The Birthday Girl by Sue Fortin

Author:Sue Fortin
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780008222154
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2017-10-16T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

‘Honestly, Carys, I think you’re overreacting,’ says Zoe, resting her hand on my shoulder for support, her good leg taking the weight to compensate for her other one, which is resting on the ground. ‘Those tyre marks could have been made at any time. They could be dried-up ones that now look fresh because of the rain.’

‘I never noticed them before,’ I say.

‘Are you trying to tell me that you have been around the whole area, making notes of everything you’ve seen?’ Zoe gives me a dismissive look.

‘Well, no …’ I begin.

‘My point exactly.’

I’m surprised by Zoe’s sharp tone but put it down to frayed nerves.

‘To be fair, Zoe has a point,’ says Andrea. We are all standing on the track inspecting the tyre marks. ‘Even if they are fresh, this isn’t a private road, there’s nothing to stop anyone cycling up here.’

‘It’s not a very cycle-friendly place though,’ I point out, though it feels foolish to insist.

‘True, but that doesn’t mean impossible,’ says Zoe. ‘Let’s go indoors, I’m freezing.’ She gives a shiver as if to demonstrate her low body temperature and we all trundle into the croft, Zoe at more of a hobble but covering the ground with surprising efficiency.

Zoe and I sit at the dining table while Andrea warms up some soup from the pantry. ‘Good old Joanne, she got plenty of food in. At least we won’t starve,’ says Zoe as Andrea comes into the dining room with three bowls of soup. One in each hand and a third impressively balancing on her wrist. She puts the bowls down in front of us.

I don’t like the way Zoe is talking so flippantly about Joanne. It seems disrespectful. Less than an hour ago she was crying about her. I guess everyone has different ways of dealing with traumatic events and perhaps this is Zoe’s coping mechanism. I do remember going into some sort of autopilot mode for several days after Darren’s death. I had too many things to deal with, and Alfie to worry about, so I couldn’t allow myself the luxury of grieving. Maybe that’s what I’m doing now. As shocking and upsetting as Joanne’s death is, I must remain detached from the raw emotion which is patiently waiting to be set free. The denial stage, someone once defined it. I think of it more in terms of self-preservation. I divert my thoughts elsewhere.

‘Tris and the kids are going to be devastated,’ I say. ‘How will they manage without her?’

‘Don’t worry about them now,’ says Zoe, ‘it won’t help. You’re right, they will be devastated, but you know what?’

I look expectantly at her. ‘What?’

‘They will be OK. They’ll manage. That’s what people do. That’s what you’ve done, right?’ Zoe tucks into her soup. ‘This is delicious.’

I say nothing as I consider Zoe’s sudden upbeat and pragmatic view on this. I know she’s always been a complete optimist but she is taking it to the nth degree now. How can she find her soup delicious and even be in a frame of mind to comment on such a trivial thing? To me, it tastes bitter.

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