The Birthday Girl

by Sue Fortin

  A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  Copyright

  HarperImpulse

  an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street

  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: 9780008222154

  Version: 2017-10-16

  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 tabl
e 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.