The taxi drops off Jasmine she heads straight to her study and resumes on writing chapter four of her novel, Midnight Dead, scheduled to be published next summer. Two paragraphs later she feels the burn on her eyes from the laptop screen. She decreases the backlight and carries on typing. Just then, an idea comes up to her. She leaves the keyboard, gets out her phone and calls Violet

“The number you have called is not available at the moment. Please – ” Jasmine hangs up. She remebers the state they left Violet in; she probably doesn’t even know her phone is. Jasmine shakes her head. She closes the laptop and prepares for sleep. 

++++

First thing she does in the morning is to get ready for her usual jog. Jasmine duns her pink and white track suit. She calls Violet one last time before she heads out of the house. 

“Hello?”

“Violet, good morning.”

“Jasmine? Is that you?”

‘Yes. Did I wake you up?”

“You did,” they both share a laugh. 

“Sorry, just wanted to talk to you about Rose,” says Jasmine. She hears a sigh on the on other line. 

“Her,” another sigh. “What has she done now?” 

“Can we meet? Say about…” Jasmine looks down at her watch, “ten? Or Half past.”

“At your place?” 

“Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

“I’ll be there, no problem. Hope those biscuits are still there,” Rose says. 

“Of course. I saved them especially for you.”

“Oh, thank you, Jasmine. You an angel. Anyway, let me get up. Last night was a real blast. We meet at ten, right?”

“Yes, ten.” The call ends and Jasmine starts with her jog. It is in these times where the scenes for her novel begin to reveal themselves in her head as she runs. This is more than just exercise. By the time she jogs ahead of Smith Avenue, the phrases for chapter four have flowed in and now she cannot wait to get to her laptop. But she carries on with her rounds, comes across other joggers and people walking with leashed dogs, exchanges greetings with some. When she runs back home she sees a red BMW parked outside her gate. It’s Violet. Jasmine finds her knocking on the door. 

“Oh, my,” she checks her watch. “Is it ten already?”

“Yeah,” Violet agrees. 

“Time flies when you havig fun,” says Jasmine as she unlocks the door. 

“I didn’t know some people consider jogging fun.”

“Anything that helps me with my stories and body I consider it as fun. Tea?” 

“Yes please,” Violet takes a seat on the brown sofa. “And those biscuits, where are they?'”

“How can I forget?” Jasmine proceeds to make tea and bring out the brown biscuits. 

“You said you wanted to talk about Rose. What’s up?”

“Yes,” Jasmine sits opposite her. “This issue with Rose, the debt issue. I think you need to give her the money.”

“But you were there when she declined it,” says Violet. 

“I mean give her the money through me. She’ll think it’s mine so therefore I don’t think she’ll turn it down,” Jasmine says. 

Violet sits back to mull this over, bites the brown biscuit, sips the tea. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”

“Can you tell me about this tension between you two. I know her refusal to take your money is more than just pride,” Jasmine says.

“Can I be honest with you?”

“Go ahead.” 

“Well,” Violet takes another biscuit bite. “You know when it comes to siblings there’s always going to be one who is more favoured than the other. That was me. Rose has always been, I don’t know, jealous of me. She never-” Violet stops talking. 

“It’s okay it you don’t want to talk. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked, honestly.” The scene replays in Jasmine’s head when Violet drove her and Rose to Susan’s place for the party. How strange it was that no word was said between the twins, it was evident that there was something going on. 

Violet fills her mouth with more biscuits. After she swallows she takes one and looks at it, looks at Jasmine. “These are so freaking good. Please give me some more when I leave,” she says. 

“Of course,” Jasmine gets up and looks for a lunchbox to pack the biscuits in. She swears Violet wouldn’t eat anything else, she once gave her eight ones in the saucer and in less than two minutes they were gone. Jasmine prises the big bucket where she’d stored the rest of the brown biscuits. “How many more do you want?” She asks. 

“Make that lunch box full,” Violet says and smiles. “I think it’s too small but it’s okay.” Her phone rings, she glances at it. “It’s Rose. Excuse me,” she leaves the room with the phone. “Hello?”