The Birthday Girl: The gripping new psychological thriller full of shocking twists and lies

‘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.’