The Bridal Party E-Book

J G Murray

• Herausgeber: Corvus
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Sometimes friendship can be murder... It's the weekend of Clarisse's bridal party, a trip the girls have all been looking forward to. Then, on the day of their flight, Tamsyn, the maid of honour, suddenly backs out. Upset and confused, they try to make the most of the stunning, isolated seaside house they find themselves in. But, there is a surprise in store - Tamsyn has organised a murder mystery, a sinister game in which they must discover a killer in their midst. As tensions quickly boil over, it becomes clear to them all that there are some secrets that won't stay buried... WINNER OF THE DEVIANT MINDS CRIME THRILLER PRIZE 2018 READERS LOVE THE BRIDAL PARTY! "Dark, gritty, edge of your seat, addictive reading at its best" Karen, Netgalley "A chilling, sinister, intense thriller" Nicki, Netgalley

Leseprobe

The Bridal Party

J. G. Murray

The hall is empty. Everyone has piled their luggage onto trolleys and gone, filtering out through the exits with phones pinned to their ears. The only sound is the churn of the carousel; it crawls around the sides of the room, snaking in and out of the wall.

One blue piece of luggage remains. It has a name tag on it – but not with the name of anyone who was on the flight. It just says: Nicky Tam. It goes round and round, slowly circling the airport room as if on a forgotten fairground ride. It is ignored; unclaimed.

When the airport staff come to inspect it, the first thing they will notice is the stains. The blotches.

And then they will see the redness, dripping out of the corner and onto the conveyor belt.

For weeks and months to come, there will be a dark stain on the belt. No matter what chemicals are applied to it, the mark will endure. Staff will keep thinking that it has gone, finally worn off; but then they will see it entering the hall again, emerging from the dark hole in the wall.

Returning, endlessly.

Now

One

‘Well here it is, I think. Matches Tamsyn’s description, at any rate.’

Clarisse’s voice cracked a little when saying Tamsyn’s name. To compensate, she shot a smile at the others in the car. I’m not upset, the smile tried to say. Everything is on track.

It didn’t convince a soul, least of all Nada, who took her hand off the wheel just long enough to give Clarisse’s knee an encouraging squeeze. The two of them had been friends since university, and she could tell from years of experience how to gauge Clarisse’s mood. The bride-to-be was trying her best to keep everything together; she just needed support and, ideally, an absence of any more bad news.

It was hard, however, not to think of Tamsyn’s absence, the empty seat in the car.

Nada peered through the windshield to the country road winding ahead. They were at the bottom of a wooded valley; the trees were bunched closely together on either side of them, and a pattern of branches intermingled over their heads. It didn’t seem like the sort of place where there would be Airbnb accommodation: all they could see was woodland, carpeting the hills with shades of autumn.

‘It’s very out of the way,’ she commented.

‘I’m just following what Tamsyn put in her email,’ Clarisse said defensively, her voice wobbling a little again. ‘She explained it really clearly.’

‘I’m sure she did, it’s just that there’s nothing here,’ said Nada. ‘I suppose it must be a little cottage, tucked away somewhere. Probably easy to miss. Gaia, are you awake?’

There was a vague noise from the back. Gaia had been out drinking last night, much to Clarisse’s irritation, and had drifted in and out of sleep throughout the drive.

‘The house is around here – keep a lookout!’

Gaia made another nondescript noise of acknowledgement, but Nada, looking into the rear-view mirror, saw that her eyes were still firmly closed.

‘I think we’re on our own,’ she told Clarisse.

‘I guess so,’ came the answer, much more mournful than Nada would have liked.

It was hard work. As Tamsyn had planned the trip, every conversation seemed to lead back to her; every question, every moment of doubt, was a reminder that she wasn’t there. It made their efforts to keep things light-hearted seem pointless.

The bridal party had assembled at Gatwick Airport that morning, eager to question Tamsyn about the weekend. It comprised Clarisse’s four closest friends: Nada and Gaia, who she knew from university and work; and two school friends, Afreya and Elena. Tamsyn had been a consummate, if mysterious, maid of honour, and the four of them had received countless messages from her throughout the past few months. Up until the week before, she’d been in frequent contact, emailing to give information about what to bring and asking what food and drink everyone preferred … and yet the actual details of the weekend had always been hazy. She had made the decision that the weekend would take place on the island of Jersey, a region she knew well from her early childhood. But no one had any idea of where they were going to stay, or what they were going to do – least of all Clarisse, who’d been kept so completely in the dark, she hadn’t even been told where they were going..

But as they had gathered together at the airport, a message from Tamsyn had come in to their WhatsApp group.

I’m so sorry, hon. I can’t be there this weekend. My mum’s in the hospital, I hope you understand. Have a great time. I’ll forward the details on to Nada. Everything has been worked out.

The atmosphere had instantly transformed from giddy excitement to a kind of mournful silence. For a few minutes they’d pored over the message as if the words held some sort of coded information. Then the conversation had resumed in low voices, straining to keep cheerful while simultaneously showing concern for Tamsyn. What had happened to her mother? Had anyone heard of her being ill before? Wasn’t the text a little … abrupt? They’d tried to call her, but couldn’t get through, fuelling more speculation.

As the discussion turned in circles, some continued to profess their anxiety about Tamsyn, while others made an effort to move on to happier topics for the sake of Clarisse, who had reacted to the news by going disconcertingly quiet and shaking her head in disbelief

Nada had mostly stood apart while the others crowded around each other, trying to figure out her own sentiments. While Tamsyn was part of the older circle of school friends, along with Afreya and Elena, they’d all spent enough time together to be close. It felt odd that Tamsyn had never mentioned illness in her family – especially given Nada’s own difficult experiences with it.

Checking her emails, Nada had seen that there was a string of messages forwarded from Tamsyn about rental cars, flights and accommodation. There was no other information included, nothing more about her mother. Nada had gritted her teeth and sat down to decode all the booking confirmations and receipts in her inbox. While there was a slight frustration at being designated the sensible one and having to suddenly shoulder the responsibility of organisation, there had also been some relief at having a task to do. Single-handedly, she had thought, she could turn this around and rescue the weekend.

After a frustrating back-and-forth, it had been decided that all they could do was keep to Tamsyn’s instructions and get on their flight. But still, in the departures lounge, and waiting in line to board, conversations had become stilted and short, and everyone glanced at their phones nervously every few minutes in case there was an update. When they’d all sat down in the plane, the air had been thick with worry.

Not the best start to a hen do.

‘There it is,’ said Clarisse now, pointing to a private drive off to the right.

Through all the confusion and the whispers in the airport, no one had ever doubted that Tamsyn had taken her maid of honour duties seriously. They’d all agreed that if she wasn’t here, it was because of something serious, as it was clear that she’d planned something special. And as Nada pulled off the public road, they received the first sign that she had indeed done exactly that. Finding themselves on a lane that wove up the wooded hill, the road disappearing behind them, it began to look as though she had rented somewhere big – grandiose, even.

‘Are you sure this is it?’ Nada felt compelled to ask. It was the kind of property that, when you lived in London, seemed unthinkable. Who actually owned a place like this?

‘I think so,’ Clarisse replied, looking at the map on her phone. ‘It said Herodias House at the turn-off, right? Tamsyn did say she’d found somewhere nice …’

Emerging from the woods, they found themselves on the kind of driveway that led to the houses of rich suitors in period dramas, and Nada, without thinking, took her foot off the accelerator.

They slowed to halt, and everyone gawped at what lay ahead.

Before them was a boulevard lined with autumn-reddened trees, cutting across a luxuriously spacious stretch of grass. On their right, the lawn was lined by woodland, sloping down into the valley. On their left, however, the view opened out to flowing hills and the grey sea beyond.

‘Gaia, have you seen this?’ Nada said.

Gaia stirred in the back seat. ‘Mate …’ she said, sweeping her mass of dark curls to the side of her face and taking in the view for the first time. ‘Is this … ours?’

‘I guess so,’ answered Nada, starting the car up again. ‘And this must be the house.’

Sure enough, at the end of the boulevard, crowning the top of the hill, was a clump of trees and the building itself. It was lined with vines, its grey facade coloured crimson, yellow and green; with such thick foliage, the windows were like eyes peeking out from behind bushes. At first it seemed dwarfed by its surroundings, but the closer they got to it, the more imposing it became, rising high above the surrounding treetops and gazing out to sea.

‘Wow,’ breathed Nada. ‘How did Tamsyn find this place?’

They inched forward, blood-coloured leaves shifting about the car, until they came to the courtyard at the front of the building. Gravel greeted their arrival with a satisfying crunch under the wheels, and Nada parked outside the door.

For a brief moment, no one moved, letting it all sink in. Then, never one to sit still for long, Gaia leapt out of the car in a burst of excitement, crying something about nabbing the best room before the others got there. There was no middle ground with Gaia: she was either overflowing with energy or fast asleep.

Nada studied the unfamiliar set-up of the rental car until she found the lever to unlock the boot. She was about to join Gaia at the back of the car when she realised that Clarisse had not stirred from the seat beside her, and was staring ahead as if afraid to move.

‘Clarisse …’ Nada looked at her. ‘This is going to be great. I mean, this place …’

Clarisse sighed. ‘It’s amazing, but it’s amazing because Tamsyn booked it, you know? She should be here. And it’s all so unlike her. I’ve sent her another text; still no reply.’ She shook her head. ‘Just give me an hour or so and I’m sure I’ll stop worrying about it.’

‘An hour or so and maybe I can pour us the first drink of the weekend?’ Nada offered, opening the door and climbing out of the car.

‘Nada!’ protested Clarisse as she stepped out as well. ‘It’s not even two o’clock yet!’ It was an overly theatrical reaction, and yet her look of pretend shock had a hint of genuine surprise. Nada was hardly one to encourage copious drinking.

Gaia dumped her suitcase on the gravel and said: ‘Girls, we’re on hen-do time, remember? Alcohol restrictions are off. Once the others get here with the food and drink, the party begins!’

Clarisse shook her head but also gave a little giggle, and Nada and Gaia exchanged a look of relief. It was a good sign.

They had all agreed before they boarded the flight that they were going to make sure Clarisse had a good time, no matter what.

Two

The house was every bit as impressive as it looked from the outside.

Tamsyn had forwarded the instructions from the owner, and they’d spent a few minutes figuring out how to access the key box. But once the fumbling was over and they’d got in, it was immediately apparent that they were somewhere exceptional, and the girls quickly separated, drifting around the rooms and uttering sounds of awe across the halls to each other.

It was the sort of house that made you feel small: the corridors were long enough to swallow up the sound of your footsteps, and the stone walls seemed thick enough to hold another set of rooms inside them. Despite this, however, it was not forbiddingly grand or unwelcoming; there was a rustic quality to the decor that was comfortable and homely, with rich oak furniture and thick rugs colouring parquet floors.

Most promisingly, Nada found a large fireplace in the living room. The sight brought a smile to her lips. Whenever she had imagined this weekend, she had pictured the group of friends gathered around a fire, tipsy on wine. At the other end of the room there was a long dining table: the perfect place for meals, drinks and games.

‘The setting for tonight’s revelries,’ Gaia pointed out as she and Clarisse joined her, looking at the sofas grouped around the fireplace and the table

‘Revelries? Have you got something planned?’ asked Clarisse with mock-suspicion.

‘Oh please,’ Nada said. ‘Gaia’s always got something up her sleeve, even on quiet nights. God knows what she’s got in store for this weekend.’

‘You don’t know the half of it. It’s going to be wicked.’ Gaia’s eyes shone with excitement.

The words had the desired effect. Clarisse squirmed gleefully, happy with the promise of mischief. There was still a hint of sadness in her eyes, but she was playing her part well enough, and that was going to have to do for now.

Something caught Nada’s eye. ‘Well that’s a bit weird,’ she said.

Hanging on the wall not far from the fireplace was a painting. She had barely noticed it at first; it had seemed to blend in with everything else in the house. But the more she looked at it, the more remarkable it became.

All the other paintings in the house were pleasant but unremarkable landscapes of Jersey. There was even a series of pictures on the opposite wall that just depicted the same cliff from different angles, all named Geoffrey’s Leap.

But the one that had attracted Nada’s attention was altogether different.

The first thing that was noticeable about the painting was how dark it was. It was like the frame had been dipped into black paint, and only a yellow-and-green pool of colour in the middle survived. All around the edges, thunderclouds and tumultuous sea blurred into each other. In the centre, a horde of women were riding on horseback out of the sky, piercing through the clouds with a flash of sickly yellow. They were bare-breasted, their robes flowing from their middles as they charged forward. The leader wore a malicious grimace, her eyes full of rage as she readied her bow and arrow to shoot. Underneath them was a crowd of panic-stricken women on a dark beach, fleeing for their lives, terror written across their features. Some of them already had arrows embedded in their backs and limbs, about to tumble onto the sand with their mouths agape.

‘A bit creepy, isn’t it?’ said Nada. ‘I mean, it’s completely out of place.’

‘Apparently not,’ answered Gaia, pointing at the bottom of the frame. It said: The Wild Witch Hunt of Herodias, 1862.

‘Isn’t that …’ Nada began.

‘… the name of the house. Herodias.’ Clarisse finished Nada’s sentence. Her voice was strangely quiet.

‘So the house was named after her?’ Nada pointed at the warrior leading the hunt. ‘That’s odd.’

‘Let’s google her,’ offered Gaia.

‘That’s a point – is there Wi-Fi here?’

Making their way back to the entrance hall, they found a folder with information for visitors. Gaia took it and sat down in the living room, twisting her tall, gangly frame into one of the strange contortions she insisted were comfortable for her, with one leg curling around under the other. She flicked through the pages until she came to the section about the internet and pulled out her smartphone.

‘It says there’s no reception here, so visitors rely on the landline and Wi-Fi. We’re supposed to log on to the HerodiasGuest network, but my phone can’t seem to find it. You?’

Clarisse and Nada took out their own phones, but they couldn’t connect either. Gaia puffed in frustration, but put her phone away; Clarisse, however, kept hers in front of her, her brows knitted, refreshing the network list again and again. ‘How is Tamsyn going to contact us? What if she changes her mind and wants to come and join us?’ she said quietly.

‘Well, she knows where we are and what we’re doing better than anyone, right?’ answered Gaia.

‘Come on,’ said Nada, suddenly conscious that too much time was being spent on the Wi-Fi and the painting. They were, after all, the only causes for concern in otherwise impeccable accommodation. Already she could feel the strain of constantly keeping the mood upbeat, but she was determined not to let Clarisse slip. ‘Let’s go and find our rooms. I can’t imagine the others will be long.’

Once Afreya and Elena arrived, the house would start to feel a little fuller. And, Nada hoped, a little more festive too. Right now, the scale of the place made it feel daunting, unknown. Like they didn’t quite belong there yet.

Clarisse nodded reluctantly, putting her phone away, and they left the room with one last glance at the painting.

The upstairs floor was labyrinthine, with sets of smaller rooms tucked away in every imaginable corner. They had to split apart again to explore the bedrooms.

‘I think I’ve found your room, Clarisse,’ Gaia called from across the hall.

Nada and Clarisse followed the sound of her voice. Sure enough, this was the only candidate for the best bedroom in the house. The wide windows let in streams of light, and outside there was a view of the green Jersey hills, spotted with white cows There was also an en suite bathroom, and the large, luxurious bed was heaped with layer upon layer of unnecessary pillows.

‘You’ll manage, right?’ grinned Gaia.

Clarisse smiled. ‘I’ll find a way to cope,’ she said. The words were clearly meant to be sarcastic, but they didn’t quite come out that way.

Nada walked to the window. ‘You can see the sea from here,’ she said, almost to herself. Beyond the rolling greenery there was a ribbon of grey. Upon arrival at the airport, when they’d bought coffee and rented their cars, it had been easy to pretend that they were in England still. But here, the sea delineating the skyline was a stark reminder that London was a world away, on the other side of the horizon. She suspected that it was exactly why Tamsyn had picked Jersey, along with the fact that she’d grown up there and knew it well: it was far from the troubles of their everyday existence. And yet something in that sight made Nada’s insides squirm a little. She’d rarely been this far from home, or from her mum, and hadn’t been abroad in a long time.

She and Gaia left Clarisse to unpack and went to find their own bedrooms. Nada chose one that was relatively small, preferring that rather than having to share space with others. Gaia, with no such desire for privacy, had opted for one of the larger twin rooms.

Nada brought her bag up and plugged her phone in to charge. Then she lay down on the bed, enjoying the comfortably thick duvet beneath her, and gave herself a moment to think. The others would get here soon, and it was time to snatch some peace and quiet before the celebrations began.

She let out a deep breath, and stared at the ceiling, listening to the breeze brush past her window, and the odd creak of a floorboard from somewhere within the bones of the house.

Here it was, she thought.

The hen do, at last.

Three

It was hard to believe that the weekend was finally happening, after all this time. Clarisse had only been with her fiancé for a couple of years, but the first conversations they’d had about her hen do dated from well before that, when she had just started her career as an English teacher.

It had been a lonely time for Nada. All the university friends she’d done her teacher training with had moved forward, getting jobs in schools around London. She remembered meeting up with them, and all they’d been able to talk about was work: the discipline issues, the endless amount of marking and the differing degrees of head teacher lunacy.

It had been hard for Nada not to feel left behind. Even getting her teaching certificate had failed to give her any confidence in her own abilities. Every classroom she’d entered seemed to threaten to plunge into chaos at any moment, and it had always felt like the students were a pack of animals waiting to pounce on every mistake she made. She’d never managed to find a way to establish herself, to have that that presence in front of students that other teachers seemed to have so naturally. When it had come to the point where they’d all started applying for jobs in the last stages of training, Nada had been unable to shake off the feeling that teaching wasn’t right for her. She’d avoided applying, staring blankly at school websites with a vague uneasiness in her stomach.

It was then that she got the news that her mum had fallen ill. It had seemed like a sign. Her father had died many years before, and with no else around to help, a clear path had revealed itself to Nada. It had almost been a relief: she’d been able to put off thinking about her career without having to feel defensive, and had filled her time with some low-key teaching assistant work and looking after her mum.

It was during that time, when many of her friends had surged ahead, that Clarisse had reached out to her. A text, asking to meet up. A coffee in a Costa somewhere central. Nada remembered the taste of the foam on her lips, the bustle of important professional-looking people in the background.

She remembered Clarisse leaning in and saying that she was thinking of getting married but wasn’t sure if she should. That she had been seeing a man for a while now, but hadn’t told anyone.

A man called Noah.

Lying on the bed, Nada’s brows knitted into a frown at she thought of him. Thankfully, Clarisse had ended up with someone else.

Thankfully, but thanks to who?

She wrestled out of the comfort of the bed and looked out of the window. Her room was facing the wood; the trees stood sentinel at the border of the lawn, as if itching to come closer. Everything seemed to be shivering: the blades of glass, the branches of the trees. There was only a slight breeze, but it was enough to set the world on edge.

Nada took the scarf circling her shoulders and bunched it up more tightly around her neck. Just a glance outside was enough to make her feel cold. She looked at the woodland, with the odd leaf floating down from the branches.

I’d best get going, she thought. I promised Clarisse a drink.

Not that Nada had any desire for alcohol yet. She regretted making that promise to Clarisse – it hadn’t felt right, coming from her. She could normally trust Gaia and the others to cover that sort of topic. She’d only said it because Clarisse had needed her to say it. And she owed Clarisse everything. The weekend was supposed to be about drinking, and not having a care in the world. If that didn’t sit right with who she was, then she was just going to have to be a different person for a few days. She could do that for Clarisse.

She put her suitcase on the bed and unzipped it. But within seconds, she realised that something was wrong.

At first, it was just a feeling: that things were not quite how she’d packed them. That clothes that had been in one compartment were now in another. That her bag of toiletries, carefully tucked into the netting, was now among her socks and underwear.

But soon it became very clear that something was missing.

Someone had been through her bag.

Four

Reeling a little from shock, Nada rummaged through the bag again. Could it be that things had jostled around in her travels; that she’d just missed it?

But no – her outfit for tonight had been removed and replaced with something else.

Tamsyn had been in touch relatively early on to say that she had planned a murder mystery for the first evening of the weekend; that they were each going to play a part, and find out who the ‘killer’ was in their midst. She’d said it was going to be organised professionally, with two actors coming to the house to perform certain characters and made sure everything ran smoothly.

It was the sort of thing that made Nada cringe inside just to think about it. She’d never been good at putting on accents or dressing up; it had always felt juvenile to her. The only experience she’d had of murder mysteries was amongst friends: the idea of professional actors coming in (and probably taking it far more seriously than was needed) was something she’d never heard of. It was sure to make it even more forced, pressuring Nada to be someone else when she had a hard enough time being herself. It was easier for some of the others, those who had an international background; their accents slipped and changed anyway, their voices not fixed in the way Nada’s was. Elena was even a professional actress, or trying to be, at least. It was all so foreign for Nada, for whom such games belonged in childhood.

She had tried to forget that it was going to happen until an email from Tamsyn popped into her inbox. The theme of the mystery was announced: a 1950s cruise. Or at least some sort of fantasy version of a 1950s cruise, as Nada found out when she’d received a separate email telling her that she had to get herself a nurse’s outfit.

She’d dutifully bought one, trawling through Amazon to find a costume that wasn’t too sexy and vaguely worked with the time period. The resulting outfit was cheap and tacky: she had tried it on once, immediately detesting the sight of herself in the mirror, and put it back in its plastic package.

But now the package contained something else.

She took the costume out and, her eyes widening with disbelief, placed it on the bed.

Instead of the nurse’s uniform, there was a peculiar outfit covered in a chequered black and velvet pattern. The skirt finished in uneven strands at about knee length, and the top was wide enough to hang loosely, presumably to be tucked in at the waist. Most curiously, there were a couple of shoe covers, designed to make shoes look like they curved at the end, and a hat that speared into two large horns above the ears.

What on earth was it? she wondered, dropping it onto the bed. It took her a few moments to process what had happened, and to see that it was supposed to be a medieval jester’s costume.

‘Gaia!’ she called out into the hall, trying to keep her voice steady.

‘Yes?’ came the reply. But Gaia’s voice didn’t sound normal either: it seemed off, strangled somehow. Could the same thing have happened to her?

Nada hurried across the landing and into Gaia’s room. Gaia was holding up a costume of her own, her face blank with dismay.

‘What is this?’

Her outfit was vaguely Tudor. It consisted of a mauve robe that left the shoulders almost completely uncovered and ballooned at the waist, with a gold-patterned white strip leading down from the midriff to the hem. In her other hand was a tiara.

‘Did you pack that?’ Nada stammered.

‘For a 1950s cruise? I was supposed to be a private eye!’

‘Gaia, the same thing happened to me. Someone went through my bag and put in a different costume. Of a medieval jester.’

Gaia’s eyes widened. ‘What?’ she cried.

Nada held up her hands. ‘Let’s just think this through before we tell Clarisse.’

‘Why are you worrying about Clarisse? Surely we need to call the police or something?’

‘Can we just wait a second? Talk it over?’

They looked at each other for a moment, Gaia breathing heavily. She was not someone who hid her emotions easily: everything about her normally languid composure would tighten, and her flaring nostrils and a normally invisible vein lining her brow were sure-fire indicators that she was ready to protest.

‘Come downstairs with me so Clarisse won’t hear us,’ Nada urged. ‘Let’s deal with one thing at a time. She’s going to freak out – we need to come to a decision before we talk to her.’

Gaia eventually nodded, her eyes still blazing with anger.

There was no sound from Clarisse’s side of the hall: presumably her luggage had been left untouched. Nada and Gaia stepped quietly down the stairs and made their way to the kitchen.

Gaia started. ‘Nada, this is fucked up.’ Nada winced a little: it was still too loud for comfort. ‘Could we stop worrying about Clarisse for a moment?’ Gaia urged. ‘I mean, someone has gone through our stuff.’

She was right, of course, but Nada couldn’t help it. In the shock of seeing what had happened to her bag, the feeling had somehow remained that Clarisse had to be protected. It was absurd, but she had carried that anxiety around all day; it was like it had taken hold of her. Clarisse had to be spared from everything that could go wrong.

‘I know, I know,’ she said. ‘Was anything stolen?’

Gaia shook her head. ‘Just the costume.’

‘So someone went through our bags and replaced our costumes with medieval ones. Why would anyone do that?’

‘And how? How did they manage to get to our bags? We either had them with us or they were checked in. Could someone at the airport have done it?’

Something dawned on Nada.

‘Wait – we did leave our bags. At the airport, when we went to sort out the rental cars.’

Gaia nodded. ‘You’re right. We left them in the airport lounge with Afreya and Elena. Do you reckon they went through them?’

Nada paused for a moment. ‘They must have done. This must be some kind of prank.’

‘If it’s a prank, then I am not seeing the funny side. Like, at all.’ Gaia wrinkled her nose in frustration.

‘Think about it. The whole weekend is supposed to be full of surprises, right? That’s what Tamsyn said in her emails, again and again. That we had no idea what was in store for us.’

‘Tamsyn’s not here, though.’

‘Well, someone else must have been in on her scheme.’

Gaia puffed in anger, the vein appearing again. ‘You’re probably right, you know. How much do you want to bet that this was planned, that we were never even supposed to do the 1950s murder mystery? That we’re actually going to do a medieval-themed one instead?

‘I suppose that would make sense.’ There was a beat while they both pondered this, and Gaia began to pace around the kitchen. Nada bit her thumb, denting the skin, as she always did when thinking, and continued: ‘It all just seems so unnecessary. I hate the idea of someone going through my things.’

‘I don’t care about that,’ Gaia said matter-of-factly. ‘Our bags probably get searched all the time. But I do care that someone took my costume. It might have been a shit costume, but that’s still basically theft. And for what? Just to surprise us?’

There was another moment of silence as they both stared ahead, their minds churning. No matter which way they thought about it, nothing seemed right. It was all so much more malicious than it needed to be.

Nada was the first to speak again, as she said in a hushed voice: ‘How well do we know Tamsyn?’

‘Pretty well. I mean, we’ve all been friends for long enough.’

‘But do you think she could have planned this? And got an accomplice to help her, once she realised that she couldn’t come? Honestly, it doesn’t feel right. She’s hardly someone I’d call a prankster; she doesn’t like to push people’s buttons. I mean, she likes to have a laugh, but this seems too much.’

Gaia nodded. ‘Agreed. I mean, it is pretty fucking extreme.’

Nada pursed her lips. ‘And it’s not just the idea of her planning this – what about the other two? I’m having a hard time thinking of either of them going through our bags.’

‘Maybe they did it together, egging each other on. Maybe this is some regressed schoolgirl behaviour from their fancy-pants international school that we’re not aware of. They’re probably going to arrive any minute and just laugh their heads off.’

Nada answered reluctantly. ‘I expect you’re right. Still.’

Still, it feels wrong.

‘God, I’m going to kill them when they get here,’ Gaia muttered.

‘How about that drink, then?’ said Clarisse, surging into the kitchen.

While Nada and Gaia were dressed comfortably in jeans, Clarisse had taken the opportunity to change. She had put on a red dress and applied make-up, as if making a statement: she was over the disappointment of Tamsyn’s absence, she seemed to be saying, and was ready for the fun to begin. Taken aback by their serious looks, she stopped at the door. ‘Is everything okay?’

Gaia and Nada looked at each other. What should they say? Clarisse didn’t even know that a murder mystery was on the cards for the weekend; someone else was supposed to be bringing her costume.

Nada’s mind raced. She was a private person, and the idea of someone rummaging through her clothes, her toiletries, her underwear didn’t sit right with her. But telling the hen that there was tension between her friends before the weekend had even properly begun? That someone had done something that felt dishonest and hurtful, and that Nada was going to have a hard time forgiving them?

Before she or Gaia could answer, a sound came from outside. Tyres, crunching on gravel.