by Sue Fortin
‘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 k
ing 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?’ sa
ys 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?’