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