Sue Fortin - The Birthday Girl - The gripping new psychological thriller full of shocking twists and lies

‘Maybe it’s something to do with what happened with Darren.’ Andrea moves over to my bed and sits beside me.

‘Tell me about it! I can’t walk through the hallway without the image of Darren … you know … hanging there. It makes me feel sick. God knows what it’s doing to Alfie.’

‘No luck with the house sale then?’

‘No. I had someone view it the day before yesterday and they seemed keen. They were at the point of putting in an offer, but when they found out what happened, they changed their minds. It’s the third time that’s happened. No one wants to live in a house where the previous owner killed themselves.’

‘What about reducing the price?’

‘I think I’m going to have to, but that will mean I can’t afford somewhere quite so nice to move to. Look, please don’t say anything to the others. I don’t like talking about it, especially to Joanne.’

‘I won’t. But have you thought about asking Joanne to encourage Alfie and Ruby to spend time at your house for a change?’

‘That’s the thing. Ruby doesn’t want to come over because of Darren killing himself and Joanne is quite happy for Alfie to be there.’ I can feel the little blaze of irritation flare inside me. ‘I did actually speak to Joanne once about it and she told me that Alfie needed a safe place.’

‘A safe place? What the hell does that mean?’

‘According to Joanne, he needs somewhere he can go where he can relax and subconsciously know that nothing bad is going to happen. She said I should be grateful that he was there and not roaming the streets, getting into trouble.’

Andrea gives an indignant huff on my behalf. ‘She’s got a bloody cheek at times.’

The sound of Joanne calling from the bottom of the stairs punctuates the conversation. ‘Lunch is nearly ready!’ comes her sing-song voice.

‘Maybe things will be better after the weekend,’ says Andrea. ‘Like you said, this might be Joanne’s way of saying sorry.’

‘Yeah, I might be totally wrong about that,’ I say with a wry smile.

We spend a few minutes unpacking our things. ‘I’m all done,’ declares Andrea, pushing her rucksack under the bed. ‘You ready for lunch?’

‘You go ahead. I’ll be down soon,’ I say. ‘I want to freshen up first.’

After Andrea has gone downstairs, I sit on the bed and let out a long slow breath, as a sense of claustrophobia settles lightly around me. It’s not the house. It’s not the company. It’s the atmosphere. Joanne definitely seems spiky. Was I naïve to think this was a weekend of reconciliation? If I had my phone, I’d call Seb. To hear his reassuring voice and comforting words, in the way he can be both pragmatic and sympathetic at the same time, is what I really want right now.

I’m annoyed with myself for giving my phone over in the first place. It was a stupid idea and one I had gone along with too readily, hoping to appease Joanne. I decide to tackle her about it after lunch. It’s unreasonable of her to expect everyone to be out of contact.

Before I head down for lunch though, I take the little box of tablets from my rucksack and pop a white pill from the foil wrapper. I swallow it down, not needing any water. I feel better even before it has absorbed into my bloodstream. Just knowing I’ve taken it helps.

In the kitchen, I find Zoe stirring a big pot of soup and the sweet earthy smell of carrots and coriander wafts in the air.

‘I’ll set the table,’ I say, opening several cupboard doors before I find the bowls.

‘I was about to do that,’ says Andrea, entering the kitchen. ‘Joanne’s lighting a fire. Apparently, we’re in for some colder weather. Joy.’ She pulls a glum face.

‘Typical,’ I say, handing the bowls to Andrea and rummaging around in the cutlery drawer for spoons.

‘You OK?’ asks Andrea quietly, as Zoe nips through the dining room with a box of matches for Joanne.

‘Yeah. I could do with my phone though. I wouldn’t mind checking in with Alfie.’

‘Only Alfie?’ Andrea raises one eyebrow.

‘Maybe Seb as well,’ I confess.

Andrea gives a laugh as she goes into the kitchen. ‘Maybe?’ she questions. ‘Oh, I think, definitely.’

I look out of the dining-room window and gaze across the driveway to the riverbank beyond. The yellow gorse bushes sway hypnotically from side to side as they are caught and then released by the breeze. It’s a beautiful spot and I imagine on a summer’s day when the sun is shining it would be a heavenly place to come and escape from the world. However, by contrast, the grumpy skies and agitated weather are only adding to the undercurrent of disquiet.

Andrea comes in with some glasses, which she places at each setting. ‘Don’t be worrying about Alfie. He’ll be fine with Bradley and Colin.’

‘I know. Ignore me. I’m fine,’ I say, turning from the window and smiling.

‘That’s the fire lit,’ says Joanne, coming into the room. ‘Right, I’ll bring the soup in. Sit down, everyone.’

‘It smells delicious,’ says Zoe, sitting at the table. ‘I managed to resist the urge to have a little taster earlier when no one was looking.’

‘I know what you mean,’ says Andrea. ‘My stomach has been rumbling like mad.’

‘Well, the wait is over.’ Joanne brings in the pot and places it on the table, before carefully ladling soup into each of our bowls. ‘I’m so glad you all came,’ she says as we tuck in. ‘I was worried that one of you would drop out if I told you beforehand what I had planned.’

I resist looking up at Andrea, it would be a telltale sign of our guilt.

‘Wouldn’t miss this for the world,’ says Zoe. ‘Would we?’

We offer our reassurances that we are as pleased to be here. I take a spoonful of soup to hide my true feelings.

The conversation moves on to the children and I feel my-self tense in anticipation of Alfie and Ruby being mentioned. Since Darren’s death, the two of them have grown incredibly close. Too close for my liking. As if I haven’t been tormented enough by that girl. I say girl, she is nearly twenty, but I’ve known her since she was six years old and it’s hard for me to see her as a grown woman.

As if anticipating my desire to change the topic of conversation, Joanne addresses me. ‘Ruby wasn’t happy about going to my mum’s. She would much rather have stayed at home with Alfie, but she said you had already arranged for him to go to Andrea’s.’

My throat feels incredibly tight and the words catch in my mouth. Even though I was expecting this, my physical reaction far outweighs my mental reaction. My body has gone into overdrive.

It’s then I feel the burning sensation on my lips and my throat tightens some more. I recognise the symptoms. This isn’t a reaction to the conversation, this is a reaction to something I’ve eaten. I’m going into anaphylactic shock. A symptom of my nut allergy.

I drop the spoon on the table and simultaneously push the chair back as I get to my feet. My EpiPen is upstairs in my bag. I had completely forgotten to bring it down with me, something I do as a matter of course when I eat where someone other than myself has prepared the food.

‘You OK, Carys?’ asks Joanne.

‘Shit,’ comes Andrea’s voice and I assume she’s realised what is happening.

The rest of the conversation is lost as I race upstairs as fast as I can. My legs feel wobbly and my breathing is becoming harder as my airways tighten in response to my allergy. From my handbag, I grab my EpiPen and flip off the blue cap, before plunging the pen into my thigh. As I wheeze I count to ten before removing the pen from my leg. I flop down on to the bed and, closing my eyes, I make a conscious effort to keep calm, to focus on my breathing as almost immediately the epinephrine takes effect. I massage my thigh at the same time to encourage the muscle to absorb the medication.