Люси Фоли - The Guest List

The band begins to play again. Everyone spills towards the dance floor. I stand here rooted to the spot.

And then the lights go out.

OLIVIA

The Bridesmaid

He was right. I’m never going to tell Jules now.

I think about how he twisted it all around. How he made me feel it was my fault, somehow, everything that happened. He played on the shame he made me feel: the same shame I have felt ever since I saw him walk through the door with Jules. He has made me feel small, unloved, ugly, stupid, worthless. He has made me hate myself and he has driven a wedge between me and everyone else, even my own family – especially my own family – because of this horrible secret.

I think about how he grabbed my arm just now, by the cliff. I think of what might have happened if Jules hadn’t come along. If she had seen, everything would be different. But she didn’t and I’ve missed my moment. No one would believe me, if I told them now. Or they’d blame me. I can’t do it. I’m not brave enough for that.

But I could do something .

And then the lights go out.

JULES

The Bride

The cake wasn’t enough. It felt petty, pathetic. He has let me down, irrevocably. Like every other bloody person in my family. I overrode all of my carefully constructed security measures for him. I made myself vulnerable to him.

The thought of him smiling at me as we cut down, our hands joined on the cake. His hands that have been all over my own sister’s body, that have – God, it’s all too disgusting to contemplate. Did he think about her, when we slept together? Did he think I was too stupid to ever guess? He must have done, I suppose. And he was right. That’s one more small part of what makes it so insulting.

Well. He has underestimated me.

The rage is growing inside me, overtaking the shock and grief. I can feel it blossoming up behind my ribs. It’s almost a relief, how it obliterates every other feeling in its path.

And then the lights go out.

JOHNNO

The Best Man

I’m outside in the darkness. It’s blowing a bloody gale out here. It feels like things keep appearing out of the night. I put up my hands to fight them off. Most of all I’m seeing that face again, the same one I saw last night in my room. The big glasses, that look he wore in the dorm that last time, a few hours before we took him. The boy we killed. We both killed him. But only one of our lives has been destroyed by it.

I’m feeling pretty out of it. Pete Ramsay was passing stuff out like after-dinner mints – the effects are finally taking hold of me.

Will, that fucker. Going into the marquee like nothing had happened, like none of it had touched him: big fat grin on his face. I should have finished him off in that cave, I think, while I still had the chance.

I’m trying to get back to the marquee. I can see the light of it, but it’s like it keeps appearing in different places … nearer then further away. I can hear the noise of it, the canvas in the wind, the music—

And then the lights go out.

AOIFE

The Wedding Planner

The lights go out. The guests shriek.

‘Don’t worry, everyone,’ I shout. ‘It’s the generator, failing again, because of the wind. The lights should come on again in a few minutes, if you all stay here.’

WILL

The Groom

I’m washing the cake off my face in the bathroom at the Folly. Getting here was no picnic, even having the lights of the building to follow, because the wind kept trying to blow me off course. But perhaps it’s good to have some space, to clear my thoughts. Jesus, there’s icing in my hair, even up my nose. Jules really went for it. It was humiliating. I looked up afterward and saw my father, watching me. Same expression he’s always worn – like when the first team was announced for the big match and I wasn’t on it. Or when I didn’t get into Oxbridge, or when I got those GCSE results and they were a whisker too perfect. More like a sort of grim satisfaction, like he’d been proven right about me all along. I have never once seen him look proud of me. That in spite of the fact that I’ve only ever tried to better myself, to achieve, as he always told me to. In spite of everything I have achieved.

Jules’s expression when she picked up that slice of cake. Fuck . Has she worked something out? But what? Perhaps she was still just annoyed about the ushers carrying me off like that: the interruption to our evening. I’m sure it was that and nothing more. Or, if needs be, I’m sure I can convince her otherwise.

It wasn’t meant to be like this. It all suddenly feels so fragile. Like the whole thing could come crashing down at any moment. I need to go back there and get a handle on everything. But what to sort out first?

I look up, catch sight of my reflection in the mirror. Thank God for this face. It doesn’t show one bit of any of it, the stress of the last couple of hours. It’s my passport. It earns me trust, love. And this is why I know I’ll always win, in the end, over a bloke like Johnno. I wipe one last tiny crumb from the corner of my mouth, smooth my hair. I smile.

And then the lights go out.

NOW

The wedding night

They crouch over the body. Femi – a surgeon in ordinary life, which feels very far away right now – bends down over the prone form, puts his face close to the mouth and listens for any sounds of breathing. It’s futile, really. Even if it were possible to hear anything over the sound of the wind, it is quite clear from the open, cloudy eyes, the gaping mouth, the dark stain of crimson at the chest, that he is very dead.

They are all so focused on the motionless form in front of them that none of them have noticed that they are not alone, none of them glimpsing the figure that has remained shrouded in darkness on the edge of their circle. Now he steps into the light of their torches, looming out of the blackness like some terrible, ancient figure – Old Testament, the personification of vengeance. They don’t even recognise him at first. The first thing they see is all the blood.

He appears to have bathed in it. It covers his shirt front: the garment now more crimson than white. His hands are steeped to the wrists in it. There is blood up his neck, blood crusted along his jaw, as though he has been drinking it.

They stare at him in silent horror.

He is sobbing quietly. He raises his hands towards them and now they catch the glint of metal. So the second thing they see is the knife. If they had time to think about it they might recognise it, the blade. It’s a long, elegant blade with a mother-of-pearl handle, most recently seen slicing through a wedding cake.

Femi is the first to find his voice. ‘Johnno,’ he says, very slowly and carefully. ‘Johnno – it’s all over, mate. Put the knife down.’

Earlier

WILL

The Groom

Fuck. Another power cut. I fumble in my top pocket for my phone, flick on the torch as I step out into the night. It’s really blowing a gale out here. I have to put my head down and lean into it to make any headway. Christ, I hate it when my hair gets messed up by the wind. Not the sort of thing I’d ever admit out loud – it wouldn’t be very on brand for Survive the Night .

When I look up to check the direction I am walking in, I realise that there’s someone coming towards me, visible only by the light of their torch. I must be lit up to them while they remain invisible to me.

‘Who’s there?’ I ask. And then, finally, I can make the shape of them out.

Make her out.

‘Oh,’ I say, in some relief. ‘It’s you.’