The Birthday Girl: The gripping new psychological thriller full of shocking twists and lies. Sue Fortin
Friendships are made up of all the little things that matter, the common ground of lives, shared interests, loves, dislikes, the highs and the lows. They matter and they are matter. Like stars in the night sky, friends can light up the darkness. Sometimes we might forget they are there and yet know they will always be there. Others can come in a burst, dazzling us with the excitement of newness, seducing us with promises of adventure. Some will deliver on this promise, others will fizzle away while some will shoot across the night sky in one last hurrah before they dis-appear from our lives.
I think of my best friends, I can count them on one hand with digits to spare. Joanne, Andrea and Zoe are the stars in my night sky. Together, we make a good constellation. We stick by each other. We look out for each other. We forgive each other.
I remind myself of the last fact as I hold the invitation in my hand, knowing that I should accept, with grace and maturity, the olive branch it represents.
Dear Carys, Zoe and Andrea
My Fortieth Birthday Celebrations
Come and join me for an adventure weekend, full of
mysteries and surprises, the like of which you can’t imagine.
With the grand reveal on Sunday evening.
Friday 8 September – Monday 11 September
Meet at Chichester Cathedral 09.00 Friday morning
Love Joanne
P.S. As it’s also Carys’s birthday on the Monday,
I thought we could celebrate that as well.
Two months ago, Joanne had told us to save the date, or rather the weekend, and said she’d let us know nearer the time what was happening. I could have quite happily ignored my thirty-ninth birthday, but Joanne had been insistent the weekend was to be a double celebration. She also insisted that, despite it being her birthday, the whole weekend was to be a surprise for me too. I had hoped we’d find out the details sooner and, I have to admit, leaving it until the night before is cutting it fine but she has steadfastly refused to give us any more details until now.
I flip the card over and see there is a handwritten message, the tall spiky writing unmistakably Joanne’s.
I sit down at the kitchen table and read the invitation again. I’m not sure what it is about the PPS on the reverse, but it sounds … odd. I think that’s the best way I can describe it. I mull over the significance but before I can settle on anything meaningful, my mobile rings.
Andrea Jarvis’s name flashes across the screen.
‘Hiya,’ I say, kicking off my running shoes. Flakes of dried mud from my afternoon cross-country run scatter across the tiled floor like dirty snowflakes. I sigh inwardly at the mess. Sometimes I’m no better than my teenage son. Stepping over the debris, I go to the fridge, hook out a bottle of wine and pour myself a glass, something I would normally reserve for a Friday night, but seeing as we’re off on our jolly tomorrow, I feel a drop of alcohol is justified. ‘Don’t tell me, you’ve seen the invitation.’
‘Too bloody right,’ says Andrea. ‘Did you get the PPS on yours?’
‘Where it says about making amends?’
‘What is that all about?’
I shrug even though Andrea can’t see this action. ‘No idea. Maybe, she just really wants us to go. Maybe she thought we’d change our minds now that it looks like it’s going to be an outdoor adventure type of weekend.’
‘I’m not bothered about that,’ says Andrea. ‘It’s not like we haven’t done this sort of thing before. Last year we all did that charity walk