“Just let me take a quick picture,” Violet said.
I sighed. “It’s just a basic burger. It’s nothing special. And you already took a picture when I sat down.”
“But now it’s got a bite taken out of it,” Violet said. “It’s more authentic.”
“It’s just a burger.” I stared at her. “There’s a MacDonalds in every High Street. Think about it, Burger King is everywhere and you can get burgers in half the pizza and curry delivery places in town. This isn’t fancy!” I put the burger back on the paper wrapper. “Take a picture if you must.”
“You’re right,” Violet said thoughtfully. “It’s not really fancy. Hang on.”
I could feel my jaw drop as Violet picked out a spray of plastic foliage from the display next to the table and arranged it artfully across the soggy bun. “That’s better.” She snapped some pictures, turning the paper to get better angles. “You can eat it now.”
“Somehow I don’t feel so hungry,” I said. “Not after that plastic thing has been on it. I mean, the furnishings here have seen some stuff.” I winced as I saw the manager approaching.
“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” she said firmly.
“But this is exposure!” Violet said.
“We’re leaving,” I murmured. “I’m really sorry.”
“People can’t get enough of food content,” Violet said, protesting as I grabbed her arm. “It’s organic marketing.”
“I’m really, really sorry,” I told the unimpressed manager.
“Sales can go through the roof from the right sort of post,” Violet called over her shoulder as I pulled her out of the burger place. “I’ve seen it happen.”
“Please don’t come back,” the manager said, shutting the door as I pulled Violet away and down the street.
“Vi, it was just a £1.50 burger, but I was looking forward to it.” I stopped and looked at her. “I know that you want to do the whole influencer thing, but cheap burgers aren’t going to get you noticed. Why don’t you do hair and beauty?”
Violet’s shoulders slumped. “Kylie would kill me,” she said. “She’s really good to me, but she’d never tolerate me sharing salon secrets.”
“Kylie’s a good friend as well as your boss,” I said. “And I suppose you’re right. You have a waiting list for clients and you star in all of her social media posts. Maybe you can talk with her about collaborating or something.”
Violet shook her head. “Hair and beauty is oversubscribed,” she said. “And, to be honest, I don’t want to always be doing hair. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job,” she added quickly. “But it would be nice to do something else.”
I patted her shoulder. “You’ll find something,” I said. “I just don’t think that it’s going to be food. Anyway, let’s get a burger from the food van. I’m still starving.”
I worried about Violet. She was a genius at the salon, and I know that Kylie treasured her, and she had the sweetest, kindest, most generous soul that I’d ever met. She also had the resilience and depth of a petal. She was sort of a friend, and sort of a cousin, and I felt that she was also sort of my responsibility. I’d been in the same classes at school, frantically dragging her away from daydreams to get her to lessons on time, scaring off the bullies, and hoping against hope that something – anything – would stick as she drifted through life. She came to life when she was styling hair, with a drive and authority that would match any sergeant major. Away from that, however, she was a vulnerable sweetheart with a heart of gold. I spent a lot of time worrying about what fad she’d pick up next.
“I’ve got it!” Violet tumbled into my flat, her smile wide and her eyes bright. “I’ve got it – and it’s perfect.”
“What?” I looked at the book she was waving at me. “A reading club?”
“No! Cleaning tips,” Violet was almost vibrating with eagerness. “Cleaning is a pretty crowded niche, but antique cleaning and recipes is a little more open.”
“You’ll be brilliant with that,” I said sincerely. Violet may have had the strength of a dandelion clock, but she kept her flat immaculately clean. “You could do surgery on any surface in your flat.”
Violet waved a hand. “I’m not talking about current stuff,” she said. “Look, it’s a book of household tips that’s over a hundred years old.”
“Look at this,” she said. “It’s like another world. There’s a section on how to use a mangle.”
“What’s a mangle?” I asked, looking at the tattered book in front of me.
“It presses water out of clothes,” Violet said. “It’s a sort of early spin dryer, except that it doesn’t spin.”
“I don’t even know what one looks like,” I said, an uneasy feeling growing in my stomach.
“And it tells you how to make indelible ink – look!” she said, leafing through the faded pages. “Take 20 grains of sugar and dissolve in 30 grains of water…”
“Water doesn’t have grains,” I said as she frowned over the old print.
“No, grain is a type of old measurement. It’s tiny, like a tenth of a gram or something. But it’s all in proportion. It’s two parts sugar to three parts water. Then you add sulphuric acid.”
“What!” I craned to see over her shoulder, but the tiny, cramped printing defied me. “You can get Sharpies from the supermarket.”
“But that’s no fun.” Violet said. “Lots of people want to go back to homemade, natural treatments.”
“Sulphuric acid isn’t natural,” I said, “Or it shouldn’t be. Where could you get it from?”
“I can get hold of sulphur,” Violet said uncertainly. “How hard can it be?”
“Perhaps you should start with something easier that won’t terrify any followers,” I suggested.
“Hmm, perhaps,” Violet said. “But there are loads of old housekeeping books around that are going for pennies, and I can share them with my followers.”
I thought about it for a moment and I couldn’t see any pitfalls. “It sounds great,” I said. “Don’t forget to send me the links so I can follow.”
Violet was prepared. She’d set up accounts on Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, X, LinkedIn and even Goodreads. She posted, tweeted, shared and reviewed and I found myself relaxing. She’d found her place and she was having a blast.
“She’s really getting into the old book stuff,” Kylie told me when I bumped into her at the coffee shop.
“To be honest, so am I,” I said. “I’m not posting or sharing, but we have a great time when we get out to go to sales and charity shops. There’s all sorts of stuff out there, and some of the books are hilarious.”
“It’s given her a new topic of conversation at the salon,” Kylie said. “I can’t begrudge her, though. It’s given her a new lease of life and I’m thinking of entering some competitions.”
“You should come along to the next book fair,” I said. “Though you might want to bring some sanitiser and wipes. Not all the stalls are well dusted.”
Kylie chuckled. “I’m surprised that Violet would touch those old things. She’s always been particular.”
“You should see her, once she’s got them home,” I said. “She’s got tiny vacuum cleaners and brushes, and she’s been taping up loose pages and spines.” I grinned as I picked up my latte. “She even has a spreadsheet.”
Then she got the book. The slim, tattered volume was tucked in the back of a box of a trader at a collector’s fair, along with some random 1980s cookbooks, bought from a house clearance company. I ignored it, but it caught Violet’s attention. It was a small volume with old recipes and it seemed to call to her.
“Look at this,” she said, waving the book past my face. “It’s got little sayings around the edges of the text. Look – ‘Wilful Waste Makes Woeful Want’. It’s true, though, isn’t it? You always end up down if you waste stuff.”
I nodded hesitantly.
“And there’s a recipe for Spiff Pudding here. I’d never heard of that before,” Violet continued. “I can’t wait to try it. It’s got currants in it.”
I listened patiently as she worked her way through the book, but then work got busy for me, so I wasn’t meeting up with Violet so much. I followed her social media, of course. Every morning I dutifully logged in on all the different sites and liked and shared everything. I even skimmed the text over my morning coffee. I started noticing things, however, or rather the lack of things and I started to feel uneasy. I remembered us chuckling over a facsimile copy of Mrs Putnam’s Receipt Book, which must have dated to the early nineteenth century. There wasn’t a mention of it in any post. There was hardly a word about Soyer or Acton or Glasse or any of her staples. Instead it was all about that little book. She started every day with a tweet of one of the trite sayings printed at the edge of the page. There were dissections of the recipes and videos of her trying them out. There was even some quite deep research on the book’s background, which I thought had been a bit beyond Violet, but she had been focused.
The posts churned out, more than I thought the thin book could have held, There were recipes, tips for cleaning, hacks for nineteenth century laundry and even videos as Violet tried out using honey infused with onions to treat a cold. Despite this, the articles seemed flatter and lifeless, with nothing of the inner joy that Violet took in life. Even the language seemed different. Violet didn’t usually worry about spelling and grammar, but the over-correct text next to each picture was jarring. Finally I got a call from Violet’s boss at the salon.
“I haven’t heard from her all week,” Kylie said. “It’s not like her, and I’m more worried than anything else. Have you heard from her?”
“I’ve not heard a thing,” I said. “She’s still posting, though, so she must still be sort of okay.” Inside I was terrified. Violet lived for her job, something was badly wrong if she was risking it.
“I don’t think that means much,” Kylie said. “Violet was telling me how she sets posts up to go live weeks in advance, just in case.”
I felt a chill run through me. “I’ll call in at her place tonight,” I said. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
I wasn’t reassured when Violet answered the door. She had always been slim, but now she was barely skin and bones. Her eyes were sunken and her smile was strained. I could see her trying to find an excuse to keep me out, but I pushed past her into the dark hall before she had a chance to stop me. “Are you okay? What’s happened?” I almost stumbled when I went into the living room and stared around in shock. Violet had always been a minimalist, with the immaculate room being kept in perfect order, but now it was a mess. Plastic flowers and bits of twigs were heaped everywhere. Black coffee mouldered in half a dozen mugs scattered around next to crumpled paper and crumb-covered plates. The curtains were closed even though it was bright outside.
“I’ve been a bit tired,” Violet said. “And I haven’t had much appetite. But I’ve had some meals from The Book.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. After all, this was a book that suggested making ink using sulphuric acid as one of the ingredients. I looked around. “Where is it?”
“Hmm?” Violet’s eyes were losing focus and she was swaying.
I swore and grabbed her. “When did you last have something to eat?” I snapped as I guided her down on her chair.
“I made baked tomatoes for breakfast,” Violet murmured.
I stared at her for a moment. She looked like she hadn’t eaten in a month. “Hang on,” I said, and strode into the kitchen and stopped suddenly. It was almost as much of a shock as the living room. Instead of clean, clear order, the room was overflowing. Packets were stacked haphazard on the usually empty counters, and the bin was spilling over. Someone had been eating plenty here. I opened the fridge and poked at the densely packed shelves, crammed with cream and butter. Something very odd was going on, and I was getting more worried by the minute. I returned to the living room. “You need to see a doctor,” I said firmly. “You’re nothing but skin and bone.”
Violet shook her head. “Honestly, I’m fine. I’m just a bit run down.”
“Kylie is worried about you, you know,” I said. “Why didn’t you at least call her?”
“What day is it?” Violet asked. She checked the calendar on her phone. “What’s happened? I think I’ve lost three days.”
I looked at her. The porcelain skin was now looking thin and dry. Her hair, normally gleaming and fantastically styled, hung lank around her head. And instead of the cutting-edge fashion she normally wore, the stained t-shirt and jeans fell loosely around her. “You can come and stay with me,” I said. “I’ve got a sofa bed in the living room, and it will give you a chance to relax. Come on, I’ll grab your toothbrush.”
“I have to bring The Book as well,” Violet said.
“Which one?” I asked as I rummaged in her bathroom.
“You know, The Book. The one called ‘Good Things’. It’s been an absolute life saver. And it was written in 1896, you know.” Violet looked wildly around and then relaxed as she picked up her book. “Here it is.”
I frowned as I came back in. “Are you sure that’s it?”
“Yes, look – it says ‘Good Things’ on the front.” Violet said, displaying the thick volume. “And I’ll need my camera as well.”
“I suppose so,” I said reluctantly as I rummaged through her cupboards. “I’ll pack some clothes for you as well. Should I pack some warmer things? I mean, if you’re feeling under the weather, you might want to snuggle into a sweater. What do you think?” I looked up. “Violet, should I pack a sweater?” I waited for an answer but she was caught up looking through the book. “Violet!”
“Yes, that’s probably a good idea,” Violet said vaguely. It didn’t reassure me.
I didn’t feel better about things when I got Violet back to my flat. I settled her down on the couch and made her some cocoa. “Are you sure you won’t see a doctor?” I asked, setting the mug down next to her.
“I’m fine,” Violet said. “I’ve just been overdoing it. I’ll have a look through The Book and see if there are any recipes for invalids. That will make a good blog post.”
I dragged out spare blankets and pillows and then looked hard at the book. It didn’t look like the book I remembered. It was plump and sleek and it seemed to gleam a little under the living room light. “I’m just nipping to the shop for some bits,” I said. “And I’ll call in at the pharmacy as well.”
“Ask if they have any quinine wine,” Violet said. “The Book recommends it.”
I stumped off down the road and, when I was sure I was out of sight of my windows, rang Kylie. “I’m really worried,” I said. “But I can’t get her to see a doctor.”
“Perhaps some time with you will sort it out,” Kylie said, though she didn’t sound convinced. “And she’s owed some holiday time. She never takes time off.”
“It’s that damn book, I’m sure of it,” I said. “She’s following health advice from a time when they gave opium to babies and put arsenic on the wallpaper. I’ll pick up something more modern at the pharmacy in the supermarket.”
“Let me know how it goes,” Kylie said. “But I’m sure that you’ll work it out.” I didn’t feel sure at all.
Violet had fallen asleep when I got in, with the book tucked in close to her. I looked closer. It had ‘Good Things’ embossed on the cover, just like I remembered from the first time I saw it, but it didn’t look the same. I went into the kitchen, pulled out my phone and started checking Instagram. And it was there! No-one would believe me if I just came out with the words, but the book changed. Over the weeks the thin, threadbare copy seemed to swell and the cover grew sleeker at every image. At the same time, the images showing Violet’s hands holding the book grew thinner and paler until they were almost skeletal. I couldn’t hear Violet moving, but I didn’t want to take a risk. I carefully shut down my phone and poked my head back into the living room. The book hadn’t moved, but I had seen far too many horror stories. I went back to the kitchen and texted Kylie. <Check the book in Violet’s Instagram. It’s the same, even though it changes.>
Kylie texted back. <Are you sure it’s the same book?>
<According to Violet, it’s the same book and the same printing is on the cover.>
<You need to burn it!> Kylie texted. <It’s possessed.>
<How am I supposed to burn it?> I texted back. <I’m in a second floor flat with no fireplace. Besides, Violet would never permit it. She’s even sleeping with it right now. The hard part is going to be getting hold of it. We can worry about what to do with it after that.>
<I have an idea.> Kylie texted back. <I’ll be there in an hour.>
I had doubts when Kylie arrived. “Are you sure about this? I’m not sure it’s ethical. I’m not sure that it’s even legal.”
“Desperate measures,” Kylie said breezily. “And do you have a better idea?” She pushed past me into the room and stopped suddenly. “What the hell is the matter with you, Violet? You should be in a hospital!”
Violet managed a tired smile. “I’m okay, really. I’m just a little run down.”
“We had burgers for dinner,” I said. “Proper meaty ones from the butchers, with chocolate pudding afterwards.”
Kylie looked at Violet in disbelief. Violet looked like she could be blown away like a dead leaf. “Well, I’ve got something that will pick you up,” Kylie said, recovering. “I’ve got a bottle of tonic wine for you and a bottle of prosecco for us.”
I still had reservations as I brought out three wine glasses. The tonic wine was strong stuff and though Violet had wolfed down three huge burgers and two helpings of pudding, she didn’t look like there was anything to mop up the alcohol. Then I caught sight of the gleaming book nestled in Violet’s lap. I didn’t like the idea of getting Violet drunk. but if that is what it took, then that is what I would do. “Tonic wine,” I said. “It’s like the quinine wine that the book recommends. It will be just what you need.” I watched as Kylie poured a generous glass for Violet and then two more reasonable measures for her and I.
“The Book is never wrong,” Voilet said, and took a mouthful. She blinked. “What is in this stuff?”
I picked up the bottle and looked at the label. “It says it has added iron.”
“That won’t hurt,” Violet said and took another large mouthful.
“You’re looking a little peaky,” Kylie said, ruthlessly topping up Violet’s glass. “Iron has to be good for you.”
It took half a bottle before Violet started to nod. I exchanged an uneasy look with Kylie. It seemed more about exhaustion and lack of resources than a couple of glasses of wine. “Let’s get a blanket on you,” I said cheerily as I stretched Violet out along the sofa. “What you need is a good night’s sleep.”
“That’s absolutely right,” Kylie said, shaking out a throw and slipping it over Violet. The book fell out of Violet’s hands and onto the floor. Violet murmured and shuffled in her sleep, but the tonic wine was too much for her. Kylie automatically bent to pick up the book, but I stopped her. I nipped quickly into the kitchen and came out with a tea towel, which I used as a barrier as I picked up the book.
“I’m going to take a walk,” I said, marching briskly to the door. “Keep an eye on Violet, will you?”
Kylie nodded, her eyes wide and fixed on the book as I marched out of the door, phone in one hand and a book wrapped in a tea towel in the other. “Be careful!”
I moved with purpose, down one street, then another, then I cut across a park, past an arcade of shops and then down the back of the industrial estate until I got to the canal. I hesitated. I had seen Jumanji. Things could come back from a watery grave. Then I pulled myself together. That had been a wooden box, not a paper book. Besides, there were things in the canal that would clean brass. An old cookbook didn’t stand a chance. I found the footbridge, got to the centre and shook out the tea towel, sending the book into the water with a splash.
I stood there, almost transfixed by the reflection of the setting sun bouncing off the murky water. I expected something to show for it, like lights or explosions or steam. Then I got a text alert. It was Kylie.
<Violet is looking better. She has some colour in her cheeks. Have you done it?>
Yes, I thought, as I turned back to the flat. I’ve done it.
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