I cant keep living a lie any longer, she confessed over dinner.
Are you mad? How much does that cost? Lucy nearly dropped the menu when she saw the prices for the desserts.
Violet just waved a hand, adjusted the scarf around her neck and gave that practiced smile she always wore when unexpected guests turned her flat into a circus.
Come on, Lucy. Once a year youre allowed to indulge, her voice trembled despite the effort to sound carefree. Waiter! Two tiramisu and two coffees. Two Americano, please.
The waiter, a young chap with his hair slicked back, nodded and vanished as silently as a ghost. Lucy watched him go, puzzled, then turned her gaze back to Violet.
Vicky, youre retired. Where do you find the money for this? We could have just sat in a regular café, you know she surveyed the restaurant: marble, crystal, pristine white tablecloths.
Even the air seemed richer, scented with foreign perfume and fresh flowers in tall vases.
Because I need to. Do you understand? Right here, right now, Violet squeezed the napkin until the knuckles turned white.
She was always meticulous about her hands, slathering them with cream each night and wearing gloves in winter. Lucy remembered how, as girls, theyd dreamed of having hands like stage performers. Violets were wellkept, painted a delicate pink, but now they shook.
Victoria, whats happened? Lucy leaned across the table, lowering her voice. Are you ill?
Lucys mind leapt to the worst possibilities: cancer, diabetes, a heart attack. At their age, anything could happen. Their neighbour Nell had just passed away last month, and shed seemed perfectly healthy.
No I mean, I dont know, Violet took off her glasses, wiped them on the edge of her scarf, and put them back on. Her eyes were red, evidence of recent tears. Im just exhausted, Lucy. So tired
The coffee and pastries arrived. The tiramisu looked like a tiny masterpiece, dusted with cocoa and garnished with a mint sprig. Lucy instinctively lifted her spoon but didnt eat, twirling it between her fingers.
Exhausted from what? Life? Were all exhausted, love. Pensions are pennies, prices keep climbing, the kids call once a month, the grandchildren only show up for birthdays. Youre not alone.
No, Violet shook her head, and Lucy noticed her hair had lost its usual luster, despite regular trips to the salon. Im tired of lying. Do you get it? Every single day, every minute. Lying to the kids, to you, to the neighbours, to myself.
Lucy set the spoon down. Her heart gave an uneasy thump, as if something had lodged under her ribs.
What lie, Vicky? What are you talking about?
Violet leaned back, closed her eyes. Her lashes, coated in mascara, trembled. Even at sixtyeight she still carried herself with grace; Lucy often envied that. Lucys own figure had long since softened, while Violet remained as slender as ever.
Gordons gone, Violet whispered, opening her eyes. Hes been gone a year and a half.
The tiramisu suddenly seemed overly sweet to Lucy, though she hadnt even tasted it. Her throat went dry.
How can he be gone? You just said last week he was heading off fishing with Mr. Peters.
He died. Heart attack. Right at the cottage while he was digging a garden bed. I found him that evening, face down in the earth, still clutching his spade.
Lucy felt a chill run down her spine. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
I called an ambulance, Violet continued, her tone even as if recounting a neighbours misfortune. They arrived, confirmed it, then the funeral. I buried him in the local cemetery, near his parents.
Why didnt you tell anyone? We see each other every week! I could have helped, supported you
I dont know, Violet finally picked up her spoon, scooped a bite of tiramisu, stared at it, then set it back down. At first I thought Id tell you after the burial. Then Sophie called from Manchester, asking how Dad was doing. I said he was tinkering in the garage. And I stood by the window, looking at the cemetery you can see it from the balcony and I just kept lying.
Oh, Victoria
It got easier, she chuckled weakly, a crooked grin on her face. Lying is simple, really. Just start. Sophie asks about Dad, I say hes out fishing or fixing a car or playing dominoes. Simon from London visited for my birthday in March and asked where he was; I said he was ill, bedridden, couldnt get up. He didnt press for a visit, fearing infection.
Lucy listened, stunned. Gordon Gordon Ivanovich, her schoolboy friend, the one theyd all known since childhood. Theyd spent decades together, holidays, visits, everything. And now she hadnt even known he was gone.
Why didnt you tell Mick? Lucys voice cracked. He was his friend.
Because Mick would have called Simon or Sophie straight away. It would all collapse.
But why? Why all this? Lucy grabbed Violets hand; it was icecold. Are you out of your mind?
Probably, Violet pulled her hand back, tucking it under the table. When I buried him, the flat fell silent. His slippers still by the door, his coat on the hook. I sat down on the couch and realised I was scarednot of his death, but of what to do next.
She talked, and Lucy remembered their university days. Violet had once dated a tall, handsome fellow, then broke down in tears when he left her. A month later she met Gordon at a dance hall, a short, bespectacled chap who was kind and brought flowers. She never thought shed fall for him.
We spent fortysix years together, Violets voice broke, tears finally spilling despite her effort to hold them back. Fortysix! I dont know how to function without him. In the morning I automatically set two kettles on, pour a cup, then realise theres no one to chat with. At night I wake, reach for his hand, and the bed is empty.
Sweetheart
No need, Violet brushed a tear away, smearing mascara on her cheek. Dont pity me. Its my fault. I should have spoken up sooner, but I was scared. As long as I kept the lie, he was still alive somewhere, fishing, tinkering in the garage. Admit the truth and it feels like the end.
Lucy rose, walked around the table, and embraced her friends shoulders. Violets frame was thin, her shoulders barely quivered. The waiter stood nearby, shifting his weight, unsure whether to intervene.
Thats why I called you here, Violet pulled a handkerchief from her bag, dabbed her eyes. I wanted to tell you in a decent place, so you wouldnt shout or curse at me. To make it proper. Gordon loved beauty, remember? He always said lifes hard enough, we need to dress it up a bit.
I remember, Lucy said, wiping her own tears with the sleeve of her cardigan. He brought you flowers every Friday.
Every Friday, Violet nodded. Now I buy them myself. I pop into the florist near the tube station, grab some mums, set them in a vase, thank them out loud. The neighbour downstairs probably thinks Im losing it.
Silence fell. Their coffee grew cold, the tiramisu softened, losing its shape. Outside dusk deepened, streetlights flickered on. People hurried about, laughing, chatting on phones. Life went on, while in that corner by the window a tiny, madeup world was crumbling.
What will you do now? Lucy asked.
I dont know. I wanted advice. Calling the kids scares me. Can you imagine their reaction? Sophie will be furious forever. She adored Dad, and Ive been feeding her a lie for a year and a half.
Shell be angry, Lucy agreed, but shell forgive. Children forgive. Sooner or later.
And you? Will you forgive?
Lucy thought. Of course it hurt. Theyd been friends since school, sharing everything. Yet, had she always been honest? Had she hidden from Violet that Mick sometimes showed up drunk, that the bruise on her arm came from a door, not a punch? Everyone lives in a lie; some are small, some are huge.
I will, Lucy said. Ive already forgiven. I just wish you hadnt carried it alone. I should have called, I would have come.
I know. But I couldnt. The moment I picked up the phone, the words vanished. It was easier to spin another tale about Gordon than to tell the truth.
Violet finally sipped her coffee.
Its cold now.
Shall we order another?
No, thats enough. I need to get home, take my pills for the blood pressure.
She fumbled in her bag, pulled out her wallet. Lucy tried to stop her, offering to pay, but Violet waved it off.
I invited you, Ill pay. Gordon left a small insurance policy, enough for this and the Friday flowers.
They stepped out onto the street. October wind snatched at their coats, chilly and sharp. Violet shivered, tightened her coat.
Thank you for listening, she said. At least one person now knows the truth. Maybe itll feel lighter.
It will, Lucy promised, though she wasnt entirely sure. When will you tell the kids?
Soon. In a few days. Simons coming over this weekend; thatll be the moment. Ill also call Sophie and ask her to come too. Itll be easier together.
Want me to come with you? For support?
Violet shook her head.
No, I have to sort this out myself. I tangled the knot, I must untie it. Just be there afterwards, when they leave and Im alone again. Come over for tea, or we can sit in silence. I just dont want to be alone.
Lucy hugged her tightly, genuinely. Violet pressed close, and they stood in the street like two teenagers again, when the world seemed kind and troubles were trivial.
Ill come, Lucy vowed. Ill even bring Mick, so he can say goodbye to Gordon at the grave.
Alright, Violet brushed away her tears. Im off, Im getting soggy.
She walked toward the bus stop, a fragile figure in a grey coat. Lucy watched her go, thinking how fragile life is, how easily it shatters, and how hard it is to piece the fragments back together.
A few days later Violet called. Her voice was hoarse, tired.
Told them, she said briefly.
How did they take it?
Sophie wailed for three hours. Simon sat silent, drumming his fists on the table, then asked why I did it, why I lied. I tried to explain. I dont know if he understood.
Theyll understand. Time heals.
I hope so. Theyre at the cemetery now. I cant go there any more; I see it from my balcony every day. Lucy, will you come over?
Im on my way.
Lucy arrived half an hour later. Violet opened the door, pale, eyes red but somehow brighter, as if a weight had lifted.
Come in, Ive put the kettle on,
They sat in the kitchen, sipping tea with scones. Violet recounted Simons shouting that she was mad, Sophies promise to move in next month, how they all eventually embraced and wept together.
You know, Violet said, biting into a scone, it really does feel lighter now. No more pretending Gordons out fishing or fixing a car. Hes gone, its terrible, I miss him so much my heart feels like itll burst. But its the truth. My truth.
Living a lie is exhausting, Lucy agreed. I havent told you everything either. About Mick, for instance.
I know, Violet replied softly. I saw the bruises, heard the excuses.
Why did you keep quiet?
Because everyone chooses what to hide and what to share. You kept Mick secret, I kept Gordon hidden. Now weve both spoken.
Micks been sober for six months, Lucy admitted. Hes gone the drinking, brings flowers for no reason these days.
See? People change.
They finished their tea. Violet walked Lucy to the door, hugged her tightly.
Thanks for not judging, for being here.
No problem. Were friends.
Friends, Violet echoed, finally smiling genuinely.
Lucy stepped out into the street, reflecting that everyone carries their own lie, their own truth, their own pain. Having someone who simply listens, without judgment, makes the load bearable. Life is hard enough; theres no need to make it harder by being alone.
Violet stood by her window, staring at the distant cemetery, and whispered:
Forgive me, Gordon. I tried my best, and as always, I messed it up. But from now on Ill live for real, no more lies. I promise.
The promise she made to herself and her late husband warmed her heart more than any fire could.
