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.