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

‘The game finishes Sunday evening,’ says Joanne, passing each of us a pencil. ‘Once you’ve decided who you think the others are, you write it down in these notebooks.’ She passes A6-size books to each of us. ‘You will get one mark for each part you get right. The person with the most points is the winner. If no one guesses you, then you’re also a winner. Two winners, two surprises.’

‘And if you lose?’ asks Andrea.

‘The loser also gets a surprise,’ says Joanne.

‘This is going to be such fun,’ says Zoe. ‘Just one thing, how do we find out who each other are?’

‘You can ask three questions each day, but the person being asked is only allowed to answer yes or no. You must pick your questions carefully. And if you’re being asked, you must answer honestly. No cheating! Everyone clear?’

The three of us nod. ‘I think I can follow that,’ I say. ‘When can we open our envelopes?’

‘Open them now, but take care not to let the others see them.’

‘And what are you going to be doing the whole time?’ asks Andrea. ‘It’s not like you can play, you know the answers already.’

‘Exactly. I’m the Oracle. I am the holder of all knowledge. Once you’ve asked your three questions, if you’re still stuck you can come to me for a clue, but if you do, I will deduct half a point off your final score.’

‘Let’s open the cards,’ I say, not even attempting to follow Joanne’s convoluted marking system. I lean back in my chair and slip my thumb under the edge of the flap, tearing the paper open. Inside is a black card with the same pattern as the original invitation and with the same white font. I read mine.

DIANA, PRINCESS OF WALES

1 July 1961 – 31 August 1997

First Wife of HRH Prince Charles

Had an affair

‘Keep your card with you at all times so no one sees it,’ instructs Joanne.

I look up and watch Andrea open her card and then give a small frown before replacing it in the envelope. Zoe is flicking the corner of her card between her finger and thumb.

‘Are these real people?’ she asks.

‘Is that a question for the Oracle?’ replies Joanne.

‘No, I—’

‘Shhh. Don’t say anything. Remember the rules. You can ask three questions only and then you can ask the Oracle for one clue only.’

‘OK. I get it,’ says Zoe. ‘Can I go first?’

‘Fill your boots,’ says Andrea, holding her envelope to her chest.

‘I’ll ask Carys first.’ Zoe turns to me. ‘Are you alive or dead?’

Joanne interrupts before I can answer. ‘Carys can only answer yes or no.’

Zoe pokes her tongue out at Joanne and looks at me. ‘Are you dead?’

I laugh. ‘I don’t think so. No, sorry, that wasn’t the answer. Am I dead? Yes.’

‘My second question,’ says Zoe. ‘Are you female?’

‘Yes.’

‘Last question for today. Were you born in the nineteen-hundreds?’

‘Yes.’

‘Hmm, that doesn’t help much.’

‘Right, let me ask my questions now,’ says Andrea, entering the spirit of the game. ‘Are you a criminal?’

‘No.’

‘Did you die before your sixtieth birthday?’

‘Yes.’

Andrea drums her fingers on the table. ‘This is hard.’ She looks around the room. ‘And you say there are clues in the house?’

‘That’s right. And don’t forget you can ask the Oracle for one clue each day. Of course, you may want to ask that in secret, or you can share the information with each other.’

Andrea narrows her eyes. ‘I’ll ask the Oracle later. Right, Carys, my last question. Do you have children?’

‘Yes.’

‘That still hasn’t helped much,’ says Zoe. ‘I’m going to have a look for some clues. Unless anyone wants to ask me some questions.’

‘I do,’ I say.

‘And me,’ says Andrea. ‘Then you can ask me some.’

As we ask our questions and get the yes or no replies, we all scribble in our notebooks. ‘So far, I’ve got this about you, Andrea,’ I say at the end of the questions. ‘You are female. You are dead. You lived in the 1800s. You were married more than once. You had children. You were a criminal.’

‘I have no idea who she can be,’ says Zoe.

‘Neither do I,’ I admit. I look at the next page in my book. ‘Zoe, you are male. You are alive. You are British. You are famous for a crime but it’s not a violent crime. You are not a celebrity.’

‘You’re all doing really well,’ says Joanne, giving us a round of applause.

‘That’s easy for you to say – you know the answers,’ says Andrea.

‘I do. And by the end of the weekend, you all will know too. I can’t wait to see the look on your faces,’ says Joanne. ‘Anyway, if you’re clever enough, you’ll realise the answer is staring right at you.’ For a moment, her smile drops but she quickly recovers her usual cheery expression. Joanne stands up. ‘Time for a stroll out to the woods before it rains. The weather is so changeable up here.’

She purposefully avoids looking at me as she busies herself with pushing the chair in and hurrying us along. I don’t know why, but that little look I caught on her face has left me feeling unsettled. There was no warmth to it, rather the opposite: cold and hard. I can’t help wondering what she was thinking at that moment.

I hang back while Zoe and Andrea make their way upstairs to get their jackets and walking boots. I look out of the window, surprised to see light mist swirling around in the sunless sky and the grey clouds overhead are giving a gloomy appearance to the landscape.

Hearing the footfall on the floorboards upstairs, I seize my opportunity. ‘You’ve gone to a lot of trouble with this secrets game,’ I say, as Joanne stands in the doorway, fastening her jacket.

‘I like these sorts of things, they’re fun.’

‘Fun for all of us, right?’

‘Probably more fun for me, if I’m honest.’ She looks up from her zip.

‘And this is only a game?’

‘Of course it is,’ she says. ‘Unless you’re worried I might know your secrets.’ She gives a fake laugh, as Andrea and Zoe clomp down the stairs. At which point Zoe chides me for not being ready. As I squeeze by Joanne in the doorway, she gives a smile. ‘Only a game,’ she says, as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

Pulling down my woolly hat and yanking on my gloves, I feel quite well protected against the elements and ready to explore the Scottish countryside. I fall into place alongside Andrea and we follow Joanne and Zoe round the back of the croft and up the hillside towards the trees.

The forest consists of a variety of trees, mostly tall firs but some deciduous varieties, too, whose foliage is a mix of yellows, reds and browns as the autumn is beginning to take over. Underfoot the ground is uneven; small rocks and stones hamper our stride and we take care where we place our feet. Already leaves have begun to fall, and they lie scattered across the ground like woodland confetti.

As we walk deeper into the woods, I can feel the drop in temperature despite my fleece. ‘Is it me, or is it cold in here?’

‘Nope, not you. It’s definitely colder,’ says Andrea. ‘Hey, Joanne! You do know where you’re taking us, don’t you?’

All the trees look the same to me. We are following a track that weaves its way around the trees and climbs the hill.

‘Yes, don’t worry,’ calls Joanne. ‘Anyway, like a good boy scout, I’m always prepared. I have a compass and a map but, yes, I do know where we’re going.’

Twigs crack underfoot and once or twice I think I hear rustling noises in the undergrowth and bushes. ‘This place is giving me the creeps,’ I say, and as I do, another noise catches my attention. ‘Did you hear that? It was a rustling noise. From those bushes.’