Chapter 53: Violet - The Foster Child

It’s Christmas Day tomorrow. Another Christmas alone. I thought, hoped I might hear from Cora, especially as Lori is home for Christmas. I saw them at the carol service and made sure I waved, hoping they would come over and talk, maybe invite me to pop in Christmas Day but they just waved back then ignored me.

Anita hasn’t invited me over either, although I’ve dropped hints. They’re having a flash do at their house, a big party with family and friends. She even asked me to do some shopping for her. And when I said that I was spending Christmas alone she replied casually, ‘How wonderful. You can veg on the sofa, eating what you like and watching what you like without being disturbed. I wish I could do that instead of entertaining thirty people!’

People always say that, as if it’s wonderful to be on your own and do what you want. It isn’t. It’s lonely and soul destroying.

Better than with someone who destroys your soul though, I remind myself.

I don’t have friends, not close friends. I get on with the other girls at work and people smile and say hello to me in the village, but no one asks me around for a coffee or out for a drink. It’s hard to let your guard down and make friends when you’ve been brought up in a succession of children’s homes and foster homes. I went back home when I was fourteen but it wasn’t because my parents wanted me, it was because they wanted someone to look after the house and my younger brothers. I left as soon as I could. And I never hear from them unless they want something from me. Like last week. And then they didn’t have a card or present for me, after all I did for them.

I decide to go for a walk to cheer myself up. Pulling on my thick coat, hat and scarf, I set off around the village. There’s a lot of laughter coming from the pub. I step inside, wondering if I might see someone I know. Then I spot Cora, Lori and Elliot sitting in the corner, with Gabby and her husband. They’re all laughing together. There’s a bottle of wine on the table. I long so much to join them.

I watch them for a few minutes, wondering whether to walk over and say hello, willing them to look my way and beckon me to join them – but they don’t. Then anger consumes me. They know I’m on my own and they haven’t once thought about me. Just like they didn’t think about me all those years ago when they sent me away just before Christmas, left me to spend Christmas alone in a children’s home.

They don’t give a damn about me. They never have and never will. It’s time I stopped caring about them.

I turn and walk out of the pub.