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I know everything about you Violet.

I know your mother’s name is Joy. I know your sister is a paediatric nurse, that she has twin boys. I know you sold your first flat - a tiny, one-bed in Blackheath with bubbling wallpaper and an illegal roof terrace - for £300k. Double the price you paid for it. I know your father gave you the deposit when you moved to London at 21. I know the house you now live in cost you and Henry almost £3million, and that you also own the villa in Marbella that you pretend belongs to your parents. I know that you lie about your age; you’re 38 next birthday, not 36. I know that 2017 was your most profitable year yet; that you’ve set up a trust fund for the children, somewhere to put all the money that keeps flowing your way.

I know you have hair extensions; I know the name of your hairdresser; Pablo, and that his partner is called Ian. I know where they live. I know you’re loyal to him now, that you consider him ‘family’, that you always spend new year with him and Ian. Drinking champagne out of saucers, wearing an outfit that costs more than I earn in a month.

I know that you only got into journalism by luck. I know your ex, Angus, now married to Isabella and living in Surrey, got you a job as an editorial assistant on his golfing magazine, and that you charmed your way across one of the world’s biggest media firms until you were a features writer for a woman’s magazine.

I know that you were good at your job, no matter how much it annoys me.

I know that you met Henry in the bar by the office. I know that it was a work night out to say goodbye to one of the PAs. She doesn’t play much of a role in your story, but even so, I know her name was Janet.

It’s been so easy to find it all out. All I needed was time, and determination. You’ve left it right there for me. All that information - all that power - just waiting, a few clicks away.

It’s what you want, after all, isn’t it? Without an audience, without people like me watching, then what are you? No one asked you to put yourself on the internet. No one asked you to leave breadcrumb trails of your life across the world wide web, just waiting for a hungry bird like me to gobble up.

I know everything about you, Violet. But what do you know about me? 


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