The Birthday Girl

by Sue Fortin

  The ground is uneven, pitted with stones, rocks and rabbit holes that I can only see at the last minute but manage to leap over or swerve round. Wet strands of long grass whip the bottoms of my trousers as I hurtle towards the shed. I glance up at the house, but only briefly, the ground is too dangerous not to watch my tread. An unexpected rock causes my ankle to turn but I push on, gulping down the cry of pain which tries to break free. I don’t have time to dwell on the possible injury. I stay on my feet and keep moving.

  As I near the shed, I realise that my efforts to slow down are being hampered by the wet grass underfoot. Though I lean back and shorten my stride, it’s not enough. I’m going to crash straight into the shed. I have two options. Either thump straight into the shed and risk the possibility of alerting Tris that I’m here, or dodge the shed but grab it as I go by, in a bid to stop myself.

  I choose the latter and snatch at the corner of the shed. I feel a slice of wood dig into the ball of my hand, sending a searing pain that travels the length of my arm, but the shed does the trick and I manage to bring my uncontrolled run to a halt. I drop to the ground and sit with my spine pressed against the side of the shed, out of sight from the house, while I catch my breath and inspect my wounds.

  ‘Shit,’ I hiss, looking at my hand. A sliver of wood has sliced the palm below the base of my fingers and it stings. Blood oozes from the wound. There’s also a large splinter embedded deep in my index finger. It’s gone completely under the skin, leaving no end to pinch and pull out. It hurts like hell, but I’ve no option but to leave it for now. The cut concerns me more. I slip my backpack from my shoulders and rummage in the side pocket for the first-aid kit and set about cleaning the wound with a sterile wipe.

  When I can see the cut more clearly, it is apparent that whatever first-aid I administer will be a temporary solution only. The shard of wood has dug a wedge-shape gash in the skin, the breadth of my middle fingers; it wags up and down like a cat flap. I’m going to need stitches, I’m sure. In the meantime, I will have to make do with a square of gauze and a narrow white microporous bandage. I rip the end down the middle and tie it around my wrist, using my teeth to pull it tight.

  From my position at the edge of the shed, I have a clear view of the rear of the croft, about twenty metres away. I scan the downstairs windows but can’t see anyone. Keeping low, I scurry across the garden and hunch down at the side of the porch.

  I listen carefully for any sign that I have been spotted but it seems, so far, I’ve been successful. Slowly, I poke my head around the porch and, still crouching, move up to the door. Through the glass, I can see Alfie. He has his back to me as he stands at the worktop by the window overlooking the front of the property.

  He appears to be making himself a bowl of cereal and a hot drink. Filling the kettle and putting it on to boil. He’s moving his head from side to side and his shoulders are bobbing too. He has his earphones in and is, no doubt, listening to some heavy rock thrash music that he doesn’t have the courtesy to use headphones for when he plays it at home. He’s wearing a hoodie and, for once, this isn’t pulled up over his head. His jeans bag at the backside and bunch up at the top of his designer-label trainers. Ones he had wanted for his birthday, which I had bought him, even though I couldn’t afford them. My only thanks had been a grunt and a ‘ta’.

  Alfie appears to be alone in the kitchen. This may be my only chance. I quickly slip out of the porch and, keeping as close to the wall as possible, I navigate the woodstore and reach the double doors of the living room. I hold my breath as very slowly I look through the window. Tris and Zoe are both in the room. I can see their heads over the top of the sofa. Then Tris gets up and I snatch my head away, praying he hasn’t seen me.

  A couple of seconds pass and I hear Tris talking. He’s going to light the fire. I steal another look and this time he is kneeling in front of the hearth, raking the grate with a poker.

  This is the opportunity I need. I hurry to the door and gently apply pressure on the handle, breathing a sigh of relief when there’s no resistance: the door is unlocked. I slowly push against the wood and the door opens into the kitchen.

  Adrenalin surges through me and my breathing quickens.

  Whether it’s a subconscious thing or not, I don’t know, but as I step over the threshold, Alfie turns to face me. His eyes grow wide and his whole face flushes with surprise. The cup he has just taken from the hook slips through his hands but he somehow manages to stick his foot out to break the fall. The cup still hits the floor, but only the handle breaks off.

  I hold up my hand and pat thin air while putting my finger to my mouth with my other hand in a bid to silence him. He pulls out his earphones and stares at me.

  ‘Everything all right?’ comes Zoe’s voice from the living room.

  Alfie hesitates but I nod urgently and mouth for him to answer. ‘Yeah. All good,’ he calls.

  I let out a breath. ‘Get your coat,’ I whisper. It’s too cold outside to even think of venturing anywhere without at least a jacket. ‘Hurry up.’ Alfie seems rooted to the spot. ‘Alfie!’ I hiss as quietly as I can.

  ‘It’s in the hall,’ says Alfie, giving another glance towards the dining room and hallway beyond.

  I waggle my hand to urge him along. ‘Get it.’ Alfie looks down at the broken cup, but I tap his arm and almost push him out of the kitchen.

  For once, Alfie does as he is told and fetches his coat from the hall and pushes the kitchen door closed behind him.

  ‘We need to go,’ I say. ‘Put that on outside.’

  As I turn to leave the way I’d come in, the kitchen door opens. ‘I heard a clatter. Did you …?’ The question dries on Zoe’s lips. Momentarily turned to stone, she doesn’t move as she looks at me.

  I clasp my hands together in prayer. ‘Please, Zoe, please …’ I don’t need to say anything. We both know what I’m pleading for.

  Then Tris calls, ‘I could murder a coffee. Have we got any milk left?’

  ‘I’ll make it. You stay there,’ says Zoe. ‘Alfie’s going out for a cigarette.’

  I throw a look at Alfie, who shrugs. It’s the first I know about him smoking. Zoe makes flapping motions with her hands and, nudging Alfie out of the way, picks up the kettle. She looks at me and for a second we stare at each other. I don’t know what she’s trying to convey.

  ‘Come with us,’ I urge.

  Zoe shakes her head. ‘I can’t. You two go and get the hell out of here.’

  ‘Not without you.’

  ‘Please, Carys, go. I’m fine. I promise. I’m safe.’

  I can’t risk trying to change her mind. I can’t stay any longer, not if I want to save myself and, more importantly, Alfie. I must put him above and beyond any friendship. I give Zoe one last look before turning and grabbing the sleeve of Alfie’s jacket, which he has now put on, and yank him towards the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy a mobile phone. It’s not one I recognise but, without giving it any further thought, I grab it and drop it discreetly into my pocket.

  We run to the end of the garden and up the hill towards the trees.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Alfie pants.

  ‘I’ll tell you in a minute. Just keep running.’

  Once we are two or three trees deep into the forest, I allow myself to stop and lean against a tree as I catch my breath. I look at the phone I snatched from the kitchen. It looks like a cheap basic model.

  ‘Whose is this?’ I ask.

  ‘Dunno,’ says Alfie.

  I’m not entirely sure he’s telling me the truth, but I don’t question him further. Instead, I take a small waterproof pouch from my pocket and drop the phone into it, sealing it tight. The waterproof pouch is designed like a bum-bag to be worn around the waist, and I adjust the straps before fastening it in place. ‘I’ll keep it with me. It might come in handy,’ I say.

  ‘What are we going to do now?’ asks Alfie.

  ‘We can’t go into the woods. We’ll get lost. I’ve no idea how
far or even where to go to get help,’ I say, recalling my wasted efforts yesterday. ‘We have two options: the road, only I think it won’t take long before Tris catches up with us – he must have a car up here somewhere.’

  ‘What’s the other option?’

  ‘The river.’

  ‘The river?’

  ‘Yep. There are two kayaks tied to the jetty at the water’s edge in front of the croft. If we can get down there without being spotted, we can escape. Then we simply need to follow the river until we get to the nearest town. We can get help from there.’

  ‘Mum, this is crazy. Why are we running away from Tris?’

  ‘Because he’s dangerous. You’re going to have to trust me on this – I haven’t got time to explain. Believe me, we need to get as far away from him as possible.’

  ‘Mum—’

  ‘Alfie, don’t argue, not now. There’s Andrea to think of too. She’s fallen down a gorge and injured herself. She’s been there all night. She needs urgent medical attention. Please, trust me.’

  ‘Trust you?’ Alfie’s eyebrows rise above his fringe.

  My patience snaps. ‘Don’t start. For once in your life, please do as I tell you. We’re going to sneak down to the river and get in those bloody boats. Do you hear me?’ I realise at some point I’ve grabbed his upper arms. I move my hands away.

  ‘All right,’ says Alfie in a way that says keep your hair on.

  I’m relieved he’s decided not to argue. We don’t have time for that. Any minute now, Tris will surely realise Alfie has disappeared. I only hope Zoe’s OK.

  ‘Right, let’s go down the track,’ I say. ‘And then we can double back. Hurry – we haven’t got much time before Tris will be out looking for us.’

  We jog through the forest, keeping parallel with the track until we reach the bend in the road and then drop down on to the track and make our way up the lane, thus keeping well out of sight of anyone looking out of the windows of the croft.

  ‘We’ll have to take our chances from here,’ I say in a low voice. ‘Keep close to this edge and on the count of three, we’ll run down to the river. OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Ready?’ I look at Alfie, who nods. ‘One, two, three.’ I sprint from the side of the track as fast as I can. Alfie’s feet slap the ground behind me. We clamber up the embankment and then drop down the other side where the ground slopes towards the water.

  The kayaks are exactly where we left them. I pull the rope to undo the slip knot on one of them.

  ‘Take both of them,’ says Alfie, pulling the rope free on the other kayak. ‘We can set it adrift further up the river so Tris can’t use it to follow us.’

  ‘But it will slow us down,’ I say. Suddenly Tris is at the top of the bank. He must have seen us through the croft window and chased after us. He begins to shout our names. I yell at Alfie. ‘Get in the kayak! Quick!’ We both push the boats out into the river. The temperature of the water sends shock waves up my legs. It is absolutely freezing but I don’t have time to worry. As the water rises to my knees I glance behind me. Tris is now at the bottom of the bank and running towards the jetty.

  I shout again. ‘Come on, Alfie!’ He has only just pushed the second kayak away. If he’s not careful, Tris will catch him. ‘Get in!’ I yell as I throw myself into the first kayak and take up the paddle. The gash on my hand stings as I grip the wooden shaft of the paddle and I feel the wound under the bandage open.

  I look over my shoulder. Tris is nearly at the water’s edge. I urge Alfie with every fibre in my body to get in the boat and paddle.

  The kayak rocks from side to side as Alfie hauls himself into the seat behind me. He hooks the rope of the other kayak on to ours and takes up the paddle.

  ‘Go!’ he shouts, plunging the paddle into the water. I follow suit, ignoring the pain in my hand as I drill down with my paddle. Alfie shouts the strokes and, despite dragging another boat behind us, we soon settle into a rhythm and move at speed through the water.

  I hear Tris shout after us and I glance over my shoulder. He has run along the riverbank but now, realising he can’t do anything to stop us, has ground to a halt. His hands rest on his hips as he watches us.

  Chapter 28

  We paddle hard, the current in our favour as the river snakes its way through the landscape, widening along the way. The banks on either side are becoming further apart and the wind whips across from one side to the other, battering us as it does so.

  ‘How far are we going?’ calls Alfie. ‘My arms are killing me. Can’t we stop?’

  I rest the shaft of the paddle across my lap and turn to look at my son. ‘I want to put as much distance between us and Tris as possible.’ I look beyond Alfie at the other kayak we are still tugging. ‘We can get rid of that now.’

  ‘We’ll ditch it in a minute. Let’s stop for a rest now.’

  ‘OK,’ I concede. ‘We’ll stay in the kayak though, keep to the river in case Tris turns up in his car. I don’t want to be at a disadvantage. We can let the current take us along for a while.’ I move the paddle to place it lengthways down the kayak between our two seats. Alfie does the same with his. The sky ahead is grey and the temperature has dropped. ‘I don’t like the look of those clouds up there.’

  ‘Doesn’t look good from where I’m sitting either,’ says Alfie.

  I shift round on the seat of the kayak so I am now facing him. His voice sounds strange. Dark, like the sky. Cold, like the temperature. Hard, like the rocks that line the riverbank. His arms are resting on his knees. His long limbs scrunched up in the boat. His back is hunched and his head dipped, but under his thick lashes his eyes are fixed on me. He reminds me so much of Darren.

  ‘You OK?’ I ask. I lean forward to rest my hand on his arm in a comforting gesture. One that shows no challenge or confrontation. I’ve seen that look on his face before, rather too often of late. It comes and settles when he is brooding, when his mood is dipping and when I feel he is at his most volatile.

  Alfie moves his arm a fraction, enough for me to know he doesn’t want my sympathy. He is cross with me but I don’t know why. We eye each other for a second or two but it is me who speaks first in an effort to dispel whatever ill feeling Alfie is experiencing. ‘I haven’t had a chance to ask, but how did you get here? And what exactly are you doing here? Why come all this way?’

  ‘That’s a lot of questions.’

  ‘Like I said, I haven’t had a chance to ask you.’

  The kayak rocks gently in the current of the river as it carries us along. I have a sudden memory of rocking Alfie in a cradle when he was a baby, whispering soothing words to calm the angry little soul that he was. He’s always been what I would term high maintenance, even before Darren died, but there was love there in those days. Something I’m aware I haven’t seen in my son for a long time. I wish I could do something to help him. So many times I have questioned myself and my parenting of him as a youngster. Have I done something to turn him into this displaced, angry young man? All I’ve ever wanted is to love him, but he’s never wanted that. Not from me, anyway. Darren was the one Alfie always sought approval from and, as was his due, he received it. They were a little club of their own at times, Darren and Alfie, but I never minded. I always thought of it as a father-and-son thing and it gave me immense pleasure, knowing they were so close.

  Alfie sits up straighter and stretches out his legs. His fingers drum on his knee. ‘I got the train to Aberdeen and then hitched a lift to here.’

  Hitched a lift? I bite down on the urge to lecture him on the dangers of hitch-hiking. He is being particularly vague and there is an edge to his voice. He doesn’t want me asking questions. However, I have him trapped in the boat, he can hardly storm off. I decide to push my luck. ‘You hitch-hiked?’

  ‘Sort of,’ he says nonchalantly. ‘I got a lift with Tris.’

  ‘With Tris?’ Surprise pitches my voice in a higher-than- normal range.

  ‘For God’s sake, Mum! Will you st
op getting so freaked out by everything I say!’ Alfie glares at me. ‘It’s your birthday, right? I knew from Ruby that Tris was coming up here, so I tagged along. I wanted to surprise you.’

  I eye my son cautiously. He’s not shown any interest in my birthday since Darren’s death. Hasn’t even wished me happy birthday, let alone given a card or gift. I can’t help privately questioning his motivation today or the effort he’s gone to. ‘Well, you’ve certainly surprised me,’ I say. ‘What was Tris like when you were driving up? Did he seem agitated? Did he say anything about Joanne?’

  ‘He seemed normal. Said he could do without the drive, but Joanne had insisted.’

  ‘Was he cross with her?’

  Alfie gives a dramatic tut to emphasise his annoyance. ‘Can you stop with all the questions about Tris. Like I said, he seemed normal.’

  ‘You do realise what’s happened, don’t you?’ I ask. ‘And that Tris is probably involved in some way.’

  ‘What are you now, some sort of detective?’

  I rub my temples with my fingertips. I want to get up and pace around, but obviously it’s impossible in this little kayak. Even on open water, I feel blocked in. Deep breaths keep my rising hysteria regulated. I speak again, this time more controlled. ‘I know you couldn’t have realised what Tris had done, but you need to know … he’s dangerous. We have to get to the police station and tell them. They’ll want to talk to you about Tris. We can ring Seb and you can talk to him first. He could tell you what sort of thing to expect.’

  ‘Firstly, I’m not a fucking child, so stop treating me like one. I’m quite capable of talking to the police. And secondly, do you seriously expect me to speak to that wanker?’ says Alfie, his lip curling into a snarl. ‘I don’t think so.’

  I look at my son, forcing myself not to admonish him for his language. My heart is heavy at the sheer amount of hate he harbours. I shouldn’t have mentioned Seb. I had momentarily fantasised that Alfie would go to Seb for help and end up having a breakthrough bonding moment, where he’d finally accept Seb and realise he’s a good guy. How perfect that would be? We could all have our happy ending.