The Birthday Girl

by Sue Fortin

  Zoe gives me a questioning look, which I answer with a shrug. Then after a second or two of internal debate, she unzips her jacket. ‘OK, I must admit, I can’t wait to get out of these wet clothes either. But if she’s not turned up by the time we’ve showered and changed into dry clothes, we have to look for her. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed,’ I reply.

  Zoe hands me my jacket. ‘Thanks for the borrow. See you in five.’

  I take the jacket and hang it on the peg. ‘Let me grab some dry clothes first and then I’ll put the kettle on and light the fire.’

  Dressed in a dry pair of jogging-bottoms and T-shirt, I go into the living room, half-expecting Joanne to be sitting in the armchair, smiling smugly at me, but the room is empty. I have a quick look in the dining room and kitchen, in case she’s in there, but again, there is no sign of her.

  I shiver and goosebumps run down my spine. I can’t shake off that undercurrent of something not being right. The sight of my reflection in the window makes me jump and I scold myself for letting the strange atmosphere in the house get the better of me.

  As I go about setting the fire and lighting it, I can hear the shower running upstairs and then Andrea calling out to Zoe that she has finished. Doors open and close, footsteps patter across the landing and the shower runs again, this time accompanied by the muted sounds of Zoe singing.

  The fire takes ages to light, but eventually the little pieces of kindling and white firelighter blocks catch. The smell of paraffin from the blocks seeps into the room as the fire takes hold. I stand up and from the corner of my eye, I catch a movement through the window. I spin round to face the glass, but only my reflection looks back at me.

  I wonder if it’s Joanne outside, attempting to creep into the house without being noticed. The anger that has been simmering quietly below the surface all afternoon flares up and I stride down the hall to the front door, intending to turn the tables and catch her by surprise this time.

  I grab the torch from the shelf and yank open the door but am greeted only by the advancing dusk, the daylight long since swallowed up by the grey tones of the evening and deteriorating weather. I flick the light switch by the front door and the driveway is illuminated in a soft amber glow which fades and fizzles out as it stretches away from the croft.

  I peer into the monochrome landscape, wafting the torch from side to side, the beam sweeping the driveway. ‘Joanne? Is that you?’ As I step out from the shelter of the porch, the wind catches a loose strand of my hair, whipping it across my face. I hook it with my finger and hold it against the side of my head. ‘Joanne, are you there?’

  The bushes rustle as a stronger gust of wind chases its way across the driveway. The branches of the trees yield to the wind, bowing in deference to the elements. The wind buffets against my ears, distorting the sound and for a moment I am thrown off balance as I lose my orientation and stumble to one side. The front door slams behind me and while my brain registers the sound as unthreatening, my body is a nanosecond ahead and sends adrenalin rushing through my nerve endings as I jump and let out a small shriek.

  Every instinct is telling me to go inside, but another sound, a stifled high-pitched noise, one that is out of place with the surroundings and weather conditions, breaks through the momentary pause in the wind. I shine the light to the left, where the sound came from. ‘Joanne? Is that you?’

  My feet involuntarily lead me towards the rear of the croft.

  Nothing is giving me greater pleasure than knowing that the whole weekend is not going at all like you planned. That you are nervy and uneasy. That things are not within your control and other people are calling the shots, forcing you to do things you don’t want to do. All the time people are challenging you, questioning you. And you won’t like that one little bit.

  You must know that things aren’t going to get any better. I bet the alarm bells are ringing in your head but you don’t want to say anything for fear everyone will accuse you of being paranoid or overreacting. You probably think they’ll mention your nerves and ask you if you’re still taking your medication or whether you should perhaps go back to the doctor. And by the same token, if no one voices their fears, you’ll certainly be wondering if that’s what everyone is thinking.

  It’s not nice when that happens. Trust me, I know. And that’s your fault. They say revenge is a dish best served cold. Soon my patience will be rewarded. You’d better watch your back.

  Chapter 14

  ‘Boo!’

  I scream and drop the torch while simultaneously realising it is Joanne. ‘You stupid idiot!’ I hear myself yell. ‘You frightened the bloody life out of me.’

  Joanne is laughing as she picks up the torch and hands it to me. ‘I should say sorry, but it’s just too funny.’

  I ignore the offer of the torch and spin on my heel, marching indoors, with Joanne following me, laughing as she does. Andrea appears at the top of the landing.

  ‘Oh, look who it fucking is,’ she says, on spying Joanne. She folds her arms. ‘Our illustrious leader.’

  ‘Ooh, do I detect a hint of unrest in the troops?’ says Joanne, clearly enjoying herself. ‘Don’t be spoilsports.’

  Zoe makes an appearance alongside Andrea. Wrapped in a towel, her hair drips down her shoulders. ‘I thought I heard your voice,’ she says. ‘There was me thinking something had happened to you. I should have saved my worry for someone more deserving.’

  ‘My, my, we are all touchy, aren’t we?’ says Joanne, and for a change she looks slightly miffed by our reaction. ‘I knew Carys would take care of you both and lead you to safety.’ She pats my shoulder. ‘We can rely on Carys to do the right thing, can’t we?’

  ‘Leave it,’ I say, going into the kitchen. ‘Sometimes you take things too far.’

  ‘Don’t be such a bore,’ retorts Joanne, following behind me. ‘You never used to be. I know it was pretty miserable of Darren to do what he did, but you can’t let it carry on affecting you this way.’

  I can feel the words balling in my throat as I almost choke on them, but before I can speak, Andrea launches in.

  ‘You’re so insensitive sometimes, Joanne,’ she says.

  ‘I’m being honest, that’s all,’ comes the reply. ‘I don’t mean to upset you, Carys, I promise. But what sort of friend would I be if I didn’t tell you the truth?’

  I flick the kettle on. ‘You’re assuming that I want your opinion.’

  ‘Look, regardless of whatever relationship you’re in now, I know you’ve never got over Darren’s death – and for good reason.’ I go to interrupt but she holds up her hand to silence me and carries on. ‘But you have to think of the effect your disposition is having on your son.’

  I slam the cup I’m holding down on to the worktop. ‘You know that expression about treading on dangerous ground, or that one about skating on thin ice? Well, that’s exactly what you’re doing right now.’ I step closer to Joanne, who doesn’t flinch. ‘Keep your opinions and theories about what I’m doing and how that relates to Alfie, to yourself. You know nothing.’

  I storm past her, allowing my shoulder to brush her own as I go and I’m instantly reminded of how Alfie did this to me on Friday and for a moment I have a small glimpse into his mindset. I’m not sure I like it. I hear Andrea tell Joanne that she’s an idiot and should keep her mouth shut. I pause on the stairs and march back through the dining room to the kitchen doorway. ‘You know what, I thought this weekend would be fun, a chance for us all to get back to the sort of friendship we used to have, but I was wrong. This weekend isn’t for that at all, it’s for you, Joanne, to bitch and make catty remarks at every possible opportunity. OK, I get it, you’re pissed off with me and probably Andrea and Zoe too, but this is the wrong arena for it. If I’d known what this weekend was really about, I’d never have come. And if there was any way I could leave now, right this minute, I would.’

  This time I make it all the way up to my room without going back for another rant. I slam the door to u
nderline my fury at Joanne.

  Taking deep breaths, I stand at the window and look out across the rear garden at the cordon of trees which hems the croft. I turn and go over to the opposite window, hoping the open landscape will give a sense of space and light. The mist that is now rolling off the river obscures my view and only adds to the suffocation.

  I pace the room and finally force myself to sit on my bed. My anger, as always, is short-lived. I’m not one for sudden outbursts and I put my display of fury down to a physically tough day and an emotionally challenging thirty-six hours. As my equilibrium returns, I can feel the guilt begin to form and take shape. Did I overreact? Possibly. My reactions remind me of Alfie when his temper erupts. Maybe he is more like me than I realise, although I certainly don’t take it to the extremes he does. Fortunately, I can exercise control and I come down much quicker. I should have spoken to Joanne in a calm manner and explained to her quite clearly how her comments were upsetting me.

  After a few more minutes of contemplation, I decide that I should speak to her to clear the air, but before I can do anything, the door opens and Andrea comes in.

  ‘Hiya, is it safe to come in or do I need a flak jacket and hard hat?’

  I wave her in. ‘None needed. All is calm once more.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ She sits on the bed opposite me. ‘Feel better for it?’

  ‘Kind of. But I also feel embarrassed about flaring up like that. I was thinking I should go and speak to her.’

  ‘She’s downstairs.’

  ‘Is she OK? I didn’t upset her, did I?’

  ‘Upset Joanne? You’ve got to be kidding! I have the distinct impression she enjoyed winding you up.’

  I let out an agitated sigh. ‘I’m still going to speak to her, though.’

  ‘Well, I’m going dry my hair out and then go downstairs and open the wine,’ says Andrea. ‘Zoe’s sorting herself out too. Now would be a good time to speak to Joanne.’

  When I venture downstairs, Joanne is nowhere to be found. The fire is burning nicely and the flickering flames jitter around the log, illuminating the room in a soft yellow hue.

  I go upstairs and pause outside Joanne’s bedroom door. I can’t hear any movement inside but I knock gently and press my mouth to the doorframe. ‘Joanne? You in there?’ There’s no response. I remember the notebook in my room and quickly scrawl Joanne a note.

  I poke the paper under the door so she will see it before she leaves the room and hope she interprets it in the spirit it’s been written in.

  When I go back in the bedroom, Andrea is asleep on the bed. I take the blanket from the wardrobe and drape it over her. Today’s exertions seem to be getting the better of everyone and as Zoe hasn’t emerged from her room either, I guess she’s taking a catnap too.

  Not wanting to disturb Andrea, I make my way downstairs again, pausing in the hallway to inspect the semaphore pictures on the wall. They must be spelling out something but without a copy of the semaphore alphabet, I have no idea.

  As I browse the bookshelf in the hope of finding a book which will reveal the code, I get the sense of being watched. I turn around and Joanne is standing in the doorway.

  ‘Didn’t want to make you jump again,’ she says, with a small raise of the eyebrows.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, aware there is an awkwardness between us.

  She holds the note that I’d slid under her bedroom door in the air. ‘Shall we go outside? It’s more private.’ Joanne doesn’t wait for me to answer but heads off towards the door.

  Through the mist and gentle glow from the kitchen light, everything outside appears a little distorted, sharp edges and definitions lost. It’s like looking through a grimy net curtain where the light is diffused and detail is missing. The shed is a grey shadow hovering above the lawn in a swirl of fog and the trees up on the hill resemble a smudged charcoal sketch, as they loom over the croft.

  Joanne is standing on the patio with a cigarette in her hand. She lights it and blows the smoke out in front of her.

  ‘I thought you’d given up?’ I say.

  ‘I have. Let’s call this a relapse.’

  I wonder if I’ve upset her more than I realise. ‘I’m sorry for getting so angry earlier. I didn’t mean what I said.’

  ‘Yes, you did. We both know that.’ She continues looking straight ahead, her cheeks hollowing as she draws on the cigarette and holds the smoke in her lungs before expelling it through her nose. ‘You really do wish you’d never come.’

  I push my hands into my pocket. ‘Only because of all the tension.’

  ‘I was merely being honest. No need to get so uptight.’

  ‘You don’t get it, do you?’ I give a small shake of my head. It is exhausting even trying to apologise to Joanne. I feel my temper rise again. ‘If we’re being honest here, then I’ll tell you a few things that have been bothering me. I don’t like the way you feel you have an automatic right to say what is good for Alfie and what isn’t. I appreciate that he spends a lot of time at your place with Ruby, but that doesn’t give you the right to lecture me about my son.’

  ‘I wasn’t lecturing you. I was letting you know that you’ve changed. You’re more serious, more cautious, more guarded.’

  ‘And your point in listing my character flaws is …?’

  ‘Because I can see what’s happening to you, even if you can’t. You’re heading for a fall, big time.’

  ‘Joanne, I have no idea what you’re on about.’

  ‘OK, I’ll be blunt.’ She turns to face me. ‘You know as well as I do that Ruby’s affection for Darren wasn’t one-sided. I’ve found something out since then. Something that backs up what I’ve always suspected.’

  Fear and panic ravage my brain, I feel light-headed from the verbal blow and air evacuates my lungs as I struggle to breathe.

  I wheeze out a reply. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Joanne’s eyes narrow and her jaw tenses. ‘You might have forgotten or chosen to forget how charismatic Darren was. He could be very charming, very flirtatious and very persuasive.’

  I want to dispute this, but the truth is, Joanne is right. Darren was all those things. ‘Where’s this going?’ I manage to say and I can hear the surrender in my own voice. While I don’t want to have this conversation because of the end destination, I need to know what Joanne has found out. I need to know what I’m up against and how much harder I must fight to keep Alfie safe.

  ‘You need to open your eyes, Carys, and see Darren for what he really was.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘A manipulative, lying bastard.’

  I can’t refute this. That’s exactly what he was. ‘No one’s perfect,’ I say.

  ‘But where is that line of what’s acceptable and what isn’t? I know Ruby was eighteen at the time, an adult in the eyes of the law, but she was his student. He was in a position of power. She looked up to him. Yes, she had a crush on him, but he took advantage of her. He abused his position.’

  I can’t control the fear that is building up inside me. How can I, as a mother, ever admit that maybe Darren did have an affair with a student? How will that make me look now? More importantly, what sort of effect will that have on Alfie? How will he deal with the possibility that his father had no morals? I can’t let Joanne continue with this, even if it is true; I’ve gone too far down the denial path, I can’t turn back now.

  ‘What is the point of all this, Joanne? What do you want from me?’

  ‘I want you to admit that you covered up for your pervert of a husband.’ Her voice hardens and she jabs her finger in my direction. ‘Not once but at least twice. For all I know, there might have been other times.’

  ‘You talk about this new information, this new proof. What is it?’

  ‘You don’t need to know that yet. You’ll find out soon enough.’

  ‘This is a load of rubbish,’ I snap. ‘You don’t have proof. I don’t believe you have any proof, you’re making it up because you can’
t let go. You can’t bear the thought that your precious daughter might have been lying about the depth of their relationship in the first place and the fact that she was a silly infatuated teenager.’ I say it with such conviction that I almost believe it. ‘I’m not having this conversation,’ I say, but before I can turn to go indoors, I feel Joanne’s hand on my arm.

  ‘You’re not walking away from this. Not now. You’re going to listen to me.’

  Something about the look in her eyes makes me freeze. This is a different Joanne from the one who confronted me about this two years ago. That Joanne didn’t have the conviction in her voice. That Joanne was upset but in a disbelieving way. ‘Spit it out,’ I say, with a confidence that’s at odds with the vulnerability I’m feeling.

  ‘It’s not the first time Darren has had more than a professional relationship with one of his students.’ She pauses and studies my face before continuing. ‘I can see the fear and guilt in your eyes. Your reaction tells me everything I need to know.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘That this isn’t news to you. You’re not shocked. In fact, you’re angry and scared.’

  ‘You’re clutching at straws.’ My heart is pounding and my stomach rolling.

  ‘Leah Hewitt. Hammerton College.’ She punches the words out, the impacts hitting me in the stomach each time.

  I gasp for breath in my winded state and my legs want to buckle but I somehow remain on my feet. ‘Shut up. Shut the fuck up.’ I hear the words and recognise my own voice, surprising myself as I have no knowledge of even thinking it, let alone saying it.

  ‘Hit a nerve, have I?’ Her grip on my arm tightens. I try to shrug her off but her grip tightens even more. ‘That’s why Darren moved colleges, isn’t it? He was asked to leave and the college didn’t want a fuss made, it was all hushed up, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?’ She shakes my arm.