‘Is everyone ready for their next surprise?’ asks Joanne, once Andrea and Zoe have settled themselves in the living room.
‘Ready as we’ll ever be,’ says Andrea, leaning back in her chair.
‘Excellent.’ From the pocket of her jeans, Joanne produces three white envelopes. ‘Here we go. One for you, Carys. One for Zoe and, Andrea, one for you. Now, don’t open them yet. I have to explain the rules.’
‘The rules?’ says Andrea, inspecting her sealed envelope.
‘Listen up. I’ve called this game “What’s My Secret?” Inside each of the envelopes you’ll find a card with a name of a famous person who could be living or dead. That’s your secret identity for the weekend. Underneath is their well-known secret.’ She dabs the air with imaginary quotation marks. ‘You can’t tell each other who you are. It’s up to them to guess and then to try to work out what your secret is. You with me so far?’
‘Is there a prize for guessing right?’ asks Zoe.
‘Oh, yes, there’s a prize, but …’
‘Let me guess,’ I interject. ‘It’s a surprise.’
‘A surprise prize,’ mutters Andrea, seemingly unimpressed with the game.
‘Absolutely,’ says Joanne, beaming at us. ‘There are clues as to the identity and what the secrets are all around the house. Bonus points for each clue you find.’
‘How long have we got to find out the identity and secret?’ I ask. I must admit, it is rather intriguing. If I can say anything about Joanne, it is that she has a fantastic imagination and is excellent at these sorts of things. It reminds me of a murder mystery dinner Joanne held some years ago. It had been a great success and she had gone on to make it a murder mystery weekend the following year for Darren’s thirtieth birthday. We’d had a lot of fun. As with every time I think of Darren, a stab of guilt strikes me. I push it to one side, not wishing to dwell on it. Blocking it out is probably not the best coping method, but right now, it is the only way I can cope.
‘The game finishes Sunday evening,’ says Joanne, passing each of us a pencil. ‘Once you’ve decided who you think the others are, you write it down in these notebooks.’ She passes A6-size books to each of us. ‘You will get one mark for each part you get right. The person with the most points is the winner. If no one guesses you, then you’re also a winner. Two winners, two surprises.’
‘And if you lose?’ asks Andrea.
‘The loser also gets a surprise,’ says Joanne.
‘This is going to be such fun,’ says Zoe. ‘Just one thing, how do we find out who each other are?’
‘You can ask three questions each day, but the person being asked is only allowed to answer yes or no. You must pick your questions carefully. And if you’re being asked, you must answer honestly. No cheating! Everyone clear?’
The three of us nod. ‘I think I can follow that,’ I say. ‘When can we open our envelopes?’
‘Open them now, but take care not to let the others see them.’
‘And what are you going to be doing the whole time?’ asks Andrea. ‘It’s not like you can play, you know the answers already.’
‘Exactly. I’m the Oracle. I am the holder of all knowledge. Once you’ve asked your three questions, if you’re still stuck you can come to me for a clue, but if you do, I will deduct half a point off your final score.’
‘Let’s open the cards,’ I say, not even attempting to follow Joanne’s convoluted marking system. I lean back in my chair and slip my thumb under the edge of the flap, tearing the paper open. Inside is a black card with the same pattern as the original invitation and with the same white font. I read mine.
DIANA, PRINCESS OF WALES
1 July 1961 – 31 August 1997
First Wife of HRH Prince Charles
Had an affair
‘Keep your card with you at all times so no one sees it,’ instructs Joanne.
I look up and watch Andrea open her card and then give a small frown before replacing it in the envelope. Zoe is flicking the corner of her card between her finger and thumb.
‘Are these real people?’ she asks.
‘Is that a question for the Oracle?’ replies Joanne.
‘No, I—’
‘Shhh. Don’t say anything. Remember the rules. You can ask three questions only and then you can ask the Oracle for one clue only.’
‘OK. I get it,’ says Zoe. ‘Can I go first?’
‘Fill your boots,’ says Andrea, holding her envelope to her chest.
‘I’ll ask Carys first.’ Zoe turns to me. ‘Are you alive or dead?’
Joanne interrupts before I can answer. ‘Carys can only answer yes or no.’
Zoe pokes her tongue out at Joanne and looks at me. ‘Are you dead?’
I laugh. ‘I don’t think so. No, sorry, that wasn’t the answer. Am I dead? Yes.’
‘My second question,’ says Zoe. ‘Are you female?’
‘Yes.’
‘Last question for today. Were you born in the nineteen-hundreds?’
‘Yes.’
‘Hmm, that doesn’t help much.’
‘Right, let me ask my questions now,’ says Andrea, entering the spirit of the game. ‘Are you a criminal?’
‘No.’
‘Did you die before your sixtieth birthday?’
‘Yes.’
Andrea drums her fingers on the table. ‘This is hard.’ She looks around the room. ‘And you say there are clues in the house?’
‘That’s right. And don’t forget you can ask the Oracle for one clue each day. Of course, you may want to ask that in secret, or you can share the information with each other.’
Andrea narrows her eyes. ‘I’ll ask the Oracle later. Right, Carys, my last question. Do you have children?’
‘Yes.’
‘That still hasn’t helped much,’ says Zoe. ‘I’m going to have a look for some clues. Unless anyone wants to ask me some questions.’
‘I do,’ I say.
‘And me,’ says Andrea. ‘Then you can ask me some.’
As we ask our questions and get the yes or no replies, we all scribble in our notebooks. ‘So far, I’ve got this about you, Andrea,’ I say at the end of the questions. ‘You are female. You are dead. You lived in the 1800s. You were married more than once. You had children. You were a criminal.’
‘I have no idea who she can be,’ says Zoe.
‘Neither do I,’ I admit. I look at the next page in my book. ‘Zoe, you are male. You are alive. You are British. You are famous for a crime but it’s not a violent crime. You are not a celebrity.’
‘You’re all doing really well,’ says Joanne, giving us a round of applause.
‘That’s easy for you to say – you know the answers,’ says Andrea.
‘I do. And by the end of the weekend, you all will know too. I can’t wait to see the look on your faces,’ says Joanne. ‘Anyway, if you’re clever enough, you’ll realise the answer is staring right at you.’ For a moment, her smile drops but she quickly recovers her usual cheery expression. Joanne stands up. ‘Time for a stroll out to the woods before it rains. The weather is so changeable up here.’
She purposefully avoids looking at me as she busies herself with pushing the chair in and hurrying us along. I don’t know why, but that little look I caught on her face has left me feeling unsettled. There was no warmth to it, rather the opposite: cold and hard. I can’t help wondering what she was thinking at that moment.
I hang back while Zoe and Andrea make their way upstairs to get their jackets and walking boots. I look out of the window, surprised to see light mist swirling around in the sunless sky and the grey clouds overhead are giving a gloomy appearance to the landscape.
Hearing the footfall on the floorboards upstairs, I seize my opportunity. ‘You’ve gone to a lot of trouble with this secrets game,’ I say, as Joanne stands in the doorway, fastening her jacket.
‘I like these sorts of things, they’re fun.’
‘Fun for all of us, right?’
‘Probably more fun for me, if I’m honest.’ She looks up from her zip.
‘And this is only a game?’
‘Of course it is,’ she says. ‘Unless you’re worried I might know your secrets.’ She gives a fake laugh, as Andrea and Zoe clomp down the stairs. At which point Zoe chides me for not being ready. As I squeeze by Joanne in the doorway, she gives a smile. ‘Only a game,’ she says, as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.