Ava squares her shoulders, her back ramrod straight, as upright as the piano itself. She’s always held herself like a ballerina, and her shoulders rise as she takes a deep breath. The blue silk of her dress ripples. A pin dropping could be heard in the room as everyone watches in silence. She raises her right hand and presses a key. Nothing happens. She hunches slightly and presses it once more. Still no sound. She pushes her finger down repeatedly on the key, but the only noise it makes is a muffled thud. She holds it down and releases it slowly. Still nothing. Somebody coughs.
‘Never mind the fireman, does anyone know a piano tuner?’ a voice calls out, and people laugh. Others look embarrassed, willing the piano to respond to Ava’s touch. I’m wringing my hands, desperate for this to go right for her. It was working fine last time she played.
She looks at Felix, frowning.
‘Technical hitch,’ he says. ‘Talk amongst yourselves for a moment.’ Conversations start, quietly at first and growing louder as Ava gets to her feet.
‘Can you lift the top?’ she asks Felix, and Gareth jumps forward to help him.
I’ve seen her look inside the piano many times, finding its mechanism fascinating: the way the little felt-covered hammers hit the strings to make the notes. Now she kneels on the piano stool and strands of her hair fall forward as she leans over to peer in. Her ribs press against the fabric of her dress. Whatever she sees makes her gasp aloud, and she springs back, her hands landing on the left-hand side of the piano, the keys resounding in a deep, jarring sound. I grab her to stop her losing her balance.
Felix and Gareth are still holding the lid up, both trying to see what the problem is. Steph beats them to it and climbs on the stool to look into the dark space. ‘What the …’ She reaches down, the effort showing on her face as people press forward to see what’s going on. ‘Ouch!’ She pulls her left hand out, and a drop of blood falls onto the keys. She sucks at her finger, then leans in again, stretching down and bringing her hands out, releasing a flurry of dark petals onto the stark white keys. The whole room falls silent.
‘What on earth?’ Felix looks at her as he and Gareth lower the top back down.
‘They’re rose petals, it’s full of them. Hang on, something weird happened with roses earlier on, didn’t it?’
Ava breathes in deeply, and I feel her ribs expand against her back. Murmured conversations have started around us, excited and worried. I snatch a glance at Martha, who has come to Ava’s side and is looking sceptical.
‘Oh my God,’ I say, reaching to touch Ava’s arm, ‘are you OK?’ She shakes my hand away and draws herself up to her full height.
‘Felix,’ she says, ‘help me take these out, and then I’ll play. Give me a couple of minutes, everybody,’ she says, her voice quiet at first but gaining strength.
Felix holds the piano lid up again while Gareth and Steph scoop out the petals and three thorny rose stems. I can’t tell whether these are the same roses that were in the vase on the bookcase earlier. Whether they are or not, it’s clear to me now that someone is trying to sabotage the evening. But who, and who exactly are they targeting? It was my frame on the bonfire. Kate appearing – what if someone has sent her? Could they be trying to ruin the party to get at me? Does somebody know the truth?
‘They’re all out,’ Steph says, pressing a tissue against her finger. ‘You sure you want to do this, Ava?’ She sweeps the petals onto the floor, her lip curled in distaste.
‘Oh yes,’ Ava says, ‘more than anything.’
She sits back down on the piano stool, aligns her posture and tests the notes that previously were stuck. A clear sound rings out.
‘Before I start,’ she says, ‘I have a message for whoever has been trying to upset me this evening.’ People exchange worried looks, faces creased with consternation, bewilderment, disbelief. ‘Nothing can take away from me what I am about to do.’
She raises and lowers her shoulders, then lifts her hands, the diamond sparkling as if in triumph, and begins playing a beautiful tune to the mesmerised crowd.
When she has finished, she stands and turns to face the room, her friends rushing forward to circle her with their arms. Martha is leaning in the doorway, watching as I scan the crowd, looking for guilty faces.
Thirty-Nine
Ava
While people are still congratulating me on my piano playing, Steph comes over with Mum’s cake on a plate, one candle flickering in the middle. Everyone cheers as I blow it out, screwing my eyes shut and wishing for a hitch-free journey to New York.
‘Help yourself to cake,’ Steph tells them.
‘And thanks again for coming,’ I add.
Bob Marley’s ‘Jamming’ bursts into the room, and some people start dancing. It’s a favourite of mine ordinarily, but now the happy music feels out of place, the elation I felt immediately after playing gone. Was it enough to exorcise those demons? The last time I was scheduled to play was the service one year after the accident, in memory of Tess, at school. The feeling of all those eyes watching me, drilling their accusations into my head, didn’t leave me afterwards. I closed the piano lid and walked off stage and didn’t play again until recently. He’s never even heard me play.
Ben. What has happened to him? It would have been so perfect for him to be here when I announced our engagement. But this party is anything but perfect.
Some guests are leaving now, and I force a smile, try and look as if I’m having the best time. The acrid smell of bonfire still wafts from people’s clothes. Martha takes my elbow.
‘You played beautifully. I’m so proud of you for not letting the roses put you off. I’m convinced this is down to Lena.’
‘But she was there, comforting me. She wouldn’t do this. Although she did say she sensed Ben was reluctant to come.’ I tell Martha exactly what Lena told me earlier.
‘I think we should have it out with her. Let’s go and speak to her now. Don’t give too much away; be subtle. And don’t mention the passport. What we want is for her to trip herself up. She’ll deny everything, of course, and we need to catch her out.’
Friends flash smiles at me as I follow Martha through to the kitchen on unsteady feet, and I smile back, the expression feeling unnatural as worry churns inside me. A woman stands in the kitchen eating a slice of cake. She raises her eyebrows at me, making an apologetic face.
‘Yum,’ she says when she’s swallowed her mouthful, licking icing from her fingers. ‘That is one delicious cake. Who made it?’
‘My mother.’
‘She has to be a professional, right?’ She sets her plate down on the table, next to what remains of the cake. But this one is made of plain sponge with dark red jam inside and black icing. Mum always makes me chocolate cake, my favourite. ‘I’ll cut you a piece if you like,’ she says.
‘No thanks.’ My voice sounds strangled. This isn’t my mum’s cake. This is the cake I shoved out of sight and tried to push out of my mind. The cake that was delivered with no note on, sender unknown. The number 13 has been sliced in two, and only the half with the 1 on remains.
Martha notices that the colour has drained from my face. ‘What’s up?’ she asks.
‘This cake turned up earlier and we don’t know who sent it. It had the number thirteen on it.’
‘Thirteen meaning …?’
I pull a face. ‘Lena and I assumed it’s to signify thirteen years since …’
‘Oh.’ Her eyes flash with sadness and she pushes her hair out of her face, looking less composed. ‘This is all getting a bit weird.’
‘What I want to know is who got it out of the fridge, and why.’
Martha turns to the woman. ‘Did you see who cut this cake?’
‘No, a couple of people were handing it out. A guy gave me mine; battered leather jacket, bit scruffy-looking.’
‘Some people never change,’ Martha says. ‘Sounds suspiciously like Gareth to me. But anybody could have wandered in here after a few drinks and spotted a cake in the fridge.
It’s hardly a crime.’
‘No, but it could be connected.’
‘Wait here,’ she says. ‘Get yourself a drink. I’ll be back in a sec.’
I cut a slice of the cake and put it on a paper napkin. The sponge is light, well baked and looks like a normal Victoria sponge. It smells normal too. My suspicious mind is telling me it could be poisoned, but I shake my head to get rid of the ridiculous thought. It’s me who’s the target of this vendetta, not my guests.
Martha comes back in followed by Kate, who is holding a tray with a few slices of the cake left on it. Lena trails behind her, going over to the fridge and taking out a bottle of beer.
‘Mystery solved,’ Martha says. ‘Gareth is asleep on the sofa – apparently he’s been out of it for ages – but Kate saw who got the cake out of the fridge.’
‘It was Pete,’ Kate says. ‘Hey, Pete!’ she calls out into the garden, and I haven’t the energy to stop her. ‘We didn’t know where you guys were, but seeing as half of it had been eaten we thought it had been left for us. Did I do something wrong?’
‘No, it’s fine,’ Martha says. ‘We don’t know where it came from, that’s all.’
Pete appears in the doorway. ‘Why are you all looking at me as if I’ve committed a crime?’
‘You took this cake out of the fridge, didn’t you?’ Kate asks.
‘Yes, so what?’
‘Why are you still here, Pete?’ I tear my eyes away from the cake and look at him properly for the first time. ‘Wasn’t harassing me at work enough?’
‘I apologised to you. I was an idiot; I hate myself for it.’
‘The cake?’ Kate waves the plate at him.
‘It’s just a cake. Jesus, can’t you all chill out? If you don’t want it, I’ll chuck it on the fire.’
Lena freezes, bottle of beer held aloft in one hand.
‘Why would you say that?’ she asks. ‘Was it you who threw my picture frame on the fire?’
‘What?’ I say.
Kate crosses to Pete. ‘Come on, mate, time you were getting off, I think.’
Pete holds his hands up. ‘I give up. I’ll never understand you women.’ He follows Kate out of the room.
‘For God’s sake, Lena,’ Martha says. ‘Why do you have to make everything about you?’
‘Are you sure you don’t know anything about it, Martha?’ Lena is trying to get the lid off her beer bottle. ‘It seems to me strange things are happening now you’re back.’ The cap is tight and her arm tenses as she twists hard. She eventually gets it open just as Kate comes back in.
‘Where’s Ben, Lena?’ Martha asks.
Lena is about to take a drink, but she stops, bottle frozen in front of her.
‘Am I psychic?’
Martha rolls her eyes. ‘We don’t think you’re being straight with us about his whereabouts.’
Lena looks from Martha to me, her expression wary. ‘Is that what you think?’ she says, addressing me. ‘What is this?’
‘Where’s your phone?’ I ask.
‘Seriously? You want to go through my phone? I can’t believe you’re falling for Martha’s game.’
‘Let me see it and then I’ll apologise. I’m worried, I just want to know where Ben is.’
‘I know you don’t want to hear this, but maybe it’s his way of letting you down gently.’
‘You keep saying that and then going back on it. Has he said something to you?’
‘Of course not. You wouldn’t believe me anyway, the way you’re behaving tonight.’
‘Oh God,’ I say, slumping down onto a chair. ‘I’m scared, Lena.’
‘Of what?’
I take a deep, unsteady breath. ‘I––’
Martha interrupts me. ‘Is something going on between you and Ben, Lena? Is that why you’re being so cagey? Ava’s worried that something has happened to him. Is that what you want?’
Lena laughs out loud. ‘Of course not. I hope you aren’t listening to her lies, Ava. I’m sorry Ben isn’t here yet, but it’s not my fault. What I want is for you to enjoy yourself. That’s why I organised this party. You must know that.’
‘And it’s a great party,’ Kate says, putting a piece of cake into her mouth. I’d forgotten she was there. Lena glares at her and I don’t understand what it means. Maybe she asked Lena about moving in and Lena didn’t want to know. She doesn’t seem to want to stay in this house at all without me.
‘Leave it, will you?’ Lena spits the words out, but Kate doesn’t look fazed.
‘Where is Pete?’ I ask.
‘He’s gone home. I put him in a cab.’
The tension in my shoulders eases a little. One less thing to worry about.
Kate and Lena are still staring at one another. A series of bangs from down the street makes us all jump.
‘Great,’ Kate says. ‘Another display. I wonder if we can see it from your garden.’ She wanders outside, glancing at Lena as she goes.
‘Listen to me,’ Martha says. ‘Trashing your room when you find out your supposed best friend is getting married is not a normal reaction. You should be happy for her.’ She turns her attention to me. ‘She doesn’t care about you, Ava, and I’m glad you’re getting away. All she cares about is herself. What’s going to happen to her when you move to New York? Because she won’t be able to cling to you any more, the way she’s spent her whole life doing.’
Lena looks at me, and I know what she’s thinking before she says it. ‘Have you forgotten what happened?’
A gulf of sadness wells up inside me. As if I could ever forget.
‘Of course I haven’t forgotten,’ I tell her. ‘You saved my life that day. I owe everything to you. But I understand you now, Martha. Why you had to leave. At the time I was too wrapped up in myself. I resented you for leaving home and not being there for me. I didn’t understand why you two couldn’t just get on. But I know now that you were grieving and I should have realised that then. Staying at home meant you couldn’t get away from it. But Lena was there, she was the one who was there for me and helped me build myself up again. It’s thanks to her you’ve still got a sister.’ My voice catches in my throat. I don’t want to tell Martha about the day Lena found me slumped in my university room, losing consciousness after all the pills I’d taken. None of my family know about that.
‘Don’t trust her,’ Lena says. ‘She’s here for a reason. Her intentions are black, like the roses she’s been sending.’
Martha laughs. ’How poetic. She’s fooling you. That pathetic newspaper article up on her wall. Wallowing in the past, her fifteen-minute claim to fame. I’ve never believed in those heroics anyway.’
‘You weren’t there. How can you say that? I saved your sister’s life, Martha. What is wrong with you? I know it’s you who’s been sending the roses.’
‘Prove it,’ Martha says, her eyes fierce.
‘We don’t know for sure it wasn’t Gareth, unlikely as it is,’ I say.
‘Martha could have put him up to it. She’d do anything to get at you.’
‘Maybe I’ve made a mistake coming here,’ Martha says. ‘I wanted to sort things out with you before you go, Ava, but I can’t get near you because of her. Which is what made me stay away in the first place. Why can’t you see through her? I hope you’ll make a clean break when you go.’
‘Why can’t you two stop fighting? I’ve had enough.’
‘Because I don’t trust her and you shouldn’t either,’ says Lena. ‘Has she told you that she’s forgiven you? She’ll never let you forget what you did to Tess. Because that’s what all this is about, isn’t it?’
A memory flashes into my head of Tess in the kitchen at that party, the sparkle in her eye when she talked about passing her driving test, twisting the keys in her hands with pride. The scar on my shoulder twinges, and I rub my fingers over it to calm it down. After what I did, I deserve to be here fighting with these women, my best friend and my sister, abandoned by my boyfriend and feeling uncertain about a future
that only yesterday I thought I had sorted. I thought I knew Ben, but in one evening my confidence in our relationship has been undone. The scar is throbbing now and I struggle to breathe. I want to get away from this atmosphere, which is cloying like the sickly smell of roses.
Just then Kate comes back into the kitchen. Martha looks at her quizzically.
‘Do I know you?’ she asks. ‘I’m sure I’ve met you before.’
Kate shakes her head, shrugging into the jacket she’s carrying, extracting a car key from her pocket. ‘Don’t think so.’
‘How do you know Ava?’
‘I’m a friend of a friend.’
‘You mean you don’t recognise the great Martha Thomas?’ says Lena, her tongue curling around the words in distaste.
Kate’s hand pauses in zipping up her jacket.
‘I’m a TV presenter,’ Martha tells her.
‘I don’t watch television. Anyway, thanks for the party, guys. Lena, it was great to catch up.’
Forty
2005
Ava shrugged the hand off her shoulder. She was aware she was drunk; everything was magnified. Yellow balloons were swirling around the room and everyone was jumping, trying to hit one. A mass of yellow floated towards her like flying blancmange and she broke away from Danny. The party was happening around her, people jostling and bumping into her, dancers knocking against her, music pounding in her head, the room a seething mass.
Bright lights flashed. She was looking for something. She screwed up her forehead in concentration. The insistent beat of the music was pulsing underneath the floor, making her legs judder. It was hard to stay upright, and all around her bodies pressed into her, swaying, sweating, arms flying, mouths open, laughing. Why were they laughing? Or were they singing? Music, that was what it was, a rhythmic sound thudding through her body; of course, she was at a party and she had to dance. She lurched forward, bouncing into the back of someone.
The Leaving Party: An absolutely gripping and addictive psychological thriller Page 17