The Birthday Girl: The gripping new psychological thriller full of shocking twists and lies. Sue Fortin
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‘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