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Copyright

HarperImpulse

an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2017

Copyright © Sue Fortin 2017

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017

Sue Fortin asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008222161

Ebook Edition © November 2017 ISBN: 9780008275495

Version: 2018-09-24

Dedication

To my lovely friends, Laura, Catherine and Lucie who, without hesitation, accepted my invitation of a weekend away all in the name of research

friend

1. countable noun

A friend is someone who you know well and like, but who is not related to you.

2. plural noun

If you are friends with someone, you are their friend and they are yours.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Chapter 1

FRIDAY

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

SATURDAY

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

SUNDAY

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

MONDAY

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

TUESDAY

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

WEDNESDAY

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by Sue Fortin

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Friendships are made up of all the little things that matter, the common ground of lives, shared interests, loves, dislikes, the highs and the lows. They matter and they are matter. Like stars in the night sky, friends can light up the darkness. Sometimes we might forget they are there and yet know they will always be there. Others can come in a burst, dazzling us with the excitement of newness, seducing us with promises of adventure. Some will deliver on this promise, others will fizzle away while some will shoot across the night sky in one last hurrah before they dis-appear from our lives.

I think of my best friends, I can count them on one hand with digits to spare. Joanne, Andrea and Zoe are the stars in my night sky. Together, we make a good constellation. We stick by each other. We look out for each other. We forgive each other.

I remind myself of the last fact as I hold the invitation in my hand, knowing that I should accept, with grace and maturity, the olive branch it represents.

Dear Carys, Zoe and Andrea

My Fortieth Birthday Celebrations

Come and join me for an adventure weekend, full of

mysteries and surprises, the like of which you can’t imagine.

With the grand reveal on Sunday evening.

Friday 8 September – Monday 11 September

Meet at Chichester Cathedral 09.00 Friday morning

Love Joanne

P.S. As it’s also Carys’s birthday on the Monday,

I thought we could celebrate that as well.

Two months ago, Joanne had told us to save the date, or rather the weekend, and said she’d let us know nearer the time what was happening. I could have quite happily ignored my thirty-ninth birthday, but Joanne had been insistent the weekend was to be a double celebration. She also insisted that, despite it being her birthday, the whole weekend was to be a surprise for me too. I had hoped we’d find out the details sooner and, I have to admit, leaving it until the night before is cutting it fine but she has steadfastly refused to give us any more details until now.

I flip the card over and see there is a handwritten message, the tall spiky writing unmistakably Joanne’s.

I sit down at the kitchen table and read the invitation again. I’m not sure what it is about the PPS on the reverse, but it sounds … odd. I think that’s the best way I can describe it. I mull over the significance but before I can settle on anything meaningful, my mobile rings.

Andrea Jarvis’s name flashes across the screen.

‘Hiya,’ I say, kicking off my running shoes. Flakes of dried mud from my afternoon cross-country run scatter across the tiled floor like dirty snowflakes. I sigh inwardly at the mess. Sometimes I’m no better than my teenage son. Stepping over the debris, I go to the fridge, hook out a bottle of wine and pour myself a glass, something I would normally reserve for a Friday night, but seeing as we’re off on our jolly tomorrow, I feel a drop of alcohol is justified. ‘Don’t tell me, you’ve seen the invitation.’

‘Too bloody right,’ says Andrea. ‘Did you get the PPS on yours?’

‘Where it says about making amends?’

‘What is that all about?’

I shrug even though Andrea can’t see this action. ‘No idea. Maybe, she just really wants us to go. Maybe she thought we’d change our minds now that it looks like it’s going to be an outdoor adventure type of weekend.’

‘I’m not bothered about that,’ says Andrea. ‘It’s not like we haven’t done this sort of thing before. Last year we all did that charity walk up Snowdon. Before that, the mountain bike trail. You’ll be in your element anyway.’

It’s true, I am an adventure junkie and working at the local outward-bound centre tends to satisfy my addiction for kayaking, rock climbing and the like these days. I also help with the outdoor activities for the Duke of Edinburgh Award, so I’m not particularly fazed by the prospect of what Joanne has in store for us. ‘It’s going to be like a busman’s holiday for me,’ I say. ‘And you’ll be OK yourself.’

‘Yeah, that’s as maybe, but I’m stuck behind the desk most days since I took over the gym. I headed up a high-impact aerobics class the other day and thought my legs were going to seize up afterwards.’

‘You’ll be fine. Have you spoken to Zoe about the invite?’ I ask, taking my seat at the table again. I glance at the official-looking letter which was also waiting on the doormat when I got in this evening and push it to one side to read later.

‘She hasn’t a clue what it means either. But she’s gone into full-on cute Labrador puppy mode. All excited – can’t wait for the weekend and thinks Joanne is utterly wonderful.’

I give a small laugh into my glass as Andrea does a perfect imitation of Zoe, whose voice gets squeakier the more excited and enthusiastic she gets about anything. ‘It’s too late to change your mind,’ I say.

‘It would be awful if I was struck down with a stomach bug, though,’ says Andrea.

‘Don’t even think about it. We made a deal, remember?’

‘I might have been under the influence of alcohol when I did that one-for-all-and-all-for-one shit.’

‘You promised and you can’t break a promise. Not to one of your best friends. Besides, it’s my birthday too.’

‘I think that’s called blackmail.’

I laugh as I imagine the scowling look on Andrea’s face. ‘No, seriously, Andrea. You can’t back out now. Joanne will kill you.’

‘Hmm. When she said it was a surprise, I was hoping it would be more of a spa weekend. You know, fluffy white dressing gowns, manicures. Lots of pampering and relaxation.’

‘Look, like I said before, I think this is her way of making up for being so distant lately.’ In saying this, I silently acknowledge that I’m referring more to the way my own relationship with Joanne has been in recent times. We had once been so close, but things happened and the balance of our friendship shifted, leaving a hiatus in our alliance.

There’s a small silence while we both contemplate the sentiment of the weekend. Andrea speaks first. ‘I suppose I owe it to her. You know, give her a chance to make up for the way she’s been since I took on the gym.’

‘Is all that still going on between you two? I thought the dust had settled.’

‘Sort of. I’ve certainly drawn a line under it all, but not Joanne. I have this sense that she’s still angry at me. I can’t put my finger on it or explain it, but when I speak to her, it’s like an undercurrent of tension. Do you know what I mean?’

‘Mmm … I do.’ Andrea could be describing my own relationship with Joanne.

‘Anyway, as I say, I’ll give her a chance to make amends, but if she starts again, about having to work for me now instead of being a partner, I’m sorry, I won’t be keeping my mouth shut. Fortieth birthday or not.’

‘And when do you ever keep your mouth shut, my darling?’ I say.

‘I think I did once, in 1986 – I might be wrong though,’ says Andrea with a laugh. ‘Anyway, so now you’re not letting me skive off, we’d better sort out what’s happening tomorrow. Is Alfie still coming to mine for the weekend?’

‘He’s not in from college yet – five-a-side football, I think he said. But yes, he’s all good to come to you. He’s going to go home with Bradley. Are you sure Colin is up to this?’

‘Oh, he’ll be in his element. Takeaways and gaming. It’s totally a boy’s weekend.’

‘That’s kind of him. I appreciate it.’

‘Anytime. You know that. Although, I’m surprised Alfie’s not staying at Joanne’s, with Ruby and Oliver.’

I ignore the little drop my stomach gives at the mention of Joanne’s daughter. It’s the sort of weightless feeling you experience when the rollercoaster tips over the edge of the first big dip and it takes a few seconds for your internal organs to catch up with the fall. I’m used to that sensation. As sure as night follows day, I get that every time Ruby comes up in conversation. As always, I make a faultless recovery. ‘Fortunately, Tris is away this weekend too, so Ruby is going to stay with Joanne’s mother.’ I try to keep my tone neutral as my thoughts are thrown off course and on to a different trajectory. If my friends are the constellation by which I navigate life, then Ruby is the black hole whose gravitational pull is so great that nothing, not even light, can escape from being drawn in and swallowed up. I know. I’ve witnessed stars in my night sky pass the point of no return, the absolute horizon of the black hole, and disappear forever, while other stars are teetering around the edges, unwittingly being drawn closer and closer until it will be impossible to turn back.

I force myself to focus on the conversation. Andrea is talking about a film showing at the cinema that Colin might take the boys to see. I let her chatter on for a while, before the conversation comes to a natural halt and Andrea closes with, ‘Right, well, I’d better get on. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.’

‘Yep. See you then. Don’t let me down.’

‘When have I ever let you down?’

For some time after the call, I remain sitting at the kitchen table, looking at the invitation with Andrea’s words on repeat in my mind.

She’s never let me down. In my darkest hour, when Darren had committed suicide, she was there for me. ‘That’s what friends do,’ she had said once. ‘They look after each other.’

A sigh leaves my lips and I blink away thoughts of Darren to focus on the next four days. Despite my assurances to Andrea that it’s going to be a great weekend, my own doubts are beginning to surface. Perhaps I’m expecting too much by way of reconciliation. Can we honestly put everything behind us? Even if we want to, can we truly repair our fractured friendship or is it another black hole on the not-too-distant horizon?

How many times have you lied to yourself? I suspect you’ve lost count. You must lie to yourself every single day of your life. So much so that it trips off your tongue with ease; you probably even believe it yourself now. You may be able to fool everyone else, but you can’t fool me.

I hear the pity in people’s voices, I see the compassion in their eyes as they exchange knowing looks when they talk about you. I can’t tell you how much I loathe that. You are not deserving of their sympathy and yet, I can forgive them. You’ve been very careful in cultivating a false history, hiding behind the status of a grieving widow if friends come too close to the truth or show too much of an interest in your past and ask questions that could unpeel the layers of deceit you’ve created.

As Shakespeare said, ‘The truth will out.’ I have been extremely patient, waiting for the right moment to make you pay for what you’ve done. And now the time has come, I can hardly believe it’s here. My body trembles in anticipation and excitement at the prospect of the next few days. I have the power and I will get my revenge.

FRIDAY

Chapter 2

‘OK, Alfie, I’m heading off now,’ I say, popping my head round the door to my son’s room. I’m dismayed to see him still in bed. ‘Hadn’t you better be getting up?’

‘Don’t nag,’ comes a reply muffled by the duvet he pulls over his head.

I check my watch, I can’t afford to hang about any longer and without giving it too much consideration, I yank the end of Alfie’s cover, exposing his head and shoulders. ‘Come on, you need to get up now.’

‘Oi!’ Alfie sits up and snatches at his cover. ‘What did you do that for?’

‘To make you get up. You’ll be late for school. I need to go.’

‘I’m not stopping you. Go.’

‘Alfie! Get up. Now.’ I go to pull the cover again, but this time he’s prepared and holds it tightly around his shoulders.

‘Pack it in. Just piss off.’

I ignore his bad language. Some battles are not worth the fight. ‘Get out of bed,’ I insist.

I don’t expect him to move so fast but in a split second, Alfie has jumped out of bed and is standing directly in front of me. ‘I’m up now. All right?’ he snarls at me, his face inches from mine as I get the full force of his stale breath.

‘OK,’ I say, taking a step back, instantly wishing I had thought twice before going into battle. My heel hits the bottom of the bedroom door, which vibrates violently as the edge digs between my shoulder blades. I let out a small cry of pain.

‘I think that’s called karma,’ says Alfie. He pushes past me, knocking his shoulder against mine as he does so. ‘Hadn’t you better go? You’ll be late if you don’t get a move on.’ He slams the bathroom door shut behind him.

My attempts at garnering a response from Alfie by calling bye to him through the bathroom door are met with the sound of the shower on full-blast.

Normally, I’d make an effort to smooth things over before leaving, but today I haven’t got time and I think Alfie is deliberately spending longer in the shower than usual to avoid appeasing my guilt by parting on amicable terms.

As I walk down the road, I reflect that today’s battle was tame. Sometimes the arguments and confrontations can be much worse and I find myself thinking about the future when we don’t live together and wonder if our relationship will be any better then. I’m tired of the emotionally draining status quo we’re at, and I long for quieter days ahead when I’m on my own. Before I reach the end of the road, I already feel guilty for wishing the days away as I remind myself it’s not Alfie’s fault he’s the way he is. It’s mine.

My spine aches from carrying my rucksack the mere half a mile from my home and I’m sure the knock to my back earlier isn’t helping matters as, even to the touch, it feels tender. I turn the corner into South Street where the dark shop windows and closed doors, yet to be roused from their slumber by the arrival of early morning shop assistants, serve only to reflect the prospect of rain later today. I adjust the straps of my rucksack and hitch it further on to my shoulders as I head towards the end of the road where the four main shopping streets meet and the city cathedral occupies one corner. I scan the benches which line the pavement and overlook the cathedral grounds.

Andrea is sitting on the middle bench, a Styrofoam coffee cup in one hand and her mobile in the other. She spots me and waves, phone still in hand.

I lumber over to her. ‘Yay! You came. And you’re the first one. You must be keen.’ I wriggle my arms free of the straps and dump the rucksack on the ground, then take a seat beside Andrea on the bench.

‘Keen as mustard, me,’ says Andrea. ‘To be fair, Colin dropped me off this morning so I didn’t have to get the bus. Don’t mistake my dislike of the bus service for enthusiasm to be here.’ She reaches down and retrieves a cup from under the bench, presenting it to me. ‘Here, I got you a latte.’

‘Thanks.’ I take the cup and tentatively lift it to my lips, taking a minuscule sip to gauge the temperature. ‘No sign of Zoe yet?’

‘She texted me. Said she’ll be five minutes.’

‘And no word from Joanne as to what happens now?’ I take a more confident sip of the latte, having deemed it to be of an acceptable drinking temperature.

‘Nope. Nothing. So we sit here and wait,’ says Andrea. She leans against the wooden slats of the bench and purses her lips in the way she does when she has something on her mind. I wait for her to speak. ‘I know you said it was a chance to put our friendships back on track, but I’m not sure things will ever be the same between me and Joanne. The dynamics have changed and I don’t think she can deal with it.’

‘Try to be positive about it. This could be her way of saying sorry.’ I don’t wish to reignite the flames of doubt that I had successfully extinguished before I went to sleep last night. ‘Look, it’s Joanne’s fortieth. Maybe she’s realised the importance of having good friends. Yes, we may have our little disagreements or falling outs, but at the end of the day, friendship is worth more.’

Andrea gives me a sideways look. ‘You need to try harder than that to convince me.’

‘I’ll be honest. Last night, after I spoke to you, I did think maybe it wasn’t such a great idea. Maybe it’s best to leave the past alone.’

‘Isn’t that what I’ve been saying all along?’

‘I know, but another part of me thinks if this is Joanne’s way of saying sorry, it could be a good opportunity for us to clear the air with her. That way, maybe things can get back on track.’

‘True, but it will be awkward for Zoe. I don’t think her and Joanne have fallen out about anything.’

‘I thought about that too. My theory is that Zoe’s the goodwill ambassador for this trip.’

‘But why all this big secrecy? Why not a meal out? Isn’t that what normal people do?’

‘Remember, this is Joanne we’re talking about. She loves all this cloak-and-dagger stuff.’ I give Andrea a playful tap on her thigh. ‘I’m sure we’re going to have a great time.’

As we both sip our drinks, I spot Zoe’s unmistakable five- feet-ten frame cutting across the lawn of the cathedral. She has a sports holdall hanging off her shoulder, her blonde hair tied in a ponytail and is wearing leggings with trainers. She looks more like she’s off to the gym than an adventure weekend. I wave to her.

‘Hi, guys,’ says Zoe. ‘I made it. Ooh, coffee, is that for me?’ She takes the cup that Andrea holds out to her. ‘Lovely. We all set for this mysterious adventure weekend?’ She smiles broadly, reminding me of an excited child on Christmas Eve.

‘Yeah, Andrea can’t wait,’ I say, winking at the new arrival.

Zoe pulls a card from her pocket. I recognise the white lettering on the black invitation immediately and the PPS written by Joanne. Zoe reads it out loud. ‘An adventure weekend, full of mysteries and surprises, the like of which you can’t imagine.’ She looks at both of us. ‘What’s not to like?’

‘It’s the surprise bit I don’t care for,’ says Andrea. ‘Not to mention the bit about making amends.’

Zoe gives a shrug. ‘I love surprises. I wonder what she has planned for us?’

‘Oh God, I don’t know if I can cope with your enthusiasm this early in the morning,’ says Andrea, shaking her head. ‘Thank goodness I packed some vodka. Where is it?’ Andrea makes to rummage around in her rucksack.

Both Zoe and I laugh. ‘If only your clients knew the truth about you,’ says Zoe. ‘Right, what happens now? Anyone know?’

‘We wait for Joanne, I suppose,’ I say, looking around to see if there is any sign of our infamous host.

As if on cue, a black MPV pulls up alongside the pavement. The rear door automatically slides open and the driver gives a toot of the horn.

‘This must be for us,’ says Zoe. ‘How exciting.’

‘Either that or we’re about to be abducted,’ says Andrea, picking up her rucksack.

I hoist mine up on to my shoulder and follow Zoe to the car, dropping my half-drunk latte into the waste bin as I go.

Zoe hops into the vehicle without a moment’s hesitation. ‘Ooh, it’s very swish in here,’ she calls to us.

I exchange looks with Andrea as we reach the edge of the path. Andrea surveys the vehicle. ‘I suppose it’s not a van. I’m slightly reassured that it looks like a swanky MPV, exactly the sort of thing Joanne would hire.’

‘Come on, there’s loads of room,’ says Zoe. ‘And there’s an envelope, addressed to us all.’

‘No sign of Joanne, then?’ I push my rucksack in first and climb into the vehicle, taking the rear-facing seat. I look over my shoulder at the driver. He’s a middle-aged man and, as far as I can see, is dressed in a shirt and tie. ‘Morning,’ I say with a smile.

‘Morning,’ he replies, not turning but looking in the rear-view mirror at me.

‘Where are we off to?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. Need-to-know basis,’ he says, giving a tap to the side of his nose with his finger. He shifts in his seat and reaches over to the passenger seat, retrieving a small blue cloth bag. ‘Mrs Aldridge has requested that you all put your mobile phones in this bag.’

‘What?’ Andrea plonks herself down in her seat. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘I’m sorry, but Mrs Aldridge has said it’s all part of the surprise. It’s all there in the envelope apparently.’

‘Give me that,’ says Andrea, taking the envelope from Zoe’s hand. She rips it open and reads out loud the letter inside.

Dear lovely ladies,

So now you’re all aboard and on Phase One of the journey. I hope you approve of your mode of transport. Only the best for my best friends!

I expect Zoe, you’re all excited and can’t wait to find out where you’re going. You love secrets and surprises, probably even more than I do, but I think I’m going to have the last laugh this time.

Andrea, I imagine you’re frowning right now and cursing me for keeping it all hush-hush. Sorry, I know this goes against your natural instinct to be the one in charge!

Carys, you, I imagine are sitting there, taking it all in and trying to second-guess my next move, wondering how to play this one and if you can out-smart me. Am I right? I bet I am. Hahahaha!

Well, my lovely friends, don’t waste time trying to quiz the driver, I’ve paid handsomely for his silence. You’ve got about an hour’s drive, so sit back and relax.

Please be very sweet and hand your phones over. I don’t want anyone cheating and turning on their maps app.

Oh, yeah, bubbly under the seat. Chink, chink!

Love Joanne xxx

The driver shakes the bag and passes it to me. Reluctantly, I place my mobile inside. ‘Better play along,’ I say, even though I’m not happy about it myself. What if Alfie needs to speak to me? Or Seb? I console myself with the idea that Joanne will no doubt let us have them back once we arrive and this is only her way of keeping the location a surprise.

‘It is Joanne’s birthday treat,’ says Zoe. She too places her phone in the bag.

We both look at Andrea expectantly. A small expression of defiance settles on her face for a moment and then with a big huff and drop of her shoulders, she produces her phone from her jacket pocket. ‘Don’t want to upset the birthday girl, do we?’ she says with little grace. She hands the phone to me, which I pop in the bag and then hand to the driver.

‘Right, that’s that,’ I say.

‘Hmm,’ says Andrea, dumping the letter in Zoe’s lap, before rummaging under the seat. ‘Where’s this bubbly?’ She pulls out a cool bag and we hear the distinct sound of glasses clinking. ‘Aha. Here we go. Right, what’s in here? Prosecco and three glasses. Typically, Joanne-style, they’re glasses and not plastic ones.’ Formalities pushed aside, Andrea dishes out the glasses and pops open the bottle as the car pulls away from the kerb. Despite jolting over some potholes, Andrea successfully fills each of the glasses. ‘Cheers!’

I’m not entirely sure I can stomach too much alcohol this early in the morning, but not wanting to be a killjoy, I decide to join in with the celebrations and take a small sip.

‘So, who’s looking after Alfie?’ asks Zoe.

‘He’s over at Andrea’s for the weekend. I expect him and Bradley will be glued to their games, only emerging for food.’

‘Colin will be in his element too,’ says Andrea. ‘He’ll be able to watch the sporting channels with zero interruptions.’

‘Who’s looking after your boys?’ I ask Zoe.

‘I’ve enlisted the help of my mum. The kids tried to tell me that at fifteen and seventeen they were OK to be left for the weekend.’ Zoe gives a roll of her eyes. ‘I’m not that daft! If their dad didn’t live so far away, they could have gone there, but trying to get them up to Liverpool for just a weekend is nigh-on impossible. Plus, I didn’t want to ask any favours from him.’

Zoe emphasises the word him. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her refer to her ex-husband by his name. Zoe is the new girl out of the four of us, having moved to the area about a year ago after her marriage broke up. It was a fresh start, she’d told us that first morning we all had coffee together. I can’t remember who made friends with her first. She appeared one day at our regular keep-fit class and the next thing, she’d struck up a conversation and she was sitting with us having coffee afterwards. She had just slotted in. It was like she’d always known us and we’d always known her. A new star to extend our constellation.

As the MPV smoothly exits Chichester, I look out of the window for clues as to where we are going. We are heading north and in my mind I picture a rough map of the area and where we could get to in an hour. Certainly out of Sussex. Although, there is the possibility that it’s part of the surprise and we end up back where we started from. I wouldn’t put it past Joanne.

About half an hour later the car takes a turn off the main road and down a narrow lane. Trees line the road on either side, blocking out much of the daylight. The car turns off but I don’t manage to catch a glimpse of the signpost. Neither of my travelling companions seem to be worrying about where we are heading. The Prosecco bottle now empty, Zoe is busy opening another as Andrea tells us about the spinning class she had taken yesterday for the local rugby team.

‘I love my job, but some days, I love it more than others,’ she says. ‘Those rugby players, Christ, they have stamina. All those muscular legs. I didn’t know where to look. Well, I did, if you know what I mean!’ She fans herself with her hand and sighs.

‘Ah, don’t give us that, you’ve eyes for Colin only,’ I say. Much as Andrea likes to make out she drools over all the toned men who come into the gym, her and Colin are a solid couple.

The car begins to slow down and gradually the trees on either side of the road thin out, before disappearing completely on our left. A small airfield comes into view.

‘Farnstead Airport,’ I read the sign out loud as the driver turns through the gates and pulls up in a parking bay. ‘This is definitely where you were supposed to take us?’

‘Definitely,’ says the driver. He opens the glove box and takes out another envelope. ‘These are your next set of instructions. While you read them, I’ll take this over to the departure terminal.’ He holds up the blue cloth bag and leaves us with the envelope.

Zoe reads it out this time. ‘So, you’ve all arrived at Farnstead Airport, Phase One of the journey is complete. Now for Phase Two. Please proceed to the departure terminal where at reception you will find a flight booked for you under my name. Don’t worry, you don’t need passports, just the photo ID I told you to bring. Enjoy the view and see you soon!’ Zoe looks up at us, her eyes shining with excitement. ‘She’s only bloody chartered us a flight!’

Twenty minutes later, we are sitting in a small light aircraft, still none the wiser as to where we are heading.

‘Obviously the UK,’ says Andrea. ‘Although I can’t say I’m particularly enjoying being stuck in this thing. It’s hardly a Boeing 747.’

‘I think it’s exciting,’ says Zoe.

Andrea looks up to the ceiling in despair.

‘Oh, come on, Andrea. Don’t be a party-pooper,’ I say, nudging her foot with my own. ‘Joanne’s gone to a lot of trouble. Relax and enjoy it.’

Andrea gives another look of exasperation but I can tell it’s half-hearted. ‘I’ll relax when we’ve reached wherever the hell we’re going and my feet are firmly on the ground again.’ Andrea peers under the seat. ‘No Prosecco this time.’

I exchange a grin with Zoe. Andrea loves playing up to her role of harbinger of doom and gloom.

The pilot is very pleasant but he too has been paid into silence by Joanne, so the three of us have no choice but to peer out of the window and make rough approximations of whereabouts in the UK we are flying over and speculate as to where we could be heading. The uneasy realisation that this is totally out of my control dawns on me. Joanne’s idea of a surprise has reached new heights, literally. And I don’t like feeling I’m at her mercy now.

Chapter 3

The further north we head, the more convinced I am of our destination. ‘I think we must be going to Scotland,’ I say.

‘Scotland? That’s where Joanne went on holiday last year,’ says Zoe. ‘Her, Tris and the kids went pot-holing, canoeing, all that sort of stuff.’

‘Some holiday that was,’ says Andrea.

Both Zoe and I look at Andrea blankly. ‘I thought they had a great time,’ I say.

‘Yeah, I’m sure they did.’ The sarcasm in Andrea’s voice is apparent.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I say.

‘Ignore me. I meant all that outward-bound stuff Joanne does, not my idea of a holiday.’ Andrea gives me a sideways glance. ‘What?’

‘You know as well as I do that’s not what you meant.’

‘You don’t like Tris at all, do you?’ says Zoe.

Andrea looks as if she’s about to protest, but the defiant part of her nature surfaces, fuelled by the earlier alcohol no doubt. ‘It’s a personality clash, nothing more.’

‘Bullshit.’ I give a fake cough from behind my hand, to which Andrea gives her best and totally unconvincing innocent look.

‘Ditto to that,’ says Zoe. She shifts position in her seat. ‘Why is it you don’t like him?’

‘If you must know, he fancies himself a bit too much,’ says Andrea. ‘Thinks he’s God’s gift to women.’

I laugh. ‘He’s always been like that. I swear he takes longer getting ready than Joanne does. You should see all his beauty products. Anti-wrinkle this, healthy-glow that. He must spend a fortune.’

‘I rest my case,’ says Andrea.

‘Just because a guy looks after himself, it can’t be grounds for not liking him. That’s a bit shallow, even for you.’ There’s a prickly tone in Zoe’s voice and I sense Andrea’s mood shift.

‘It’s nothing to do with me being shallow, thanks very much. I do actually have other reasons.’

‘Such as?’ Zoe clearly has no intention of letting the matter drop.

‘Such as …’ Andrea pauses. ‘OK, if you must know, he made a pass at me once.’

‘What?’ both Zoe and I say in unison.

‘A couple of Christmases ago. You know, at that Boxing Day party we went to.’

I nod and remember that was the last Christmas Darren had been alive. There had been a funny atmosphere that night and it wasn’t solely down to the argument Darren and I had had before we’d arrived. Joanne had been on edge and Tris was quite drunk early in the evening. I have looked back at that night many times since then and realised that Joanne’s daughter, Ruby, had already dropped her bombshell and the fallout was happening right before me, but in such slow motion, I hadn’t noticed.

‘Tris made a pass at you? Really? Are you sure?’ Zoe’s voice brings me back from my thoughts.

‘Of course I’m bloody sure,’ says Andrea. ‘Waiting for someone to come out of the loo and then bundling them up against the coat rack while you simultaneously try to stick your tongue down their throat and your hand between their legs, is actually more than just a pass.’

Zoe’s face is a mix of anger and disbelief. ‘He did that? Tris groped you?’

‘I think the legal term is he sexually assaulted me,’ says Andrea.

‘Jesus,’ I mutter, letting out a long breath. ‘What happened? Did you tell Colin or Joanne?’ I wonder if this was the turning point between Andrea and Joanne. If this was where their friendship began to fray at the edges.

‘No. I didn’t,’ replies Andrea. ‘We were all pretty drunk. I pushed Tris away and told him to fuck off. He apologised and we laughed it off.’

‘Except you don’t sound like you’ve really laughed it off,’ I say.

‘Not exactly. So, you can see why I’m not Tris’s biggest fan.’ Andrea looks at Zoe.

‘I can’t believe it. Not Tris,’ says Zoe, and then adds rapidly, ‘I mean, I do believe you, but I never thought Tris would do something like that. Why would he? No offence.’

‘None taken,’ says Andrea. ‘I know I’m hard to resist …’ She gives a smile and the tension in the air eases. ‘I’d like to say it was the alcohol, but Tris is all about strutting his stuff, he’s such a poser. I think he tries to make up for his lack of prowess in the bedroom.’

I shake my head. Honestly, Andrea is terrible sometimes.

‘And what do you mean by that?’ demands Zoe. She must catch the surprised look my face involuntarily offers at the defensive tone in her voice because she quickly clarifies her question. ‘I mean, how do you know? Joanne’s never said anything to me about … bedroom stuff.’

‘It’s not for me to say.’ Andrea looks at us and I can tell that, despite that caveat, she is going to say. ‘But, you know how Joanne loves to oversee everything?’ We both nod and let Andrea continue. ‘Well, that extends to the bedroom. She once told me that she had no intention of letting Tris have the upper hand, that he may be the qualified psychologist, but she was far superior at the mind games.’

‘To be honest, that doesn’t surprise me,’ I say, contemplating our friend. ‘Joanne’s not very good at taking instruction from anyone.’

‘And I should know,’ says Andrea. ‘If she wasn’t my friend, I’m sure I would have sacked her by now, or at least put her on a disciplinary for the way she talks to me, especially in front of the other staff. Honestly, you’d think she was the bloody owner, not me!’

Before the conversation can continue, the plane banks to the right and the pilot’s voice comes over the intercom, informing us that we should fasten our seatbelts to prepare for landing.

As I tighten the belt across my lap, I look over at Andrea. Her latest revelations and insight into Joanne’s marriage only serve to confirm my own private thoughts; we may all be friends but there’s so much we don’t know about each other. We all have our secrets and I, for one, intend to keep it that way.

‘I think we’re landing in a bloody field,’ says Andrea, as she looks out of the window. Both Zoe and I do our best to see the ground below us. There’s no sign of a runway anywhere.

A minute later the wheels of the aircraft touch down on to grass and we are bumped and jolted as we make our landing. Zoe gives a little screech at one point, but the pilot is obviously experienced and once all three wheels have made contact with the ground, the speed slows rapidly and the engine purrs in a gentle contented way as we taxi along.

‘We have literally landed in a field,’ says Andrea. ‘I can’t even see a control tower or anything.’

The plane bumps its way to a halt but the engine remains ticking over. The pilot walks back to us in the plane. In his hand, he holds what is becoming a familiar sight. A white envelope.

‘I believe this is for you,’ he says, handing me the envelope. ‘This is where I say goodbye. I hope you enjoyed your trip.’

‘And our phones?’ I ask.

‘I’ll hang onto those for now,’ he replies. ‘Don’t worry, they are going with you though.’

There’s distinct chill in the air as we climb out of the plane. I place my rucksack on the ground so I can zip up my fleece. We are indeed in the middle of a field. I look around, wondering if there is a farmhouse or something nearby, but there is no sign of life. The landscape is one of fields merging into a backdrop of hills and in the very distance silhouettes of mountains.

‘Are you going to open that letter, then?’ says Andrea, dropping her bag on the ground beside mine.

I oblige and read out Joanne’s message.

‘Welcome to Bonnie Scotland! I hope the plane journey was OK. Now, if you make your way over to the far end of the field, there’s a gate and Phase 3 of your journey awaits you. God, I’m loving this. I hope you are too!

‘Are you loving it?’ I ask Andrea in amusement.

‘Yeah, can’t you tell?’ comes the grim reply.

I laugh at Andrea’s glum expression and grin at Zoe, who is still as enthusiastic as ever as she performs a three-sixty turn to take in the surroundings. I must admit, my own enthusiasm is waning slightly. My stomach is protesting at the lack of food and I could murder a cup of tea. I look down towards the gate.

‘Come on, let’s go down there,’ I say. But when we get to the gate, there is no sign of Phase 3. ‘I suppose we just wait.’

‘I guess so,’ agrees Andrea. ‘Doesn’t look like Top Gun is going anywhere at the moment, so we won’t be stranded. Besides, he still has our phones. I presume he’s waiting to hand them over to whoever comes for us.’

‘I feel lost without my phone,’ I confess, eyeing the blue bag in the pilot’s hand. ‘I said I’d text Seb to let him know we’d arrived safely.’

‘And how is the lovely Seb?’ asks Zoe. ‘Still lovely, I take it?’

I smile. ‘Yes. Still lovely.’

‘Ooh, will we be needing to buy hats soon?’ says Andrea, giving me a nudge with her elbow.

‘I don’t think so. Marriage is certainly not on the agenda. Not for me anyway.’ I turn around and rest my arms on the gate, hoping we won’t be stuck here too long. ‘It’s very beautiful here,’ I say, trying to head the conversation off in a different direction.

‘Yes, it is,’ agrees Andrea. She leans back. ‘Now, tell us, why is marriage not on the agenda for you?’

‘Yes, why not?’ chimes in Zoe. ‘From what I’ve seen of Seb, he’s totally in love with you.’

I give a sigh, resigning myself to the fact that the conversation topic isn’t going away. ‘It’s not only me I have to think about when it comes to marriage. Whether it’s Seb or someone else, I’ve Alfie to think of.’

‘True, but he’ll be off to university this time next year. You won’t have to worry about him then,’ says Zoe.

‘Sounds to me like you’re using Alfie as an excuse.’ Andrea fires from the hip as usual. ‘What’s at the root of it? Darren?’

I can’t answer immediately. Andrea is far too perceptive. Zoe stretches her hand over and squeezes my arm. ‘You can’t put your life on hold forever. Darren is dead. What happened, you can’t change. You need to accept that.’

‘He can’t hold you to ransom from the grave,’ adds Andrea. ‘You deserve better than that. Fucking hell, what he put you through, I don’t know why you’re still so loyal. Your marriage was bad enough, the separation ugly, but to do what he did – and not just to you, but to do that to Alfie too. That was evil.’

Having Andrea as a best friend can be wonderful most of the time, but other times, she can be brutal in her honesty. I close my eyes tightly at the two-year-old memory of coming home from work to find Alfie on the doorstep. Darren had forced himself into the house and locked Alfie out. I will never forget the sight that greeted me as I stepped over the threshold. Darren had hanged himself from the banisters. I had tried to shield Alfie and to push him out of the house, but it had been too late. He had seen it. How did a sixteen-year-old lad ever get over that?

‘Andrea, don’t.’ Zoe’s voice is soft and full of concern. I feel her fingers rub my hand.

‘I’m sorry,’ says Andrea. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you, but sometimes I get so frustrated that you constantly punish yourself about Darren.’

‘Andrea!’ Zoe cuts in again. ‘Enough.’

I give Andrea a half-smile. ‘It’s OK. I know you’re right but I still have this tremendous amount of guilt and, no matter what, I can’t shrug it off.’ The truth is, I don’t deserve to shrug it off, not after what happened that day.

‘We understand,’ says Zoe. She nudges Andrea. ‘Don’t we?’

‘Yeah, of course we do.’

‘Can we not mention it again? Not this weekend anyway.’ I look at each of my friends in turn. ‘This is supposed to be a fun few days to celebrate Joanne’s birthday.’ I remain silent about the real reason why I don’t want to talk about my late husband. I ponder at the expression late husband and think how ludicrous it sounds. Late? What’s he late for? He’s been dead two years. Shit-husband, self-absorbed-husband, insecure-husband or even bastard-husband would be a better description. As always, I keep these thoughts locked away, allowing my loyalty to Darren to be misconstrued.

The sound of a car engine breaks the silence that has fallen between us. We all look towards the road. The engine grows louder and a black Transit-type van appears from around the corner, drawing to a halt on the other side of the gate.

A man dressed in blue overalls, who I estimate to be in his thirties, jumps out of the vehicle.

‘Good morning, ladies,’ he says, in a broad Scottish accent. ‘Good to see you made it safely.’ He slides open the side door and then walks over to the gate, unhooking it and opening it wide. He indicates to the van. ‘Climb aboard, your hostess is waiting for you.’

I look towards the pilot and am relieved to see him making his way over with the phones. Only once I witness the handover of the bag and I’m convinced the phones are coming with us, do I venture into the vehicle.

The back of the van is boarded out in plywood and fitted with bench-like seats along each side. The rear windows have all been blacked out so there is no danger of us being able to see where we are going. There is a plywood partition between the rear of the van and the driver’s seat, with a small rectangle cut out.

‘This is ridiculous,’ says Andrea, taking a seat next to me. ‘What’s happened to the plush MPV and private plane? Now we’re in a boarded-up Transit van.’

‘Oh, stop,’ says Zoe. ‘It’s a bit of fun.’

Andrea makes a grunting noise but doesn’t comment further. The driver appears at the door. ‘All belted up? Good. That’s what I like to see. We don’t want any accidents along the way. I’m sure Mrs Aldridge wants you all to arrive in one piece.’

‘Please tell me this is the final leg of the journey,’ says Andrea, folding her arms and blowing out a disgruntled breath.

‘Aye, in under thirty minutes, you will have reached your final destination,’ says the driver, before sliding the door shut, leaving us in semi-darkness. A small shaft of light streams through the gap in the plywood.

I’m not sure why, but I involuntarily shudder at the driver’s turn of phrase.

Chapter 4

We sit in an uneasy silence as the van trundles along the road, our bodies swaying from side and side as the driver navigates what I can only presume to be small winding roads. I’m not convinced the lap belts will actually do much to save us if there is an accident and as the van hits a pothole and we jerk forward, I tighten the belt for good measure.

Although it is chilly outside, here in the van there is no air and I begin to feel a little stifled. I rest my head against the plywood which lines the van. Although my mind is clear and I know this is all a bit of fun on Joanne’s part and I know we are going to get out of here soon, my body is offering a different interpretation.

I’m conscious that my heart rate has picked up and I can feel sweat gathering under my arms. I concentrate on breathing in slowly through my nose and control the out-breath from my mouth. Techniques I have had to learn since Darren’s death.

I stopped seeing the counsellor about six months ago and this is probably the first time I have felt under duress since then. It’s the small space of the van that is getting to me. I don’t know what it was about finding Darren that caused this claustrophobia, but it’s certainly a symptom. My counsellor suggested it could be something as simple as the closing of the front door behind me that day, the sense of being shut in a house and then dealing with the devastation before me. My mind has somehow connected the two things.

I eye my rucksack on the floor of the van. In the side pocket is my little box of pills. I have recently found another way to deal with the panic attacks. Neither Andrea nor Zoe know about the pills. In fact, no one does. Not even my GP.

‘You OK, Carys?’ Andrea’s concerned voice filters into my thoughts.

I sit myself upright and take another deep breath as I open my eyes. I turn and smile at her. ‘Yeah. Just finding it not quite so fun now.’

Andrea nods. ‘Typical of Joanne to take it one step too far.’ She leans forward and bangs on the partition.

‘What’s up?’ comes the voice through the small cut-out hole.

‘How much longer?’ shouts Andrea over the noise of the engine. ‘This is taking the piss now.’

‘Patience, ladies, patience,’ comes the reply. ‘We’re nearly there.’

The speed drops and the van takes an unexpected turn to the left. The ground noise changes. It sounds like we are on an unmade track. I can hear stones pinging up against the wheel arches every now and then, and the van rolls and lollops more as if navigating potholes and dips in the surface.

I close my eyes again, resigning myself to the fact that shouting and getting stressed isn’t going to get us there any quicker. I make a conscious effort to take my thoughts to a more positive place. It’s easier said than done. I think of Seb and my heart lifts as I bring his face to mind. His fair skin and almost translucent blue eyes. I smile as I remember him telling me why he has his hair cut so short.

‘It’s to stop any of the bad guys being able to get a grip on me, should I get into a tussle,’ he had said, referring to his job as a detective with the Met. Once I had made a suitably impressed response, he’d broken into a broad grin before continuing: ‘I can’t lie. It’s really because, if I let my hair grow, it turns into a mass of curls; looks like pubes.’ We’d both laughed for a long time at this imagery. I think that was the moment I realised how much I enjoyed being with Seb and relished spending my free time with him. I miss him when he isn’t there and want him in my life more. However, my next thought is of Alfie, which should be a positive one. But it’s not.

Before I can visit this further, the van slows down. There’s a change of gear and the engine noise lowers. We grind to a halt; a small jolt indicates the handbrake has been applied and then the engine is cut.

The driver’s voice comes through the gap. ‘Could all passengers disembark. This service will now be terminated.’

‘Finally,’ says Andrea.

The side door opens and we emerge from the bowels of the van, blinking as daylight floods our pupils. The driver jogs over to the croft and opens the front door, places the blue bag containing our phones inside. He closes the door and jogs back to the van.

‘Enjoy your weekend, ladies,’ he calls, jumping into the van. We watch as the vehicle makes a U-turn and then disappears down the track.

I look at Andrea and Zoe, who return the look with equal bewilderment. ‘Well, that was the strangest holiday transfer I’ve ever experienced,’ says Andrea. The fun has worn off and we take a moment to study the building in front of us.

It is a stone cottage made up of a ground floor and a first floor. A solid oak door is centred in the stonework, flanked by windows each side. In the roof, there are two dormer windows and on the side of the building is a single-storey extension which, judging by the lighter colour of mortar between the stonework, was probably added at a later date.

‘So, here we are,’ I say needlessly. ‘I suppose we’d better go in. I assume Joanne is already here.’

‘I wouldn’t bank on anything right now,’ says Andrea. ‘Maybe that’s her surprise.’

‘What?’ says Zoe, frowning.

‘The surprise is, she’s not here,’ says Andrea.

I pick up my rucksack. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’ I give my friend a nudge with my elbow. ‘Come on.’

Before we take a step, the front door swings open and Joanne appears in the doorway. Her brunette bobbed hair, immaculate as ever, frames her petite features. She opens her arms wide. ‘You’re here!’ She trots over and hugs each of us in turn, the blue phone bag in one hand. ‘And all in one piece. I hope you enjoyed your journey. What did you think?’ Joanne looks expectantly at each of us.

‘Loved it!’ says Zoe, injecting possibly rather too much enthusiasm into her voice.

‘Yeah, loved it,’ says Andrea, her lack of enthusiasm balancing out Zoe’s excess.

‘Put it this way,’ I say. ‘I’m glad we’re here now. I hope the return journey is rather more orthodox.’

‘Oh, don’t be worrying about the return journey.’ Joanne flaps her hand in the air. ‘You’ll love that too.’

‘That’s what I was afraid of,’ says Andrea. ‘Jesus, let’s get inside. I’m freezing my tits off here.’

‘What do you expect in that flimsy fleece? I hope you’ve brought a warmer jacket with you.’

‘This has to be your best surprise ever,’ says Zoe, hooking her holdall on one shoulder and slipping her free arm through Joanne’s.

‘Maybe not ever. Just to date,’ replies Joanne. ‘You have no idea what other surprises I have in store for you three.’ Joanne leans into Zoe and squeezes her arm. She then looks around at myself and Andrea, and I don’t miss the little glint in her eye. ‘Let me show you to your rooms. I have some lunch ready for you and then we can crack open our first bottle of wine.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ I say, following on behind. I look over my shoulder at Andrea. ‘Come on, misery. This isn’t an audition for the seven dwarfs, you know.’

‘If it is, then Andrea gets the part, hands down,’ calls Joanne. Her laughter echoes around the porch roof.

Andrea pulls a face, which only makes me laugh too.

Inside the croft, the small entrance hall with an oak staircase and a red quarry-tiled floor greets us. Years of feet travelling the surface have worn the shine from the centre of the tiles but the edges have managed to retain some of their former gloss. I look through the doorway on my left. It’s the living room, with two big comfortable sofas either side of a large brick fireplace. A wooden chest sits between the two pieces of furniture, acting as a coffee table. The floorboards in this room have been sanded and varnished, giving a more modern feel to the room, and a black-and-white hide is spread out in front of the hearth.

‘Cow hide,’ supplies Joanne. ‘All the rage, apparently. Not so keen myself. Not at two or three hundred pounds each, anyway.’

‘I quite like it,’ says Andrea, peering over my shoulder.

‘Now you’re a successful business owner, I expect you can afford these luxuries,’ says Joanne.

I shoot Joanne a look. Was there a hint of tightness in her voice? A topic of conversation that is always sidestepped with a sense of awkwardness. I watch now as Andrea gives Joanne a long look, one that Joanne matches without flinching.

‘What’s beyond the trees there?’ Zoe pipes up, as she gazes out of the window.

I don’t know if the change in conversation was deliberate on Zoe’s part, but it breaks the deadlock.

‘More trees,’ says Joanne, turning towards the rear window where Zoe is standing. ‘That’s the edge of a bloody great forest. It stretches around from behind the croft in a big arch and then all the way along the edge of the track.’

Zoe gives a shiver. ‘Even in daylight, it looks spooky.’

‘After lunch, we’re going exploring,’ says Joanne. She nods towards the trees. ‘There’s a walk through there which eventually leads to a clearing. Legend has it that it was once a site for pagan rituals and human sacrifices.’

‘Sounds delightful,’ mutters Andrea.

Zoe turns away from the window and drops into one of the sofas. ‘I’m glad I’m not here on my own. When did you get here, Joanne?’

‘Last night, actually.’

‘You were here on your own all night?’ Zoe leans back and looks up at Joanne.

‘No big deal. Anyway, you’re on your own at night times, aren’t you? Or are you? No secret lover you haven’t told us about?’ She flicks Zoe’s ponytail with her fingers and winks.

‘No!’ protests Zoe. Her cheeks flush red. She sits upright and looks round at us.

‘Ah, you’re blushing,’ teases Joanne. ‘Look how red Zoe’s gone.’

Zoe has turned a deep crimson colour and I can’t help feeling sorry for her, yet at the same time I wonder if Joanne’s teasing has some substance. For all Zoe’s bouncy childlike enthusiasm and seemingly innocent charm, I’ve always felt this has been to cover up the after-effects of a bad relationship. Although she’s never gone into details about her ex-husband, there clearly are unresolved issues in that department. To ease her embarrassment, I take it upon myself to divert the topic of conversation this time. ‘Joanne, are you going to show us round the rest of the place?’

‘Sure. Follow me.’

Across the tiled hallway is another room, identical in size to the living room. It too has a fireplace on the rear wall and to the right of that, in what was once an alcove, is a doorway. A dining table and six chairs occupy the centre of the room and a wing-backed armchair is on the other side of the fireplace with a view over the garden.

‘Through here is the kitchen,’ says Joanne.

The kitchen looks to have been refurbished recently but it is sympathetic to the age of the property. The units are free-standing and of a farmhouse style with wooden worktops. A Belfast sink is below the window, which overlooks the front of the property. There is an exterior door with glass panels at the top, draped with a net curtain.

I move the curtain to look through. There is a rear porch and beyond that is an outbuilding about the size of a garden shed. ‘What’s in there?’

Joanne joins me at the door. ‘Nothing very exciting, I should imagine. It’s locked, but from what I’ve seen through the window it’s full of old garden tools and a lawn mower. Not that they seem to worry about keeping the grass manicured: it’s more pasture than lawn.’

True, the rear of the property has no fencing to identify the boundaries and blends in with the surrounding open scrubland scenery. A small area immediately outside the back door has been laid with paving stones to create a patio, and a flowerbed has been dug around the edge which is full of shrubs, but that is the extent of the garden.

‘To be fair, we do appear to be in the middle of nowhere. It must be hard to get a gardener up here,’ I say. ‘I don’t suppose they want to pay someone to come up here every week.’

‘Exactly,’ says Joanne.

‘How far are we from civilisation?’ asks Zoe, as we walk back through to the entrance hall.

‘Bloody miles,’ says Andrea.

Joanne gives a laugh but ignores the question. ‘Oh, before I forget. I need to take a picture of us all. A selfie. Wait there a moment while I get my camera.’

She disappears into the living room, leaving us waiting in the hall. As with the rest of the house, it’s a mix of old and new. Some pieces of furniture and decoration look like they’ve been here for years, whereas other pieces wouldn’t look out of place in an Ikea catalogue. There’s a dark wood telephone seat with a faded green velvet cushion, which seems odd as there doesn’t appear to be a telephone here. It reminds me of something from the seventies. Above it is a picture of a crying boy, another leftover from a past era. And on the opposite wall is a row of modern pictures in white frames. They have almost a seaside feel to them, depicting stick-men in sailor suits with flags in different positions, each spelling out a word in semaphore. I take a closer look to see if the words are printed underneath, but can’t see anything. On the floor, propped against the wall, is a print, about a metre long, of spring flowers, which I personally think would look nicer on the wall.

Joanne reappears almost straight away. ‘I treated myself to a Polaroid camera. Instant photos,’ she says, holding the retro-looking camera in her hand.

‘How very old-school,’ says Andrea.

‘Exactly. Just like us,’ replies Joanne. ‘Now, I need you all to stand here in the hall. Zoe, you here. That’s it. Andrea here.’ She leaves a space between them and then takes my arm. ‘Carys, you stand in the middle. I’ll set the timer up and then I’ll hop on the end.’

Joanne moves a pot plant from the shelf inside the door and prepares the camera. ‘I tested it earlier. It’s the perfect height,’ she says. ‘OK, you ready? I’m pressing the timer button now.’

‘Quick, before it goes off,’ says Zoe, as Joanne darts back and joins the end of the line. ‘Smile!’

We all stand rigidly, while at the same time trying to pose naturally with big smiles plastered across our faces. Just as I think the timer isn’t going to work, the camera flashes.

‘Now to see the result,’ says Joanne, returning to the camera. ‘I love this, it’s so eighties.’ After a few seconds, a photograph emerges slowly from the bottom of the camera. Joanne waves the photograph in the air to dry the ink. ‘Do any of you miss the old days? When life was simple, before we had to deal with all the grown-up stuff?’

‘I don’t know,’ says Andrea. ‘I actually like my life now, as an adult.’

‘Mmm … I expect you do,’ says Joanne. ‘What about you, Carys? Do you prefer life now?’

I catch Andrea and Joanne exchanging a look, the latter appearing confused for a moment and then in a display of realisation, throws her hand to her mouth, the photograph still grasped between her finger and thumb. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Carys. That was insensitive of me.’

I force my mouth to curve north in a bid to smile. I’m not sure how effective the action is, but the intent is there. ‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘No one has to tiptoe around me. Honestly.’

An awkward silence straggles behind my words until Andrea sweeps everything up with her none-too-subtle attempt at changing the subject: ‘Right, let’s see this photograph then.’

We crowd round the image and overly enthuse about it.

‘It’s lovely,’ says Joanne. ‘I love the way the real us shines through.’

I’m not sure any of us quite know what she means, but to restore the light-hearted atmosphere, we all agree and allow Joanne to lean the picture against the clock on the mantelpiece of the living room.

‘What shall we do with our bags?’ asks Andrea, as Joanne takes a moment to admire the photograph from the middle of the room.

Joanne spins round. ‘Oh, yes. I’ll show you to your rooms.’ She leads the way back into the hallway and we climb the narrow oak staircase. ‘Two of you will need to share.’ She looks at myself and Andrea. ‘Are you two OK in the twin room?’

‘Yeah, sure,’ I say and Andrea agrees.

‘Excellent, that’s that sorted.’ Joanne pushes open one of the doors and stands back to allow us in first.

It’s a pleasantly spacious room with dual views from the front and rear of the property. Everything in the room is white, from the walls to the furniture and bedding. The little dormer window at the front looks out on to the track and for the first time I notice a river over the other side of a small brow that must have shielded it from sight when we were dropped off outside. I push my face closer to the glass and away to the left, where the river bends out of sight, I can see a little stone bridge, just wide enough for one vehicle to pass over. It looks picture-postcard.

‘It’s a gorgeous view,’ I say, turning and going over to the window at the back. The view this time isn’t so inviting. The trees behind appear even taller from the first floor. They bunch together, swallowing up the daylight, and become one big mass of darkness as I try to look further into the forest.

‘Which bed do you want?’ asks Andrea.

‘I’ll have the one near the front window.’

‘OK, I’ll be near the door.’ Andrea dumps her rucksack on to the bed.

‘The bathroom is right next to your room,’ says Joanne from the doorway. ‘It’s not exactly en-suite, but it’s as good as.’ She turns to Zoe. ‘Our rooms are across the landing. I’m at the front and you’re at the back. Now I’ll let you all get settled and freshened up. Come down in ten minutes and lunch will be ready.’

‘Any chance we can have our phones?’ I ask. ‘I want to check in with Alfie.’

A shadow darts across Joanne’s face, but it’s so fast I almost question whether I saw it. However, the sympathetic look she gives me seems so false, I know I didn’t imagine it. ‘Sorry. No can do,’ she says, hugging the blue bag to her body. ‘All part of the game. No communication with the outside world this weekend. Besides, you can’t get a signal up here, it’s a not-spot.’

‘How do people get on in an emergency?’ asks Andrea.

‘There’s a wireless radio in the kitchen, but it looks as old as the hills,’ says Joanne. ‘It was probably last used in the Second World War.’

‘I can’t believe there’s no phone coverage at all,’ says Andrea. ‘We really are in the middle of nowhere.’

‘You’d think there would be a landline,’ I agree.

‘What’s up?’ asks Joanne. ‘Is there a problem? Do you need to get in touch with Alfie?’

‘Nothing’s up. Alfie is staying at Andrea’s with Colin and Bradley.’

‘Then he’ll be fine. Nothing to worry about,’ says Joanne. ‘Although you know Tris would have been happy to look after him had he not been on his golfing break. Not that Alfie needs looking after, he is eighteen later this month.’

‘Yeah, I know, but Bradley and Alfie are having a gaming weekend. Thanks anyway, I’ll bear that in mind for the future,’ I say, feeling slightly uncomfortable at my little lie. The truth is, I was relieved when I found out Tris would be away this weekend. Alfie had already said he’d like to stay with Tris and Ruby, but I didn’t like the way he was attaching himself to Tris. It was almost as if Tris was becoming a replacement for Darren. The amount of time he spends over there concerns me. Next thing, he’ll be seeing Joanne as a replacement for me. As usual, this thought provokes a wave of insecurity and jealousy. I turn away from Joanne and start undoing my rucksack to hide the irrational fear that somehow she will be able to read my thoughts.

‘He’s always welcome, you know that,’ says Joanne, clearly not letting me off the hook that easily. ‘We like having him over. He and Ruby get on great. You should be encouraging him, not deterring him.’

‘Who said anything about deterring him?’ I snap, my guilt flaring up in the disguise of anger.

‘Don’t get all defensive,’ says Joanne, folding her arms. ‘I’ve known him so long and he’s at our place so much, we’re like an extended family.’

‘Hey, come on you two,’ says Zoe, from the landing. ‘Let’s not fight. This is supposed to be a fun birthday weekend, remember?’

Joanne and I study each other for a few seconds. I don’t want to spoil the weekend. I plaster on a smile. ‘We’re not fighting.’

‘No. We’re not,’ Joanne says, before turning and ushering Zoe across the hallway to her room.

I begin to unpack my clothes, quietly seething inside. I can sense Andrea looking at me and I meet her gaze. She raises her eyebrows and gives me a look that says she’s not fooled for one minute. ‘What?’ I say defensively. ‘We weren’t fighting.’

‘No. Of course you weren’t,’ she says, taking a T-shirt from her bag and lying it flat on the bed. ‘No tension between you two at all.’

I lob a jumper I’ve just taken from my bag at her. ‘None whatsoever. Don’t know what you’re talking about.’

We both laugh as she tosses the jumper back at me, but we also both know that Andrea is one hundred per cent right.

Chapter 5

I hang the last of my clothes in the wardrobe, leaving space on one side for Andrea to use. ‘It’s a nice room,’ I say, as I quickly put on a fresh T-shirt. ‘A bit on the basic side, but functional.’

‘Better than I was expecting,’ says Andrea. ‘How is everything with Alfie?’ She fiddles with her makeup bag in an attempt to seem casual but I suspect my earlier words with Joanne have prompted the enquiry.

‘About the same. Actually, that’s a lie. I don’t know how it’s going. He never talks about Darren.’ I stop myself from continuing. I feel disloyal talking about Alfie even though Andrea is one of my best friends.

‘Do you ever ask him?’

‘Not any more. It’s a prickly subject,’ I admit. I walk over and sit down on my bed, letting out a sigh as I wrestle with my need to talk to someone about Alfie and my desire to project a much rosier picture of my home life. The need wins out. ‘He seems more distant than ever lately. And he still has his moments, you know, when his temper gets the better of him.’

‘Have there been any other … incidents?’ asks Andrea. Her tone is gentle.

I shake my head. ‘No. Not recently.’ I realise I’m rubbing my arm subconsciously. Since Darren’s death, Alfie has found it difficult to express his emotions and has taken to lashing out in his temper. Once or twice, I’ve found myself in the way.

‘What’s that mark on your back, then?’ asks Andrea.

‘On my back?’

‘Yeah, I noticed it just now when you changed your T-shirt. You’ve got a red mark, right between your shoulder blades.’

‘Oh, that. I did that this morning. Banged into the door by accident.’ It’s the truth. Maybe not the whole truth, but it is what happened. I feel embarrassed and ashamed to talk about Alfie’s behaviour sometimes.

‘Can’t you speak to his counsellor?’ asks Andrea. She squeezes my hand in a gesture of support.

‘God, no. I suggested that once but Alfie was adamant I wasn’t to get involved. Besides, I’m not sure what the counsellor would say. They’re not supposed to divulge anything from the counselling sessions. Patient confidentiality.’

‘You could speak to him, though. The counsellor, I mean. You could tell him how Alfie has been at home. He might not be aware of that. Alfie might not tell him the truth.’

‘But then I feel I’m going behind Alfie’s back, and if he finds out …’ I leave the sentence unfinished as I gulp down an unexpected lump in my throat.

‘Have you thought about getting advice on how to deal with it all yourself? I don’t mean going to your counsellor, I mean strategies. A bit like they do parenting help for when you have a new baby. There must be some sort of support group for parents of bereaved children.’

‘It’s not my thing,’ I admit. ‘I did mention it once to my GP and she said to follow Alfie’s lead for now.’

‘Which is?’

‘Not to talk about Darren’s death unless Alfie wants to, and try to defuse the situation when he gets angry.’

‘But doesn’t that mean avoiding it so it becomes a taboo topic?’

‘It’s not just that,’ I say, surprising myself at how all my worries are tumbling out. I’m usually very controlled when it comes to Alfie and Darren. ‘Alfie spends so much time over at Joanne’s house, it’s starting to get to me. Like, really annoy me. I don’t know why he doesn’t want to spend time with me. It’s like he’s a visitor at home these days.’

‘Maybe it’s something to do with what happened with Darren.’ Andrea moves over to my bed and sits beside me.

‘Tell me about it! I can’t walk through the hallway without the image of Darren … you know … hanging there. It makes me feel sick. God knows what it’s doing to Alfie.’

‘No luck with the house sale then?’

‘No. I had someone view it the day before yesterday and they seemed keen. They were at the point of putting in an offer, but when they found out what happened, they changed their minds. It’s the third time that’s happened. No one wants to live in a house where the previous owner killed themselves.’

‘What about reducing the price?’

‘I think I’m going to have to, but that will mean I can’t afford somewhere quite so nice to move to. Look, please don’t say anything to the others. I don’t like talking about it, especially to Joanne.’

‘I won’t. But have you thought about asking Joanne to encourage Alfie and Ruby to spend time at your house for a change?’

‘That’s the thing. Ruby doesn’t want to come over because of Darren killing himself and Joanne is quite happy for Alfie to be there.’ I can feel the little blaze of irritation flare inside me. ‘I did actually speak to Joanne once about it and she told me that Alfie needed a safe place.’

‘A safe place? What the hell does that mean?’

‘According to Joanne, he needs somewhere he can go where he can relax and subconsciously know that nothing bad is going to happen. She said I should be grateful that he was there and not roaming the streets, getting into trouble.’

Andrea gives an indignant huff on my behalf. ‘She’s got a bloody cheek at times.’

The sound of Joanne calling from the bottom of the stairs punctuates the conversation. ‘Lunch is nearly ready!’ comes her sing-song voice.

‘Maybe things will be better after the weekend,’ says Andrea. ‘Like you said, this might be Joanne’s way of saying sorry.’

‘Yeah, I might be totally wrong about that,’ I say with a wry smile.

We spend a few minutes unpacking our things. ‘I’m all done,’ declares Andrea, pushing her rucksack under the bed. ‘You ready for lunch?’

‘You go ahead. I’ll be down soon,’ I say. ‘I want to freshen up first.’

After Andrea has gone downstairs, I sit on the bed and let out a long slow breath, as a sense of claustrophobia settles lightly around me. It’s not the house. It’s not the company. It’s the atmosphere. Joanne definitely seems spiky. Was I naïve to think this was a weekend of reconciliation? If I had my phone, I’d call Seb. To hear his reassuring voice and comforting words, in the way he can be both pragmatic and sympathetic at the same time, is what I really want right now.

I’m annoyed with myself for giving my phone over in the first place. It was a stupid idea and one I had gone along with too readily, hoping to appease Joanne. I decide to tackle her about it after lunch. It’s unreasonable of her to expect everyone to be out of contact.

Before I head down for lunch though, I take the little box of tablets from my rucksack and pop a white pill from the foil wrapper. I swallow it down, not needing any water. I feel better even before it has absorbed into my bloodstream. Just knowing I’ve taken it helps.

In the kitchen, I find Zoe stirring a big pot of soup and the sweet earthy smell of carrots and coriander wafts in the air.

‘I’ll set the table,’ I say, opening several cupboard doors before I find the bowls.

‘I was about to do that,’ says Andrea, entering the kitchen. ‘Joanne’s lighting a fire. Apparently, we’re in for some colder weather. Joy.’ She pulls a glum face.

‘Typical,’ I say, handing the bowls to Andrea and rummaging around in the cutlery drawer for spoons.

‘You OK?’ asks Andrea quietly, as Zoe nips through the dining room with a box of matches for Joanne.

‘Yeah. I could do with my phone though. I wouldn’t mind checking in with Alfie.’

‘Only Alfie?’ Andrea raises one eyebrow.

‘Maybe Seb as well,’ I confess.

Andrea gives a laugh as she goes into the kitchen. ‘Maybe?’ she questions. ‘Oh, I think, definitely.’

I look out of the dining-room window and gaze across the driveway to the riverbank beyond. The yellow gorse bushes sway hypnotically from side to side as they are caught and then released by the breeze. It’s a beautiful spot and I imagine on a summer’s day when the sun is shining it would be a heavenly place to come and escape from the world. However, by contrast, the grumpy skies and agitated weather are only adding to the undercurrent of disquiet.

Andrea comes in with some glasses, which she places at each setting. ‘Don’t be worrying about Alfie. He’ll be fine with Bradley and Colin.’

‘I know. Ignore me. I’m fine,’ I say, turning from the window and smiling.

‘That’s the fire lit,’ says Joanne, coming into the room. ‘Right, I’ll bring the soup in. Sit down, everyone.’

‘It smells delicious,’ says Zoe, sitting at the table. ‘I managed to resist the urge to have a little taster earlier when no one was looking.’

‘I know what you mean,’ says Andrea. ‘My stomach has been rumbling like mad.’

‘Well, the wait is over.’ Joanne brings in the pot and places it on the table, before carefully ladling soup into each of our bowls. ‘I’m so glad you all came,’ she says as we tuck in. ‘I was worried that one of you would drop out if I told you beforehand what I had planned.’

I resist looking up at Andrea, it would be a telltale sign of our guilt.

‘Wouldn’t miss this for the world,’ says Zoe. ‘Would we?’

We offer our reassurances that we are as pleased to be here. I take a spoonful of soup to hide my true feelings.

The conversation moves on to the children and I feel my-self tense in anticipation of Alfie and Ruby being mentioned. Since Darren’s death, the two of them have grown incredibly close. Too close for my liking. As if I haven’t been tormented enough by that girl. I say girl, she is nearly twenty, but I’ve known her since she was six years old and it’s hard for me to see her as a grown woman.

As if anticipating my desire to change the topic of conversation, Joanne addresses me. ‘Ruby wasn’t happy about going to my mum’s. She would much rather have stayed at home with Alfie, but she said you had already arranged for him to go to Andrea’s.’

My throat feels incredibly tight and the words catch in my mouth. Even though I was expecting this, my physical reaction far outweighs my mental reaction. My body has gone into overdrive.

It’s then I feel the burning sensation on my lips and my throat tightens some more. I recognise the symptoms. This isn’t a reaction to the conversation, this is a reaction to something I’ve eaten. I’m going into anaphylactic shock. A symptom of my nut allergy.

I drop the spoon on the table and simultaneously push the chair back as I get to my feet. My EpiPen is upstairs in my bag. I had completely forgotten to bring it down with me, something I do as a matter of course when I eat where someone other than myself has prepared the food.

‘You OK, Carys?’ asks Joanne.

‘Shit,’ comes Andrea’s voice and I assume she’s realised what is happening.

The rest of the conversation is lost as I race upstairs as fast as I can. My legs feel wobbly and my breathing is becoming harder as my airways tighten in response to my allergy. From my handbag, I grab my EpiPen and flip off the blue cap, before plunging the pen into my thigh. As I wheeze I count to ten before removing the pen from my leg. I flop down on to the bed and, closing my eyes, I make a conscious effort to keep calm, to focus on my breathing as almost immediately the epinephrine takes effect. I massage my thigh at the same time to encourage the muscle to absorb the medication.

‘Carys, are you OK?’ It’s Andrea’s voice and I feel the mattress dip beside me as she sits down. She pushes a strand of hair from my face and holds my hand.

I squeeze her hand in response to reassure her as I gradually feel the reaction subside. The numbing sensation in my lips fades first; it’s not dissimilar to the feeling of numbness wearing off after a trip to the dentist. My breathing becomes easier as my airways dilate and I take longer, fuller breaths.

‘Do you want some water?’ This time it’s Joanne’s voice. She’s at the other side of the bed.

I open my eyes and Zoe is standing at the foot of the bed looking concerned, with Joanne and Andrea either side of me. I sit myself up and look at Joanne.

‘There must have been some sort of nut in that soup,’ I say, taking the water from her. My hand is a little shaky as I lift the glass to my lips.

‘There wasn’t. I promise,’ she says. ‘I’m not that stupid. We all know about your allergy.’

‘Did you check the ingredients?’ asks Andrea.

‘Of course I bloody did,’ snaps Joanne. ‘You can look at the box if you don’t believe me. No nuts. Not even a trace of nuts.’

‘It’s a bit late for that now,’ says Andrea. ‘Damage has been done.’

‘There’s no damage now,’ I say, not wanting this to turn into an argument. ‘I’ll be OK. I just need to rest here for a little while.’

‘But there must have been something in that soup,’ insists Andrea. ‘It’s hardly likely to have been cross-contaminated. Maybe you added something?’ She looks at Joanne, who scowls back at her.

‘I’m telling you, I never put anything in that soup. Why would I?’ Joanne stands with her hands on her hips, glaring across the bed at Andrea. ‘If there was something else added, who’s to say I did it?’

‘This is ridiculous,’ says Zoe. ‘Are you saying one of us put something in the soup?’

‘Someone did and it wasn’t me,’ says Joanne. ‘I left you in the kitchen on your own, stirring the soup.’

‘Seriously?’ says Zoe, shaking her head.

Joanne ignores her. ‘What about you, Andrea? Were you in the kitchen on your own?’

Andrea looks slightly taken aback. She looks at me before speaking. ‘Well, I was, but I only went in to get the glasses. Look, this is a stupid conversation.’

‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘Obviously, no one did anything on purpose. It was probably some sort of cross-contamination at source.’ I realise that my anaphylactic shock has probably shaken everyone up. ‘Let’s all forget about it. I’ll come down. I could do with a cup of tea.’

‘Good idea,’ says Zoe. ‘This has got us all a bit flustered.’

‘Too right,’ says Joanne. ‘Goodness, you gave us all a fright there. Come on, I’ll make the tea. We can have a slice of cake I made. And I promise, no nuts whatsoever.’

Andrea insists that I sit in the living room with a cup of tea while they clear away the lunch dishes. I feel a lot better now and am grateful that my allergy is on the milder end of the spectrum. Although it has shaken me up, the reaction wasn’t severe enough to warrant any further medical intervention. Which is just as well, considering where we are. I have no idea how far away we are from a hospital.

Andrea, Joanne and Zoe are all very aware of my allergy and, despite my assurances to them that it could easily have been contaminated at source, I know it’s unlikely, especially these days with health and safety so stringent. This leads me to poke around in the dark corners of my mind where other thoughts are crouching: what exactly was put in the soup and how did it get there … which leads me to question who and why.

I feel restless at the thought and try to distract myself by inspecting the bookcase, idly skimming the spines of the books. There’s a wide range of fiction, although most of the novels look several years old and well-thumbed, as if they have been rescued from a charity shop. There are some larger coffee-table books on the lower shelves. Most of them appear to feature the Scottish landscape and traditions. There’s one about Victorian London, which seems out of place but, again, probably a rescue book. At the end of the shelf is a small stack of DVDs.

A Disney film, Lion King; an old John Wayne western, and a thriller called Rogue Trader. None of them appeal to me. It’s then I realise that I haven’t seen a television in the croft, never mind a DVD player.

‘Aha! Caught you,’ says Joanne, coming into the room.

I jump unnecessarily and spin round. Joanne is carrying a mug of tea. ‘You’re supposed to be resting,’ she says, placing the mug on the coffee table.

‘I was having a look at the books.’

‘Found anything interesting?’

‘Not really. Although there are three DVDs here and yet no TV. Seems odd.’ I hold the boxes up.

Joanne gives them a cursory glance. ‘Maybe there used to be a TV here or perhaps the last visitors left them.’

I return the cases and sit down next to Joanne. ‘This is a lovely croft,’ I say. ‘You’ve gone to a lot of trouble for this weekend.’

‘I’d been toying with the idea for a while,’ says Joanne. ‘It was actually Zoe who made up my mind to go ahead with it.’

‘Really?’ I give Joanne a quizzical look. ‘I didn’t think any of us knew anything about it.’

‘Oh, she didn’t know. It was something that was brought up in conversation one day and it spurred me into action.’

‘It’s very generous of you.’

‘The pleasure is all mine. You know I love organising parties. Who better to organise my own than myself? That’s what I told Tris. This way, I get to totally please myself.’

‘You have a point.’

‘Not to mention your birthday too.’ She stands up and calls from the doorway. ‘Come on, you two. We’ve got a game to play!’

Chapter 6

‘Is everyone ready for their next surprise?’ asks Joanne, once Andrea and Zoe have settled themselves in the living room.

‘Ready as we’ll ever be,’ says Andrea, leaning back in her chair.

‘Excellent.’ From the pocket of her jeans, Joanne produces three white envelopes. ‘Here we go. One for you, Carys. One for Zoe and, Andrea, one for you. Now, don’t open them yet. I have to explain the rules.’

‘The rules?’ says Andrea, inspecting her sealed envelope.

‘Listen up. I’ve called this game “What’s My Secret?” Inside each of the envelopes you’ll find a card with a name of a famous person who could be living or dead. That’s your secret identity for the weekend. Underneath is their well-known secret.’ She dabs the air with imaginary quotation marks. ‘You can’t tell each other who you are. It’s up to them to guess and then to try to work out what your secret is. You with me so far?’

‘Is there a prize for guessing right?’ asks Zoe.

‘Oh, yes, there’s a prize, but …’

‘Let me guess,’ I interject. ‘It’s a surprise.’

‘A surprise prize,’ mutters Andrea, seemingly unimpressed with the game.

‘Absolutely,’ says Joanne, beaming at us. ‘There are clues as to the identity and what the secrets are all around the house. Bonus points for each clue you find.’

‘How long have we got to find out the identity and secret?’ I ask. I must admit, it is rather intriguing. If I can say anything about Joanne, it is that she has a fantastic imagination and is excellent at these sorts of things. It reminds me of a murder mystery dinner Joanne held some years ago. It had been a great success and she had gone on to make it a murder mystery weekend the following year for Darren’s thirtieth birthday. We’d had a lot of fun. As with every time I think of Darren, a stab of guilt strikes me. I push it to one side, not wishing to dwell on it. Blocking it out is probably not the best coping method, but right now, it is the only way I can cope.

‘The game finishes Sunday evening,’ says Joanne, passing each of us a pencil. ‘Once you’ve decided who you think the others are, you write it down in these notebooks.’ She passes A6-size books to each of us. ‘You will get one mark for each part you get right. The person with the most points is the winner. If no one guesses you, then you’re also a winner. Two winners, two surprises.’

‘And if you lose?’ asks Andrea.

‘The loser also gets a surprise,’ says Joanne.

‘This is going to be such fun,’ says Zoe. ‘Just one thing, how do we find out who each other are?’

‘You can ask three questions each day, but the person being asked is only allowed to answer yes or no. You must pick your questions carefully. And if you’re being asked, you must answer honestly. No cheating! Everyone clear?’

The three of us nod. ‘I think I can follow that,’ I say. ‘When can we open our envelopes?’

‘Open them now, but take care not to let the others see them.’

‘And what are you going to be doing the whole time?’ asks Andrea. ‘It’s not like you can play, you know the answers already.’

‘Exactly. I’m the Oracle. I am the holder of all knowledge. Once you’ve asked your three questions, if you’re still stuck you can come to me for a clue, but if you do, I will deduct half a point off your final score.’

‘Let’s open the cards,’ I say, not even attempting to follow Joanne’s convoluted marking system. I lean back in my chair and slip my thumb under the edge of the flap, tearing the paper open. Inside is a black card with the same pattern as the original invitation and with the same white font. I read mine.

DIANA, PRINCESS OF WALES

1 July 1961 – 31 August 1997

First Wife of HRH Prince Charles

Had an affair

‘Keep your card with you at all times so no one sees it,’ instructs Joanne.

I look up and watch Andrea open her card and then give a small frown before replacing it in the envelope. Zoe is flicking the corner of her card between her finger and thumb.

‘Are these real people?’ she asks.

‘Is that a question for the Oracle?’ replies Joanne.

‘No, I—’

‘Shhh. Don’t say anything. Remember the rules. You can ask three questions only and then you can ask the Oracle for one clue only.’

‘OK. I get it,’ says Zoe. ‘Can I go first?’

‘Fill your boots,’ says Andrea, holding her envelope to her chest.

‘I’ll ask Carys first.’ Zoe turns to me. ‘Are you alive or dead?’

Joanne interrupts before I can answer. ‘Carys can only answer yes or no.’

Zoe pokes her tongue out at Joanne and looks at me. ‘Are you dead?’

I laugh. ‘I don’t think so. No, sorry, that wasn’t the answer. Am I dead? Yes.’

‘My second question,’ says Zoe. ‘Are you female?’

‘Yes.’

‘Last question for today. Were you born in the nineteen-hundreds?’

‘Yes.’

‘Hmm, that doesn’t help much.’

‘Right, let me ask my questions now,’ says Andrea, entering the spirit of the game. ‘Are you a criminal?’

‘No.’

‘Did you die before your sixtieth birthday?’

‘Yes.’

Andrea drums her fingers on the table. ‘This is hard.’ She looks around the room. ‘And you say there are clues in the house?’

‘That’s right. And don’t forget you can ask the Oracle for one clue each day. Of course, you may want to ask that in secret, or you can share the information with each other.’

Andrea narrows her eyes. ‘I’ll ask the Oracle later. Right, Carys, my last question. Do you have children?’

‘Yes.’

‘That still hasn’t helped much,’ says Zoe. ‘I’m going to have a look for some clues. Unless anyone wants to ask me some questions.’

‘I do,’ I say.

‘And me,’ says Andrea. ‘Then you can ask me some.’

As we ask our questions and get the yes or no replies, we all scribble in our notebooks. ‘So far, I’ve got this about you, Andrea,’ I say at the end of the questions. ‘You are female. You are dead. You lived in the 1800s. You were married more than once. You had children. You were a criminal.’

‘I have no idea who she can be,’ says Zoe.

‘Neither do I,’ I admit. I look at the next page in my book. ‘Zoe, you are male. You are alive. You are British. You are famous for a crime but it’s not a violent crime. You are not a celebrity.’

‘You’re all doing really well,’ says Joanne, giving us a round of applause.

‘That’s easy for you to say – you know the answers,’ says Andrea.

‘I do. And by the end of the weekend, you all will know too. I can’t wait to see the look on your faces,’ says Joanne. ‘Anyway, if you’re clever enough, you’ll realise the answer is staring right at you.’ For a moment, her smile drops but she quickly recovers her usual cheery expression. Joanne stands up. ‘Time for a stroll out to the woods before it rains. The weather is so changeable up here.’

She purposefully avoids looking at me as she busies herself with pushing the chair in and hurrying us along. I don’t know why, but that little look I caught on her face has left me feeling unsettled. There was no warmth to it, rather the opposite: cold and hard. I can’t help wondering what she was thinking at that moment.

I hang back while Zoe and Andrea make their way upstairs to get their jackets and walking boots. I look out of the window, surprised to see light mist swirling around in the sunless sky and the grey clouds overhead are giving a gloomy appearance to the landscape.

Hearing the footfall on the floorboards upstairs, I seize my opportunity. ‘You’ve gone to a lot of trouble with this secrets game,’ I say, as Joanne stands in the doorway, fastening her jacket.

‘I like these sorts of things, they’re fun.’

‘Fun for all of us, right?’

‘Probably more fun for me, if I’m honest.’ She looks up from her zip.

‘And this is only a game?’

‘Of course it is,’ she says. ‘Unless you’re worried I might know your secrets.’ She gives a fake laugh, as Andrea and Zoe clomp down the stairs. At which point Zoe chides me for not being ready. As I squeeze by Joanne in the doorway, she gives a smile. ‘Only a game,’ she says, as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

Chapter 7

Pulling down my woolly hat and yanking on my gloves, I feel quite well protected against the elements and ready to explore the Scottish countryside. I fall into place alongside Andrea and we follow Joanne and Zoe round the back of the croft and up the hillside towards the trees.

The forest consists of a variety of trees, mostly tall firs but some deciduous varieties, too, whose foliage is a mix of yellows, reds and browns as the autumn is beginning to take over. Underfoot the ground is uneven; small rocks and stones hamper our stride and we take care where we place our feet. Already leaves have begun to fall, and they lie scattered across the ground like woodland confetti.

As we walk deeper into the woods, I can feel the drop in temperature despite my fleece. ‘Is it me, or is it cold in here?’

‘Nope, not you. It’s definitely colder,’ says Andrea. ‘Hey, Joanne! You do know where you’re taking us, don’t you?’

All the trees look the same to me. We are following a track that weaves its way around the trees and climbs the hill.

‘Yes, don’t worry,’ calls Joanne. ‘Anyway, like a good boy scout, I’m always prepared. I have a compass and a map but, yes, I do know where we’re going.’

Twigs crack underfoot and once or twice I think I hear rustling noises in the undergrowth and bushes. ‘This place is giving me the creeps,’ I say, and as I do, another noise catches my attention. ‘Did you hear that? It was a rustling noise. From those bushes.’

We all stop to listen.

‘That’s the river,’ says Joanne. ‘It flows down from the hills and eventually joins up with the main river that you saw outside the croft. There’s a walk, Archer’s Path, that runs alongside the river. We’re going there tomorrow.’

‘Never mind tomorrow,’ says Andrea. ‘What about today? How much further? My legs are killing me.’

‘You should be the fittest of us all,’ says Joanne. ‘You’re the one with the gym.’

‘Yes, but I’m the owner, remember?’ says Andrea. ‘Unfortunately, you’re more likely to find me stuck behind the desk these days, dealing with a mountain of paperwork, than you are to find me heading up an exercise class. Rugby boys excepted.’

Joanne looks blank.

‘She took some sort of spinning glass with the local rugby team,’ I supply.

Joanne gives an exasperated look to the sky. ‘Oh, my heart bleeds for you. Can anyone hear those violins?’ She mimes playing the stringed instrument while humming a sad and mournful tune. Joanne turns and walks backwards. ‘Don’t think you’ll get any sympathy from me, you’re the one who wanted to be the sole owner.’ She spins on her heel and jogs ahead to catch up with Zoe.

‘That’s me told,’ says Andrea.

‘She’s still prickly about it all, then,’ I say. It’s more of a statement than a question.

‘You noticed, huh?’

‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘I’m not worried,’ says Andrea. ‘But it pisses me off that we always make allowances for Joanne. She gets to say what she likes and none of us ever stand up to her. Why is that?’

‘It’s just Joanne being Joanne. You know what she’s like. It’s amusing at first, especially when it’s directed at other people, but at some point she always manages to turn it on you. Then you’re like, “How am I now the butt of her barbed comments?” She does it in such a way that no one wants to say anything because, at the end of the day, she does very generous things. Like this weekend.’

‘I know. She can be totally endearing one minute and an absolute bitch the next, and yet we still love her,’ replies Andrea. ‘At the moment, she’s definitely in absolute-bitch mode.’

We walk on in silence for a few more minutes. Ahead of us, Joanne is chatting away to Zoe. She calls to Andrea and me from time to time, chivvying us along.

‘We’re here!’ she announces at last, with a flourish of her hand.

‘Praise the Lord!’ says Andrea.

We step out from the trees into a small clearing which seems almost circular in shape. In the centre is a heavy stone slab on top of four smaller stones, which have been carved to almost identical sizes of roughly three feet in height.

‘It’s an altar,’ says Joanne. ‘Apparently, the Vikings used to make human sacrifices here in honour of their gods. When their chief died, the chief’s female slaves would volunteer themselves as sacrifices to follow him into the afterworld so they could tend to him there. They were bathed, dressed in white linen, given some sort of drug to relax them, and then they walked to the altar, where they’d lie down and have their throat cut.’

‘Lovely,’ I say.

‘You wouldn’t catch me doing that for my boss,’ says Zoe. ‘I’d be bloody dancing on that altar.’

‘Good thing Tris isn’t your boss any more,’ says Andrea.

I’d forgotten Zoe used to work for Tris, back when he was still with the local NHS Trust. Zoe was a secretary in the psychology department where he was one of the senior psychologists. Although, since then, Tris has moved into private practice where the money is more lucrative.

Zoe clasps her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, sorry, Joanne. I didn’t mean Tris. I only meant I wouldn’t do that for any man.’

Joanne grins. ‘It’s OK. I’m with you on that. I wouldn’t be offering myself up as a sacrifice for Tris either. Do you honestly think I want to go to Valhalla and spend eternity washing his dirty socks and pants?’

‘What are those petals on the altar?’ asks Andrea as we approach the stones.

Now we are closer, I can see a dozen or so red petals have been scattered across the stone. They look like rose petals, but there aren’t any roses in sight.

‘There’s another Norse legend,’ says Joanne. ‘I can’t remember all the details, but Mrs Calloway, the owner of the croft, told me about it once. Apparently, the son of a Viking king fell in love with a local Scottish girl but her mother was against it. She pleaded with the king not to allow the wedding. The king said the gods would be offended, so to atone for angering the gods, the mother would have to sacrifice herself. So she did.’

‘Did it work?’ asks Andrea.

‘I can’t remember. But after that, young people who wanted to get married would come here and spread petals on the altar to receive the gods’ blessing. Something like that, anyway. The petals are supposed to represent the mother’s blood and the sacrifice she made for her child.’

‘What a load of mumbo-jumbo,’ says Andrea.

Joanne shrugs and looks at the petals. ‘I didn’t realise people still did it. I thought it was one of those folk stories. I suppose we should be grateful it’s only rose petals and not a human sacrifice.’

‘Ooh, stop. The thought of people having been killed on this slab is giving me goosebumps,’ says Zoe, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

Andrea gives a sharp intake of breath and grabs hold of my arm. ‘Did you see that?’

‘What?’ I look in the same direction as Andrea.

‘I thought I saw something behind those trees.’ She moves a step to her left, still holding on to my arm. ‘Through there. I definitely saw something.’

‘You’re getting jumpy,’ says Joanne. ‘There’s nothing out there.’

I watch as Joanne begins to walk towards the outer edge of the clearing. She doesn’t seem in the slightest bit bothered.

‘I can’t see anything out there,’ I say, in a bid to reassure Andrea, not to mention myself.

‘You’re winding us up,’ says Zoe. ‘Trying to spook us.’

‘I’m not. I swear there was something or someone out there,’ says Andrea. ‘Joanne! Don’t go. Stay here.’

‘Honestly, there’s nothing out there,’ says Joanne, continuing to make her way further into the trees. ‘I’ll prove it. Hello!’ she calls out. ‘Hello, Mr Fox or Mr Bogeyman. Are you there?’ Her voice echoes around the trees and bounces back from all sides.

‘What’s that there?’ says Andrea, pointing to the ground.

As I look, I’m met by the sight of a rabbit carcass, which has obviously been picked at and eaten by other forest animals.

‘That’s disgusting,’ says Zoe.

‘Yuk,’ says Andrea, turning away and looking in the direction Joanne went. ‘Where the hell has she gone?’

I scan the clearing and the trees beyond but I can’t see her. ‘Joanne? Joanne! Where are you?’

I let go of Andrea’s arm and head over to where I last saw her.

‘Don’t go off on your own,’ calls Andrea. She comes running over to me, Zoe hot on her heels.

‘She can’t have disappeared,’ says Zoe. ‘You don’t think—’

‘Shut up,’ snaps Andrea. ‘Joanne!’

‘But you said you saw something or someone out there,’ says Zoe.

I call for Joanne again, but there is still no answer. The others follow me.

‘All stay in sight,’ says Andrea. ‘I’ll look over here. Zoe, you go over there. Carys, you go straight ahead.’

Remaining in line and within sight of each other, the three of us move forward into the forest. I can feel my pulse rate increase and tension burrowing into the nape of my neck. Where could Joanne have gone? One minute she was here, the next vanished.

A noise to my left of rustling leaves makes me swing round. Suddenly, a figure jumps out in front of me.

‘Boo!’

I scream, which has the knock-on effect of making Andrea and Zoe scream too.

Joanne is standing in front of me, bent double with laughter.

‘You stupid fucking idiot!’ snaps Andrea. ‘What did you do that for?’

‘Oh my God, that was so funny,’ says Joanne, pausing to laugh again. ‘You should have seen your faces. Especially you, Carys. It was priceless.’

‘Bloody hilarious,’ I reply.

‘Ooh, were you worried about me?’ says Joanne, her laughter now subsided but her face still beaming with amusement. ‘Did you think the Bogeyman had got me? I’m touched by your concern.’

‘Not funny,’ says Zoe.

‘Where’s your sense of humour?’ says Joanne. ‘This is supposed to be a fun weekend.’

‘But at the moment you seem to be the only one having fun,’ says Andrea.

‘Don’t be a sourpuss. You’re annoyed because you’re not in charge.’ Joanne turns on her heel and marches off, leaving us to follow.

Chapter 8

‘Who fancies a glass of wine?’ asks Joanne, as we gather in the living room, jackets and boots discarded in the hallway.

‘This fire is lovely,’ I say, warming my hands in front of the fireplace. ‘I’ve always fancied an open fire at home.’

‘It’s nice but it is a lot of work,’ says Joanne. ‘I’m assuming that’s yes to the wine for you all?’ We all agree that wine is a good idea and she heads off to the kitchen.

‘Have you seen this?’ says Andrea. She is on the other side of the room looking at the various photographs that are arranged in different frames on an old whatnot in the corner. ‘The owners must be proper royalists, they’ve put a picture of Diana and Charles on their wedding day in a frame and lined it up with their own photographs. How funny.’

My ears prick up at the mention of Diana and I wonder if it’s anything to do with my character card. I casually wander over to the photographs.

‘I didn’t think the Scottish were fond of the royal family,’ says Zoe, from her position on the sofa. ‘And if they are, why wouldn’t they have a picture of Charles and Camilla?’

‘Princess Diana fans?’ I suggest. I pick up the photo frame and make to casually inspect it.

‘Maybe.’ Andrea continues to prowl the room, looking at the books on the shelf along the wall.

‘I’m going to nip upstairs to change my trousers,’ says Zoe, getting up from the sofa. ‘Think I’ll put my tracky-bottoms on. Much more comfortable.’

‘I did suggest that when we came in,’ says Andrea. ‘Where’s Joanne got to with that wine?’

‘I’m doing it now,’ comes Joanne’s voice from the hallway. ‘Just had to nip to the loo.’ She comes back into the room with the wine. ‘Here we go,’ she says, placing the tray she’s carrying on the chest in the middle of the room and opening the bottle.

Zoe comes bounding down the stairs. ‘Hey, guys! Look what I’ve found.’ She opens the palm of her hand and a gold wedding band glistens in the firelight.

‘A wedding ring?’ I move closer to get a better look and pick it up from Zoe’s hand. ‘Where did you find that?’

‘It was on my bedside table,’ says Zoe. ‘Which is weird as I definitely don’t remember seeing it there before. I’m sure I would have noticed when I unpacked earlier.’

‘It must be the people who rented the croft before,’ says Andrea, taking the ring from me. She slides it on to her finger. ‘It looks like a woman’s ring. It’s too small and thin for a man’s wedding ring.’

‘You’d think they would have noticed by now that they had lost it,’ I say. ‘It’s not like a piece of jewellery you would wear only occasionally.’

Automatically I feel the ring finger on my left hand and thumb the bare skin. Joanne is watching me; feeling like a naughty child who has been caught out, I drop my hands from sight of her prying eyes.

‘A wedding ring should never be taken off,’ says Joanne. ‘I wear mine all the time. Don’t you agree, Andrea?’

‘I keep mine on twenty-four-seven,’ she replies.

Joanne looks at me again. ‘It’s not yours is it, Carys? You’re not wearing one?’

‘No, not mine.’

Fortunately, Zoe speaks before Joanne can say any more. ‘And it’s definitely not mine as I wouldn’t dream of wearing it. Not after what that cheating bastard did to me. I wouldn’t be stupid enough to make that mistake for a third time.’

‘A third time?’ says Andrea, raising her eyebrows in Zoe’s direction.

‘I mean, second,’ she says, and then to appease our looks of surprise goes on to clarify: ‘The first guy I was serious about, it was a long time ago. We weren’t married, only engaged, but that’s as good as in my book. He was another waste of space. I sure know how to pick them. So, back to what I meant to say: I wouldn’t make the mistake of getting married a second time.’

‘How old were you at the time?’ asks Andrea.

‘Oh, really young. Only twenty,’ replies Zoe. She takes a large gulp of wine. ‘We were just kids and had some romantic notion about love and marriage. I think my parents were more disappointed than I was when we broke up.’

‘Did you finish with him?’ Andrea continues with her questioning.

Zoe swirls the contents of her glass in small circular motions. ‘He finished with me, if you must know.’ Her brow creases into a frown and she drops her gaze, but not before I see the hurt and anger in her eyes.

I feel sorry for Zoe; from what I can tell, she hasn’t had much luck where men are concerned. No wonder she doesn’t like to talk about it, especially if she’s had a failed marriage and a broken engagement.

Andrea gives a sympathetic smile. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll meet someone one day who will love you as much as you love them.’

‘I know,’ says Zoe. I notice a small blush creep on her face which doesn’t go unmissed by Joanne.

‘My, my, Zoe, I do believe you’re blushing, again. Come on, what’s his name?’

‘There isn’t anyone,’ says Zoe. ‘No. Seriously. There is no one. Anyway, about this ring. We should let the owners know that we’ve found it in case the previous guests have reported it missing. It’s still a mystery how I didn’t see it before, though.’

‘Put it on the mantelpiece for now,’ says Joanne. ‘I’ll email them when we get home and let them know.’ She takes the ring from Andrea and pops it next to the photograph taken earlier. Then she turns to me. ‘How long have you not been wearing your wedding ring?’

I feel myself bristle but realise I will sound childish if I tell Joanne it isn’t any of her business. ‘About a year,’ I reply.

‘Don’t you feel strange without it?’ says Joanne. She passes me a glass of wine she has just poured.

‘Not now. At first I did, but it didn’t seem right to go on wearing it,’ I say.

‘You don’t feel a tiny bit disloyal to Darren?’ She passes the other glasses round and takes a sip from her own.

I feel obliged to answer. ‘No. I don’t, actually. We had separated and were going through a divorce.’

‘What about Alfie? How does he feel about you not wearing it?’

‘Really, Joanne, it’s nothing for you to concern yourself with. And Alfie’s thoughts are definitely none of your business.’

‘Don’t take offence. I was only asking.’

‘I’m not taking offence. Let’s just forget about it. It really isn’t important.’

‘Sure.’ Joanne gives a tight smile. ‘How is Alfie anyway? He said he was thinking of quitting counselling.’

I have no idea what Joanne is talking about. To say it irks me that she seems to know more about my own son than I do is an understatement. However, it is nothing compared to the hurt I feel knowing my son has confided in Joanne rather than me, his own mother. I compose myself, not wanting to give Joanne the satisfaction of having one over on me. ‘I don’t think now is the right time to talk about Alfie’s counselling.’ I look round at the others. Zoe looks down, suddenly finding her shoes very interesting and Andrea pulls a sympathetic, this is awkward face.

‘No, you’re quite right,’ says Joanne. ‘I’m sorry. Let’s have a toast to both our birthdays.’

We all join in with a degree of over-enthusiasm to disguise yet another awkward conversation. Zoe begins to chatter away about the latest diet she’s on, which will clearly go to pot now, but who cares, we’re here to party!

I force a smile and join in, although the celebratory mood has left me. I was foolish to think this weekend would be some sort of reconciliation. Right now, far from forgiving Joanne, I want to throttle her.

Chapter 9

‘Hey, what do you make of Zoe being engaged before?’ asks Andrea as we get ready for bed. ‘Did you know that?’

‘No, but then she’s quite private about her marriage.’

‘Yeah, she doesn’t like to talk about it. All I know is that he was a rotten bastard and he lives up in Liverpool now.’

‘I don’t think they’re even on speaking terms. When they need to make arrangements for the boys, they do it via text messages.’

‘She’s pretty bitter about her ex.’

‘Bitter. Yes, you could say that. Probably just as well they live so far apart. She absolutely loathes him.’ I let out a sigh as I think back to Darren and wonder if we would have gone down that path and ended up hating each other. I’d like to think not.

‘You all right?’ asks Andrea.

‘Me? Yeah, I’m fine,’ I say, although I’m aware I don’t sound particularly convincing. Thinking of Darren, together with Joanne’s comments about Alfie, has left me feeling emotionally exhausted.

‘Joanne was out of order earlier,’ continues Andrea. ‘She should keep her nose out of your business.’

‘Try telling her that,’ I say, as I pull off my T-shirt and fish out my pyjamas from the drawer. ‘She sees Alfie as her business.’ Pulling my pyjama top on, I slide my hands round my back and unfasten my bra and slip the straps from my shoulders, before yanking it out from under my top. ‘As I said to you before, Alfie spends so much time there, he tells her more than he tells me.’ I fling the bra on to my bed. ‘And that really hurts.’

‘Perhaps he finds it easier to talk to her. He’s at that age where sometimes it’s hard to speak to your parents. I’m sure Bradley doesn’t tell me half of what he’s thinking or doing.’

‘I appreciate that, but it still hurts. All I’ve ever done is try to support him, to look after and look out for him. He hates me. I’m sure about that.’

‘He doesn’t hate you,’ says Andrea. She sits down on her bed. ‘You’re his mum and he loves you. He’s obviously still having a hard time coming to terms with what happened.’

‘It’s bloody damaged him psychologically,’ I say. The effect of the wine from earlier is loosening my tongue. ‘It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have had that huge argument with Darren. If I hadn’t, then he wouldn’t have been so desperate …’ I conquer the urge to say more.

‘None of that was your fault,’ says Andrea. She knows I feel guilty, but the depth of her appreciation of that guilt only reflects what she knows. She doesn’t know everything.

I fling myself back on the bed and put an arm over my face. If I hide my face, she can’t see there’s something else that weighs heavy on my conscience. ‘I wish I could have shielded Alfie from seeing Darren like that. I can cope with it; I’m strong enough. He’s not.’

‘You can’t change what happened.’

‘You know what the worst bit is?’ I sit up, guilt making way for anger. ‘Darren knew Alfie was outside, waiting for me. He knew we’d come in the house together, but he didn’t give a damn. In his warped mind, he was punishing me. He was going to make sure I lived with this for the rest of my life. He hated me for wanting a divorce and he wanted to get some sort of revenge. Not once did he consider what he would be putting his son through.’ I scrunch the bedspread in my fists as the anger storms through me. ‘That’s the bit I cannot forgive. He bloody well knew Alfie would see him, and that was his way of punishing me forever.’

‘At best, he was mentally ill and at worst a selfish bastard,’ says Andrea. She moves to sit next to me and puts a comforting arm around my shoulders.

‘Joanne’s not helping either. She shouldn’t be bringing Alfie into it. She’s out of order.’

‘I can speak to her, if you like?’

‘No. Don’t do that.’ I shake my head vigorously. ‘I can deal with her. But thanks anyway.’

Andrea gives my shoulder a squeeze and kisses the side of my head. ‘Right, no more talk of Darren. Not for tonight anyway.’ We exchange a smile before she continues, ‘This game of Joanne’s. What do you think to it?’ Andrea gets up and takes her washbag from her rucksack and extracts her face-wipes. ‘She’s gone to a lot of trouble.’

‘That’s Joanne for you.’ I resume my horizontal position on the bed and stretch out my legs, thankful that my hobby of cross-country running has stood me in good stead for the ramble up the hillside and through the forest earlier.

‘Do you want to team up?’ says Andrea with a grin.

‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours, type of thing?’

‘You got it.’ Andrea rubs her face with the wipe.

‘Appealing as the idea may be, I think we should at least try to work out who each other is,’ I say. ‘It’s a bit unfair on Zoe if we team up.’

‘Spoilsport,’ says Andrea with good humour. ‘Maybe tomorrow we should try to find the clues Joanne mentioned.’

I think back to the photograph of Charles and Diana. I’m pretty sure that’s a clue about my character, left for one of the others to find. I take out my notebook and go back over the information I’ve found out about the other characters. ‘We get to ask each other three more questions tomorrow.’

‘I’m going to need more help,’ says Andrea. ‘I haven’t the patience for all this. I’m never going to be able to work it out. We’ll have to ask Joanne for a clue.’

‘Good idea. We’ll consult the Oracle.’

‘That’s if we make it back from the all-day hike she has planned for us.’ Andrea drops the used face-wipe into the bin and picks up her washbag. ‘Where did she say we were going?’

‘Archer’s Path,’ I reply. ‘She said it’s a fabulous walk and takes a couple of hours. I hope the weather holds out, it wasn’t looking so good this afternoon.’

‘I’m going to brush my teeth,’ says Andrea. ‘Won’t be a moment.’

I pull back the duvet and climb into bed. I need to think of something other than Alfie. I don’t want to spend the night replaying my confrontation with Joanne and worrying about what Alfie may or may not have said to her.

Andrea comes back into the room. The look on her face instantly alerts me, something is not right. I sit up. ‘You OK?’

‘No. I’m not. Look what I just found in my washbag – and I sure as hell didn’t put it in there.’

How are you feeling now? Enjoying the weekend? Probably not, and that’s such a shame. You don’t think anyone has noticed, do you? That no one has seen your body language, the way the pallor of your face changes when you’re upset. The way it goes from a pinky glow to a deathly white, almost translucent. And the way your pupils dilate and your breathing quickens when the ‘D’ word is mentioned. They are only small modifications to your behaviour, small enough to go undetected by those who are not looking for them, but not small enough for someone like me to miss.

I don’t mind admitting this is giving me much more of a thrill than I thought it would. I love how I have the power over you. I have the control. I am the puppet master. I am Geppetto and you are Pinocchio.

Are you unnerved? You probably don’t know why, but you can sense something is wrong. I like the thought of the fear and panic this makes you feel. I wonder if that’s how you reacted before? When you had to confront your worst nightmare? Did you panic then? You never speak about it. Why is that? Don’t answer. I know why that is. If you speak about it, people will feel entitled to ask you questions, awkward questions. Ones you’d sooner not face. You’ve never told anyone your secret.

And the reason for that? Because you feel guilty – and rightly so. You are guilty. You have ruined my life and I am about to ruin yours. I’m coming for you, so you’d better watch out.

SATURDAY

Chapter 10

Any idea that I might be able to sleep in the following morning is dashed by Joanne banging on the bedroom doors at eight o’clock and then poking her head into the room to announce breakfast will be ready in half an hour.

‘Is she serious?’ groans Andrea, snuggling further into her bed. ‘I was hoping I’d have a nice gentle wake-up call, breakfast in bed, even.’

I laugh. ‘Oh, she’s serious all right. I think she wants to head off on this hike at about ten.’

Andrea pulls the duvet back down. ‘I suppose I’d better show willing.’

I swing my feet out of bed and perch on the edge of the mattress. ‘Are you going to show the others what you found last night?’

‘I guess so. It must be part of the game. Although, I don’t know what the significance is.’

I reach over and pick up the dollar bill that Andrea found in her washbag. ‘It’s definitely meant for you, no mistake. I was wondering last night if that wedding ring Zoe found was put there by Joanne as part of the game. It could be a clue.’

‘Yeah, I thought that too. But again, I’ve no idea what the significance is. And if both Zoe and I have had something left for us, that means you’ve got something coming to you.’

‘I’m a bit nervous now,’ I say with a laugh. ‘I’m going to be on edge the whole day, waiting for something to turn up.’

I get up and make my way to the bathroom. As I stand under the shower, I let my mind drift to the game and the clues so far. Something is nagging at the back of my mind and I can’t quite put my finger on it. Something to do with the wedding ring.

It isn’t until I have finished showering and am brushing my teeth that it suddenly comes to me.

My character card, Diana, Princess of Wales, the wedding ring and the out-of-place photograph of Diana and Charles must all be connected. My card said I was an adulteress. The wedding ring signifies the marriage, the photograph is the out-of-place thing in the house.

I spit the toothpaste down the sink and rinse my mouth while musing over the US dollar bill Andrea has been left. Obviously something to do with money. I think back to yesterday where we discovered that Andrea’s character had committed a crime but not a violent one. Was bank robbing a non-violent crime? Was she a famous bank robber? Bonnie and Clyde come to mind straight away. I’ll have to look at my notebook to check. Then I will look around the house for another clue.

I can’t help grinning to myself. I quite like this game now. Of course, I won’t be able to tell Andrea. No. I’ll have to keep this to myself.

Ten minutes later, I’m downstairs with the others, tucking into a cooked breakfast Joanne has been kind enough to prepare. ‘This is really good of you,’ I say, trying to get the new day off to a fresh start. ‘I wouldn’t normally eat this at home, but somehow it’s different when I’m away. I can always manage a full English.’

‘I’m exactly the same,’ says Zoe.

‘We need to have our energy levels high for today’s hike,’ says Joanne.

‘Notice she didn’t say walk,’ says Andrea, raising an eyebrow. ‘The word hike is slightly unsettling me.’

‘You’ll love it,’ says Joanne. ‘It really is a beautiful walk, and the waterfall and vantage point at the end is well worth the effort. I’ve prepared a packed lunch for each of us. If you can all carry your own, that will save one of us carrying too much.’

‘Before we head off, I have something to tell you,’ says Andrea. She puts her knife and fork together, pushing the plate away. She leans back so she can get her hand in the front pocket of her trousers and produces the money she’d found the night before. She puts it on the table.

‘What’s that?’ says Zoe, picking up the note.

‘That was in my washbag last night.’ Andrea looks over at Joanne.

‘Don’t look at me,’ says our hostess.

‘Too late,’ I say with a laugh. ‘You most definitely got the look.’

‘Anyway, as I say, it was in my washbag. I definitely didn’t bring it with me, so I can only assume it’s part of the game,’ says Andrea.

‘What does it mean?’ asks Zoe, inspecting both sides of the note.

‘We haven’t worked that bit out yet,’ says Andrea. ‘Feel free to share any ideas.’

Zoe frowns. ‘Sorry, I don’t have any. I don’t think I’m going to win this game. I have no idea what’s going on.’

‘All will become clear,’ says Joanne. ‘Keep playing.’

‘Can we ask our next three questions?’ I ask. ‘That will give me something to think about today.’

Ten minutes and nine questions later, we can add some more details to our notebooks.

‘To summarise,’ I say. ‘Zoe, we now know these things about your criminal activities. You acted alone. You went to prison but you are now out. You were in the newspapers. It was to do with a bank and it was in the last twenty years.’

‘Aha, I think I know who you might be,’ says Andrea, a satisfied look on her face. ‘All I need now is to find a clue around this place.’

‘Remember, don’t say anything until tomorrow evening,’ says Joanne.

Andrea mimes zipping her mouth closed and sits back with folded arms.

‘OK, Miss Clever-Clogs,’ says Zoe. ‘Let’s ask Carys her questions. I’ll go first.’

‘Fire away,’ I say.

Five minutes later, Zoe is studying her notebook. ‘This is hard. I can’t think who you might be. You were in the public eye. You were very popular. You were not a TV celebrity. You were not a singer. You married someone famous. Wait a minute … I think I know who you are. Damn it, I want to ask another question but I can’t.’

‘What about you Andrea? You any the wiser?’ I ask.

‘Possibly.’ Andrea taps her notebook with her pencil.

‘We need to get off on our walk soon. Are you going to ask Andrea any questions?’ says Joanne.

‘I’ll ask first,’ says Zoe. ‘Andrea, we know from yesterday you are a criminal, so my first question today is, are you a murderer?’

Andrea nods. ‘Yes.’

‘Question two. Were you caught for your crime?’

‘She must have been,’ I say. ‘We wouldn’t know about it otherwise.’

‘But you’ve asked the question and can’t change your mind now,’ says Andrea. ‘And the answer is yes.’

‘Knickers,’ huffs Zoe. ‘I didn’t think of that. OK, last question from me. Did you hang for your crime?’

A stilled silence swamps the room. Joanne throws me a sideways look and then exchanges one with Andrea. Of all the questions Zoe could have asked, she had to mention hanging. It seems like minutes but in fact it is only a couple of seconds. I realise everyone is waiting for my reaction. I swallow, fake a smile and urge Andrea to answer the question.

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