The Birthday Weekend - Lesley Sanderson
Prologue
She fooled us all, that first time. One look and I knew. Why was I the only one who could see through her? It was all pretence. I could see the darkness underneath that girlish exterior. She made her feelings known and turned us all against one another. She played us like spinning tops, whirling around, unable to stop, and when she wanted to finish the game, it was too late. I’d spun out of control and there was no going back.
Chapter One
Amy’s message arrives during netball practice. I take aim and the ball sails through the net. I punch the air, high-five Mel, my heart pumping. The ball goes back to centre and my watch buzzes with a text. A quick scroll up and I see the word invitation. My heart pumps even harder. Finally. What has she decided? I turn my attention back to the game, dodge behind the goalkeeper and run across the court to catch the ball. Aim, shoot, goal. We win three-nil.
For once I don’t go to the pub afterwards, the team’s usual weekly tradition. No laughing and dissecting the game with my team-mates – my friends – over a pint or two. I want to get home to my flat, to our flat, that one small word sending a thrill down my spine. Never will I take Theo for granted again. Everything feels new with him; we’re tiptoeing our way along the path, baby steps, both determined to make it work this time.
My thoughts turn to Amy’s message. Birthdays are a Big Thing for Amy, always have been. Celebrations are spread over at least a week; her twenty-first set a record by lasting three weeks, and included a trip away, a meal, a club night and an all-night pub crawl. In two weeks’ time it will be her thirty-fifth – not normally a milestone, but after the year she’s had, she deserves to celebrate.
Theo won’t be home for at least half an hour, and I stick a vegetable lasagne I made before I went out to netball in the oven. Once I’m sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of tea in front of me, I locate Amy’s message. Invitation surely means a party – it’s been a while since I had a good dance. These days I prefer to curl up on the sofa with a book, or go out for a glass of wine with a close friend, checking in on our emotions and putting the world to rights.
I’ve finally decided what I’m doing for The Birthday. I’ve set up a WhatsApp group – see you in there!
Oh, Amy – as if I didn’t have enough WhatsApp groups to be part of. I open the link inviting me to the group entitled Amy’s Birthday, wondering how many messages I’m going to be bombarded with. Amy will kill me if I fail to join, so I click on accept. No doubt she’s hired a huge venue and invited her vast menagerie of family and friends.
I sip my tea and frown when I see the other members of the group. That can’t be right. It’s tiny, four in total. Maybe this is a subgroup, her close friends who she wants to help her organise the event. There have to be more people invited somewhere else; perhaps that’s a separate group. Who am I trying to kid? I close my eyes and take a deep breath, realising what Amy has done. It’s a reunion. It’s the reunion.
I go back to the group. Four names, the other three as familiar to me as my own. Close friends throughout three years at university. Some experiences bring you closer. When our world collapsed, we clung to one another for survival – at first. Until it broke us.
I read the list aloud.
‘Amy Barnes, Kat Carr, Louise Redfern, Daisy Tannet.’
Amy tried so hard to keep us together. The four of us met in our first year at Buckinghamshire University, graduating almost fifteen years ago. How time flies. Graduation took place during a difficult time for us, and if it wasn’t for Amy, I’m sure we’d have gone our separate ways. Exactly a year later, she arranged for us all to meet up for a lunch in London, a tiny bistro in Covent Garden, followed by a browse around the craft market.
Over lunch, I looked at these three women, all of whom had confided their darkest fears to me, and was overcome by waves of sadness. Conversation was stilted, fixing on