Kitabı oku: «The Birthday Girl: The gripping new psychological thriller full of shocking twists and lies», sayfa 2
The car begins to slow down and gradually the trees on either side of the road thin out, before disappearing completely on our left. A small airfield comes into view.
‘Farnstead Airport,’ I read the sign out loud as the driver turns through the gates and pulls up in a parking bay. ‘This is definitely where you were supposed to take us?’
‘Definitely,’ says the driver. He opens the glove box and takes out another envelope. ‘These are your next set of instructions. While you read them, I’ll take this over to the departure terminal.’ He holds up the blue cloth bag and leaves us with the envelope.
Zoe reads it out this time. ‘So, you’ve all arrived at Farnstead Airport, Phase One of the journey is complete. Now for Phase Two. Please proceed to the departure terminal where at reception you will find a flight booked for you under my name. Don’t worry, you don’t need passports, just the photo ID I told you to bring. Enjoy the view and see you soon!’ Zoe looks up at us, her eyes shining with excitement. ‘She’s only bloody chartered us a flight!’
Twenty minutes later, we are sitting in a small light aircraft, still none the wiser as to where we are heading.
‘Obviously the UK,’ says Andrea. ‘Although I can’t say I’m particularly enjoying being stuck in this thing. It’s hardly a Boeing 747.’
‘I think it’s exciting,’ says Zoe.
Andrea looks up to the ceiling in despair.
‘Oh, come on, Andrea. Don’t be a party-pooper,’ I say, nudging her foot with my own. ‘Joanne’s gone to a lot of trouble. Relax and enjoy it.’
Andrea gives another look of exasperation but I can tell it’s half-hearted. ‘I’ll relax when we’ve reached wherever the hell we’re going and my feet are firmly on the ground again.’ Andrea peers under the seat. ‘No Prosecco this time.’
I exchange a grin with Zoe. Andrea loves playing up to her role of harbinger of doom and gloom.
The pilot is very pleasant but he too has been paid into silence by Joanne, so the three of us have no choice but to peer out of the window and make rough approximations of whereabouts in the UK we are flying over and speculate as to where we could be heading. The uneasy realisation that this is totally out of my control dawns on me. Joanne’s idea of a surprise has reached new heights, literally. And I don’t like feeling I’m at her mercy now.
Chapter 3
The further north we head, the more convinced I am of our destination. ‘I think we must be going to Scotland,’ I say.
‘Scotland? That’s where Joanne went on holiday last year,’ says Zoe. ‘Her, Tris and the kids went pot-holing, canoeing, all that sort of stuff.’
‘Some holiday that was,’ says Andrea.
Both Zoe and I look at Andrea blankly. ‘I thought they had a great time,’ I say.
‘Yeah, I’m sure they did.’ The sarcasm in Andrea’s voice is apparent.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I say.
‘Ignore me. I meant all that outward-bound stuff Joanne does, not my idea of a holiday.’ Andrea gives me a sideways glance. ‘What?’
‘You know as well as I do that’s not what you meant.’
‘You don’t like Tris at all, do you?’ says Zoe.
Andrea looks as if she’s about to protest, but the defiant part of her nature surfaces, fuelled by the earlier alcohol no doubt. ‘It’s a personality clash, nothing more.’
‘Bullshit.’ I give a fake cough from behind my hand, to which Andrea gives her best and totally unconvincing innocent look.
‘Ditto to that,’ says Zoe. She shifts position in her seat. ‘Why is it you don’t like him?’
‘If you must know, he fancies himself a bit too much,’ says Andrea. ‘Thinks he’s God’s gift to women.’
I laugh. ‘He’s always been like that. I swear he takes longer getting ready than Joanne does. You should see all his beauty products. Anti-wrinkle this, healthy-glow that. He must spend a fortune.’
‘I rest my case,’ says Andrea.
‘Just because a guy looks after himself, it can’t be grounds for not liking him. That’s a bit shallow, even for you.’ There’s a prickly tone in Zoe’s voice and I sense Andrea’s mood shift.
‘It’s nothing to do with me being shallow, thanks very much. I do actually have other reasons.’
‘Such as?’ Zoe clearly has no intention of letting the matter drop.
‘Such as …’ Andrea pauses. ‘OK, if you must know, he made a pass at me once.’
‘What?’ both Zoe and I say in unison.
‘A couple of Christmases ago. You know, at that Boxing Day party we went to.’
I nod and remember that was the last Christmas Darren had been alive. There had been a funny atmosphere that night and it wasn’t solely down to the argument Darren and I had had before we’d arrived. Joanne had been on edge and Tris was quite drunk early in the evening. I have looked back at that night many times since then and realised that Joanne’s daughter, Ruby, had already dropped her bombshell and the fallout was happening right before me, but in such slow motion, I hadn’t noticed.
‘Tris made a pass at you? Really? Are you sure?’ Zoe’s voice brings me back from my thoughts.
‘Of course I’m bloody sure,’ says Andrea. ‘Waiting for someone to come out of the loo and then bundling them up against the coat rack while you simultaneously try to stick your tongue down their throat and your hand between their legs, is actually more than just a pass.’
Zoe’s face is a mix of anger and disbelief. ‘He did that? Tris groped you?’
‘I think the legal term is he sexually assaulted me,’ says Andrea.
‘Jesus,’ I mutter, letting out a long breath. ‘What happened? Did you tell Colin or Joanne?’ I wonder if this was the turning point between Andrea and Joanne. If this was where their friendship began to fray at the edges.
‘No. I didn’t,’ replies Andrea. ‘We were all pretty drunk. I pushed Tris away and told him to fuck off. He apologised and we laughed it off.’
‘Except you don’t sound like you’ve really laughed it off,’ I say.
‘Not exactly. So, you can see why I’m not Tris’s biggest fan.’ Andrea looks at Zoe.
‘I can’t believe it. Not Tris,’ says Zoe, and then adds rapidly, ‘I mean, I do believe you, but I never thought Tris would do something like that. Why would he? No offence.’
‘None taken,’ says Andrea. ‘I know I’m hard to resist …’ She gives a smile and the tension in the air eases. ‘I’d like to say it was the alcohol, but Tris is all about strutting his stuff, he’s such a poser. I think he tries to make up for his lack of prowess in the bedroom.’
I shake my head. Honestly, Andrea is terrible sometimes.
‘And what do you mean by that?’ demands Zoe. She must catch the surprised look my face involuntarily offers at the defensive tone in her voice because she quickly clarifies her question. ‘I mean, how do you know? Joanne’s never said anything to me about … bedroom stuff.’
‘It’s not for me to say.’ Andrea looks at us and I can tell that, despite that caveat, she is going to say. ‘But, you know how Joanne loves to oversee everything?’ We both nod and let Andrea continue. ‘Well, that extends to the bedroom. She once told me that she had no intention of letting Tris have the upper hand, that he may be the qualified psychologist, but she was far superior at the mind games.’
‘To be honest, that doesn’t surprise me,’ I say, contemplating our friend. ‘Joanne’s not very good at taking instruction from anyone.’
‘And I should know,’ says Andrea. ‘If she wasn’t my friend, I’m sure I would have sacked her by now, or at least put her on a disciplinary for the way she talks to me, especially in front of the other staff. Honestly, you’d think she was the bloody owner, not me!’
Before the conversation can continue, the plane banks to the right and the pilot’s voice comes over the intercom, informing us that we should fasten our seatbelts to prepare for landing.
As I tighten the belt across my lap, I look over at Andrea. Her latest revelations and insight into Joanne’s marriage only serve to confirm my own private thoughts; we may all be friends but there’s so much we don’t know about each other. We all have our secrets and I, for one, intend to keep it that way.
‘I think we’re landing in a bloody field,’ says Andrea, as she looks out of the window. Both Zoe and I do our best to see the ground below us. There’s no sign of a runway anywhere.
A minute later the wheels of the aircraft touch down on to grass and we are bumped and jolted as we make our landing. Zoe gives a little screech at one point, but the pilot is obviously experienced and once all three wheels have made contact with the ground, the speed slows rapidly and the engine purrs in a gentle contented way as we taxi along.
‘We have literally landed in a field,’ says Andrea. ‘I can’t even see a control tower or anything.’
The plane bumps its way to a halt but the engine remains ticking over. The pilot walks back to us in the plane. In his hand, he holds what is becoming a familiar sight. A white envelope.
‘I believe this is for you,’ he says, handing me the envelope. ‘This is where I say goodbye. I hope you enjoyed your trip.’
‘And our phones?’ I ask.
‘I’ll hang onto those for now,’ he replies. ‘Don’t worry, they are going with you though.’
There’s distinct chill in the air as we climb out of the plane. I place my rucksack on the ground so I can zip up my fleece. We are indeed in the middle of a field. I look around, wondering if there is a farmhouse or something nearby, but there is no sign of life. The landscape is one of fields merging into a backdrop of hills and in the very distance silhouettes of mountains.
‘Are you going to open that letter, then?’ says Andrea, dropping her bag on the ground beside mine.
I oblige and read out Joanne’s message.
‘Welcome to Bonnie Scotland! I hope the plane journey was OK. Now, if you make your way over to the far end of the field, there’s a gate and Phase 3 of your journey awaits you. God, I’m loving this. I hope you are too!
‘Are you loving it?’ I ask Andrea in amusement.
‘Yeah, can’t you tell?’ comes the grim reply.
I laugh at Andrea’s glum expression and grin at Zoe, who is still as enthusiastic as ever as she performs a three-sixty turn to take in the surroundings. I must admit, my own enthusiasm is waning slightly. My stomach is protesting at the lack of food and I could murder a cup of tea. I look down towards the gate.
‘Come on, let’s go down there,’ I say. But when we get to the gate, there is no sign of Phase 3. ‘I suppose we just wait.’
‘I guess so,’ agrees Andrea. ‘Doesn’t look like Top Gun is going anywhere at the moment, so we won’t be stranded. Besides, he still has our phones. I presume he’s waiting to hand them over to whoever comes for us.’
‘I feel lost without my phone,’ I confess, eyeing the blue bag in the pilot’s hand. ‘I said I’d text Seb to let him know we’d arrived safely.’
‘And how is the lovely Seb?’ asks Zoe. ‘Still lovely, I take it?’
I smile. ‘Yes. Still lovely.’
‘Ooh, will we be needing to buy hats soon?’ says Andrea, giving me a nudge with her elbow.
‘I don’t think so. Marriage is certainly not on the agenda. Not for me anyway.’ I turn around and rest my arms on the gate, hoping we won’t be stuck here too long. ‘It’s very beautiful here,’ I say, trying to head the conversation off in a different direction.
‘Yes, it is,’ agrees Andrea. She leans back. ‘Now, tell us, why is marriage not on the agenda for you?’
‘Yes, why not?’ chimes in Zoe. ‘From what I’ve seen of Seb, he’s totally in love with you.’
I give a sigh, resigning myself to the fact that the conversation topic isn’t going away. ‘It’s not only me I have to think about when it comes to marriage. Whether it’s Seb or someone else, I’ve Alfie to think of.’
‘True, but he’ll be off to university this time next year. You won’t have to worry about him then,’ says Zoe.
‘Sounds to me like you’re using Alfie as an excuse.’ Andrea fires from the hip as usual. ‘What’s at the root of it? Darren?’
I can’t answer immediately. Andrea is far too perceptive. Zoe stretches her hand over and squeezes my arm. ‘You can’t put your life on hold forever. Darren is dead. What happened, you can’t change. You need to accept that.’
‘He can’t hold you to ransom from the grave,’ adds Andrea. ‘You deserve better than that. Fucking hell, what he put you through, I don’t know why you’re still so loyal. Your marriage was bad enough, the separation ugly, but to do what he did – and not just to you, but to do that to Alfie too. That was evil.’
Having Andrea as a best friend can be wonderful most of the time, but other times, she can be brutal in her honesty. I close my eyes tightly at the two-year-old memory of coming home from work to find Alfie on the doorstep. Darren had forced himself into the house and locked Alfie out. I will never forget the sight that greeted me as I stepped over the threshold. Darren had hanged himself from the banisters. I had tried to shield Alfie and to push him out of the house, but it had been too late. He had seen it. How did a sixteen-year-old lad ever get over that?
‘Andrea, don’t.’ Zoe’s voice is soft and full of concern. I feel her fingers rub my hand.
‘I’m sorry,’ says Andrea. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you, but sometimes I get so frustrated that you constantly punish yourself about Darren.’
‘Andrea!’ Zoe cuts in again. ‘Enough.’
I give Andrea a half-smile. ‘It’s OK. I know you’re right but I still have this tremendous amount of guilt and, no matter what, I can’t shrug it off.’ The truth is, I don’t deserve to shrug it off, not after what happened that day.
‘We understand,’ says Zoe. She nudges Andrea. ‘Don’t we?’
‘Yeah, of course we do.’
‘Can we not mention it again? Not this weekend anyway.’ I look at each of my friends in turn. ‘This is supposed to be a fun few days to celebrate Joanne’s birthday.’ I remain silent about the real reason why I don’t want to talk about my late husband. I ponder at the expression late husband and think how ludicrous it sounds. Late? What’s he late for? He’s been dead two years. Shit-husband, self-absorbed-husband, insecure-husband or even bastard-husband would be a better description. As always, I keep these thoughts locked away, allowing my loyalty to Darren to be misconstrued.
The sound of a car engine breaks the silence that has fallen between us. We all look towards the road. The engine grows louder and a black Transit-type van appears from around the corner, drawing to a halt on the other side of the gate.
A man dressed in blue overalls, who I estimate to be in his thirties, jumps out of the vehicle.
‘Good morning, ladies,’ he says, in a broad Scottish accent. ‘Good to see you made it safely.’ He slides open the side door and then walks over to the gate, unhooking it and opening it wide. He indicates to the van. ‘Climb aboard, your hostess is waiting for you.’
I look towards the pilot and am relieved to see him making his way over with the phones. Only once I witness the handover of the bag and I’m convinced the phones are coming with us, do I venture into the vehicle.
The back of the van is boarded out in plywood and fitted with bench-like seats along each side. The rear windows have all been blacked out so there is no danger of us being able to see where we are going. There is a plywood partition between the rear of the van and the driver’s seat, with a small rectangle cut out.
‘This is ridiculous,’ says Andrea, taking a seat next to me. ‘What’s happened to the plush MPV and private plane? Now we’re in a boarded-up Transit van.’
‘Oh, stop,’ says Zoe. ‘It’s a bit of fun.’
Andrea makes a grunting noise but doesn’t comment further. The driver appears at the door. ‘All belted up? Good. That’s what I like to see. We don’t want any accidents along the way. I’m sure Mrs Aldridge wants you all to arrive in one piece.’
‘Please tell me this is the final leg of the journey,’ says Andrea, folding her arms and blowing out a disgruntled breath.
‘Aye, in under thirty minutes, you will have reached your final destination,’ says the driver, before sliding the door shut, leaving us in semi-darkness. A small shaft of light streams through the gap in the plywood.
I’m not sure why, but I involuntarily shudder at the driver’s turn of phrase.
Chapter 4
We sit in an uneasy silence as the van trundles along the road, our bodies swaying from side and side as the driver navigates what I can only presume to be small winding roads. I’m not convinced the lap belts will actually do much to save us if there is an accident and as the van hits a pothole and we jerk forward, I tighten the belt for good measure.
Although it is chilly outside, here in the van there is no air and I begin to feel a little stifled. I rest my head against the plywood which lines the van. Although my mind is clear and I know this is all a bit of fun on Joanne’s part and I know we are going to get out of here soon, my body is offering a different interpretation.
I’m conscious that my heart rate has picked up and I can feel sweat gathering under my arms. I concentrate on breathing in slowly through my nose and control the out-breath from my mouth. Techniques I have had to learn since Darren’s death.
I stopped seeing the counsellor about six months ago and this is probably the first time I have felt under duress since then. It’s the small space of the van that is getting to me. I don’t know what it was about finding Darren that caused this claustrophobia, but it’s certainly a symptom. My counsellor suggested it could be something as simple as the closing of the front door behind me that day, the sense of being shut in a house and then dealing with the devastation before me. My mind has somehow connected the two things.
I eye my rucksack on the floor of the van. In the side pocket is my little box of pills. I have recently found another way to deal with the panic attacks. Neither Andrea nor Zoe know about the pills. In fact, no one does. Not even my GP.
‘You OK, Carys?’ Andrea’s concerned voice filters into my thoughts.
I sit myself upright and take another deep breath as I open my eyes. I turn and smile at her. ‘Yeah. Just finding it not quite so fun now.’
Andrea nods. ‘Typical of Joanne to take it one step too far.’ She leans forward and bangs on the partition.
‘What’s up?’ comes the voice through the small cut-out hole.
‘How much longer?’ shouts Andrea over the noise of the engine. ‘This is taking the piss now.’
‘Patience, ladies, patience,’ comes the reply. ‘We’re nearly there.’
The speed drops and the van takes an unexpected turn to the left. The ground noise changes. It sounds like we are on an unmade track. I can hear stones pinging up against the wheel arches every now and then, and the van rolls and lollops more as if navigating potholes and dips in the surface.
I close my eyes again, resigning myself to the fact that shouting and getting stressed isn’t going to get us there any quicker. I make a conscious effort to take my thoughts to a more positive place. It’s easier said than done. I think of Seb and my heart lifts as I bring his face to mind. His fair skin and almost translucent blue eyes. I smile as I remember him telling me why he has his hair cut so short.
‘It’s to stop any of the bad guys being able to get a grip on me, should I get into a tussle,’ he had said, referring to his job as a detective with the Met. Once I had made a suitably impressed response, he’d broken into a broad grin before continuing: ‘I can’t lie. It’s really because, if I let my hair grow, it turns into a mass of curls; looks like pubes.’ We’d both laughed for a long time at this imagery. I think that was the moment I realised how much I enjoyed being with Seb and relished spending my free time with him. I miss him when he isn’t there and want him in my life more. However, my next thought is of Alfie, which should be a positive one. But it’s not.
Before I can visit this further, the van slows down. There’s a change of gear and the engine noise lowers. We grind to a halt; a small jolt indicates the handbrake has been applied and then the engine is cut.
The driver’s voice comes through the gap. ‘Could all passengers disembark. This service will now be terminated.’
‘Finally,’ says Andrea.
The side door opens and we emerge from the bowels of the van, blinking as daylight floods our pupils. The driver jogs over to the croft and opens the front door, places the blue bag containing our phones inside. He closes the door and jogs back to the van.
‘Enjoy your weekend, ladies,’ he calls, jumping into the van. We watch as the vehicle makes a U-turn and then disappears down the track.
I look at Andrea and Zoe, who return the look with equal bewilderment. ‘Well, that was the strangest holiday transfer I’ve ever experienced,’ says Andrea. The fun has worn off and we take a moment to study the building in front of us.
It is a stone cottage made up of a ground floor and a first floor. A solid oak door is centred in the stonework, flanked by windows each side. In the roof, there are two dormer windows and on the side of the building is a single-storey extension which, judging by the lighter colour of mortar between the stonework, was probably added at a later date.
‘So, here we are,’ I say needlessly. ‘I suppose we’d better go in. I assume Joanne is already here.’
‘I wouldn’t bank on anything right now,’ says Andrea. ‘Maybe that’s her surprise.’
‘What?’ says Zoe, frowning.
‘The surprise is, she’s not here,’ says Andrea.
I pick up my rucksack. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’ I give my friend a nudge with my elbow. ‘Come on.’
Before we take a step, the front door swings open and Joanne appears in the doorway. Her brunette bobbed hair, immaculate as ever, frames her petite features. She opens her arms wide. ‘You’re here!’ She trots over and hugs each of us in turn, the blue phone bag in one hand. ‘And all in one piece. I hope you enjoyed your journey. What did you think?’ Joanne looks expectantly at each of us.
‘Loved it!’ says Zoe, injecting possibly rather too much enthusiasm into her voice.
‘Yeah, loved it,’ says Andrea, her lack of enthusiasm balancing out Zoe’s excess.
‘Put it this way,’ I say. ‘I’m glad we’re here now. I hope the return journey is rather more orthodox.’
‘Oh, don’t be worrying about the return journey.’ Joanne flaps her hand in the air. ‘You’ll love that too.’
‘That’s what I was afraid of,’ says Andrea. ‘Jesus, let’s get inside. I’m freezing my tits off here.’
‘What do you expect in that flimsy fleece? I hope you’ve brought a warmer jacket with you.’
‘This has to be your best surprise ever,’ says Zoe, hooking her holdall on one shoulder and slipping her free arm through Joanne’s.
‘Maybe not ever. Just to date,’ replies Joanne. ‘You have no idea what other surprises I have in store for you three.’ Joanne leans into Zoe and squeezes her arm. She then looks around at myself and Andrea, and I don’t miss the little glint in her eye. ‘Let me show you to your rooms. I have some lunch ready for you and then we can crack open our first bottle of wine.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ I say, following on behind. I look over my shoulder at Andrea. ‘Come on, misery. This isn’t an audition for the seven dwarfs, you know.’
‘If it is, then Andrea gets the part, hands down,’ calls Joanne. Her laughter echoes around the porch roof.
Andrea pulls a face, which only makes me laugh too.
Inside the croft, the small entrance hall with an oak staircase and a red quarry-tiled floor greets us. Years of feet travelling the surface have worn the shine from the centre of the tiles but the edges have managed to retain some of their former gloss. I look through the doorway on my left. It’s the living room, with two big comfortable sofas either side of a large brick fireplace. A wooden chest sits between the two pieces of furniture, acting as a coffee table. The floorboards in this room have been sanded and varnished, giving a more modern feel to the room, and a black-and-white hide is spread out in front of the hearth.
‘Cow hide,’ supplies Joanne. ‘All the rage, apparently. Not so keen myself. Not at two or three hundred pounds each, anyway.’
‘I quite like it,’ says Andrea, peering over my shoulder.
‘Now you’re a successful business owner, I expect you can afford these luxuries,’ says Joanne.
I shoot Joanne a look. Was there a hint of tightness in her voice? A topic of conversation that is always sidestepped with a sense of awkwardness. I watch now as Andrea gives Joanne a long look, one that Joanne matches without flinching.
‘What’s beyond the trees there?’ Zoe pipes up, as she gazes out of the window.
I don’t know if the change in conversation was deliberate on Zoe’s part, but it breaks the deadlock.
‘More trees,’ says Joanne, turning towards the rear window where Zoe is standing. ‘That’s the edge of a bloody great forest. It stretches around from behind the croft in a big arch and then all the way along the edge of the track.’
Zoe gives a shiver. ‘Even in daylight, it looks spooky.’
‘After lunch, we’re going exploring,’ says Joanne. She nods towards the trees. ‘There’s a walk through there which eventually leads to a clearing. Legend has it that it was once a site for pagan rituals and human sacrifices.’
‘Sounds delightful,’ mutters Andrea.
Zoe turns away from the window and drops into one of the sofas. ‘I’m glad I’m not here on my own. When did you get here, Joanne?’
‘Last night, actually.’
‘You were here on your own all night?’ Zoe leans back and looks up at Joanne.
‘No big deal. Anyway, you’re on your own at night times, aren’t you? Or are you? No secret lover you haven’t told us about?’ She flicks Zoe’s ponytail with her fingers and winks.
‘No!’ protests Zoe. Her cheeks flush red. She sits upright and looks round at us.
‘Ah, you’re blushing,’ teases Joanne. ‘Look how red Zoe’s gone.’
Zoe has turned a deep crimson colour and I can’t help feeling sorry for her, yet at the same time I wonder if Joanne’s teasing has some substance. For all Zoe’s bouncy childlike enthusiasm and seemingly innocent charm, I’ve always felt this has been to cover up the after-effects of a bad relationship. Although she’s never gone into details about her ex-husband, there clearly are unresolved issues in that department. To ease her embarrassment, I take it upon myself to divert the topic of conversation this time. ‘Joanne, are you going to show us round the rest of the place?’
‘Sure. Follow me.’
Across the tiled hallway is another room, identical in size to the living room. It too has a fireplace on the rear wall and to the right of that, in what was once an alcove, is a doorway. A dining table and six chairs occupy the centre of the room and a wing-backed armchair is on the other side of the fireplace with a view over the garden.
‘Through here is the kitchen,’ says Joanne.
The kitchen looks to have been refurbished recently but it is sympathetic to the age of the property. The units are free-standing and of a farmhouse style with wooden worktops. A Belfast sink is below the window, which overlooks the front of the property. There is an exterior door with glass panels at the top, draped with a net curtain.
I move the curtain to look through. There is a rear porch and beyond that is an outbuilding about the size of a garden shed. ‘What’s in there?’
Joanne joins me at the door. ‘Nothing very exciting, I should imagine. It’s locked, but from what I’ve seen through the window it’s full of old garden tools and a lawn mower. Not that they seem to worry about keeping the grass manicured: it’s more pasture than lawn.’
True, the rear of the property has no fencing to identify the boundaries and blends in with the surrounding open scrubland scenery. A small area immediately outside the back door has been laid with paving stones to create a patio, and a flowerbed has been dug around the edge which is full of shrubs, but that is the extent of the garden.
‘To be fair, we do appear to be in the middle of nowhere. It must be hard to get a gardener up here,’ I say. ‘I don’t suppose they want to pay someone to come up here every week.’
‘Exactly,’ says Joanne.
‘How far are we from civilisation?’ asks Zoe, as we walk back through to the entrance hall.
‘Bloody miles,’ says Andrea.
Joanne gives a laugh but ignores the question. ‘Oh, before I forget. I need to take a picture of us all. A selfie. Wait there a moment while I get my camera.’
She disappears into the living room, leaving us waiting in the hall. As with the rest of the house, it’s a mix of old and new. Some pieces of furniture and decoration look like they’ve been here for years, whereas other pieces wouldn’t look out of place in an Ikea catalogue. There’s a dark wood telephone seat with a faded green velvet cushion, which seems odd as there doesn’t appear to be a telephone here. It reminds me of something from the seventies. Above it is a picture of a crying boy, another leftover from a past era. And on the opposite wall is a row of modern pictures in white frames. They have almost a seaside feel to them, depicting stick-men in sailor suits with flags in different positions, each spelling out a word in semaphore. I take a closer look to see if the words are printed underneath, but can’t see anything. On the floor, propped against the wall, is a print, about a metre long, of spring flowers, which I personally think would look nicer on the wall.
Joanne reappears almost straight away. ‘I treated myself to a Polaroid camera. Instant photos,’ she says, holding the retro-looking camera in her hand.
‘How very old-school,’ says Andrea.
‘Exactly. Just like us,’ replies Joanne. ‘Now, I need you all to stand here in the hall. Zoe, you here. That’s it. Andrea here.’ She leaves a space between them and then takes my arm. ‘Carys, you stand in the middle. I’ll set the timer up and then I’ll hop on the end.’
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