthesis or whatever. But also – if I’m being totally honest – because it would look good on Instagram if I ever took a photo of my bed. Because maybe that’s the answer. I tried eating kale, meditation apps, all of it. All of it costs money and none of it works.

And the truth is I don’t have the energy, for any of it. I want to, but I just don’t.

And you know, yeah, maybe this stuff works elsewhere, but in London, in London – everything is so much harder. It’s like… sludge. It’s thick and heavy and full of people struggling against each other, in order to try and get… something, and no one is managing it and it’s hard and it’s lonely and it’s really, really expensive and… Just trying to do the day feels pointless and impossible.

And then I got fired. Literally just walked into the office one day and Karen tells me they’re downsizing and won’t be needing me anymore. Just like that – like, I’m sorry Karen, I’m aware that all I do is eat the staff biscuits and moan about you behind your back but that doesn’t mean you can fire me. If I’m not an editorial assistant… Who am I?

And then – I mean it’s like dominoes isn’t it. So then I’m not working, well – I get a job in a bar, and I am such a waste of space, like, just this horrible ball of misery. I am twenty-seven years old – why am I working in a bar? So I’m coming back to my boyfriend Tommy at weird hours with a shitty negative attitude and clothes that smell like B.O. and beer, and so obviously he dumps me. I mean, it’s fine. I was actually going to do it anyway, it’s not a big deal he just got there before me but it does mean I have to move out of the flat I was sharing rent on – which then basically makes me homeless too, and…

Yeah, I could have moved in with my mum but I mean – her endless stream of boyfriends makes it abundantly clear that her priorities are very much elsewhere. The latest one walks around in harem pants with no shirt on and really, really needs to cut his toenails. Doesn’t pay rent but spends all day cooking dahl in her kitchen and calls me “sweetheart”. No thanks. I’d rather not be a part of that.

So… I’ve come down here. Because – sure. A change is as good as a rest, but actually – a rest sounds better.

Why here exactly? Couldn’t tell you. I just needed to get away. I needed to feel like I could be somewhere where no one knew who I was.

Also my cousin is away for the summer so I could rent her flat. And by rent I mean live in. Without paying.

The house is very ‘nice’, it’s – I mean, it’s a bit… She’s a fan of a shabby chic slogan wall decal. Put it that way.

“Sticky fingers, muddy paws, and hearts full of love”

It’s sweet I guess. I mean Jesus – she’s only three years older than me and has a mortgage, a kid, a husband and a John Lewis sofa, so who am I to judge her?

It’s a five minute walk to the beach. A two minute walk to the town. There’s a café, there’s a supermarket. I am going to have to get a job – so tomorrow I’ll walk in and hand my CV out. Like a cretin. I’ll probably end up behind a bar again wont I?

That feeling – that I was living in the wrong life – it was there. I just couldn’t hear it over all the noise. It was like a mosquito in the room, the sound wasn’t exactly loud, but it was there, and it was persistent, and it was becoming impossible to sleep through.

It’s just that… now I’m here – it’s like someone has switched that noise off. And the silence is utterly terrifying.

***

[2]

Well, Friday’s here. And I’ve done nothing. Apart from sleep, watch ‘Cash in the Attic’, and cry. A lot. I still haven’t made it into town to apply for jobs, and I’ve exclusively eaten white bread and an ancient packet of Parma Violets that I found at the bottom of my rucksack. It was only tonight, cocooned in a duvet with the blinds drawn, weeping into a pickle sandwich because cheese was too expensive I realised – I need to take a long hard look at myself. I need to wash, get a grip. I can’t keep this up or it’s going to get really ugly.

So tonight I’ve come down to the beach for a walk. It’s the last thing I feel like doing but, I’m trying. I think, “oh maybe it’ll be ...

Table of contents

• Front cover
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Contents
• Chapter 1