The Leaving Party: An absolutely gripping and addictive psychological thriller Read online

  ‘I haven’t heard from him at all today,’ Ava says, bringing me out of my daydream. ‘Which is a bit odd. I don’t know where my phone is, actually. Have you seen it?’

  ‘No, not recently. Have you––’

  The doorbell rings and we look at one another.

  ‘It’s too early for guests,’ I say. ‘I told people seven, earliest. I haven’t even got my shoes on yet.’

  ‘Probably my parents. I’ll get it,’ Ava says as she goes into the hall.

  I turn the music off and move to the window, looking out at the street. A teenage girl hurries past carrying an umbrella. A man walks his dog. A mother pushes a pram. Life carries on as if nothing is about to change. I lean in so close my breath mists the glass, but I can’t see who rang the doorbell. Then I hear the front door click and an exclamation, surprise in Ava’s voice. I wait for more voices, a conversation, but there’s nothing. The whole house is quiet, but it won’t be for much longer. Excitement flickers inside me. Ava may have found out about the party, but I have other little surprises planned for her.

  I go into the hall, full of anticipation. Ava is on the pavement outside, looking up and down the road.

  ‘Who is it?’ I ask, before yelling out as I stand on what feels like a needle. Grabbing my foot, I look at the floor. A battered rose lies on the doorstep, and I can see a thorn protruding from my foot.

  Ava rushes back. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asks.

  ‘I trod on that manky old rose. What’s it doing there? Jeez, that hurt.’

  Ava stares down at it, her face as pale as the rose is dark.

  ‘Ava?’

  She pulls a tissue from her pocket, clears her throat. ‘Sit down, let me have a look.’

  Her cold fingers tickle my foot as she carefully pulls the thorn out. My blood is smeared on her fingers, a smudge of dark red, and I take the tissue, holding it against the wound, wishing I could use it to wipe away the image it conjures up of another party, blood pooling on the floor.

  ‘It’s only a scratch,’ she says, but I swear I can hear a wobble in her voice. ‘I’ll get you a plaster.’ I hear water running in the kitchen, and then she’s back.

  ‘What’s with the rose?’ I ask. ‘I’ve never seen a black one before. It must be dyed.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘Whoever rang the bell must have left it on the doorstep, but I didn’t see who it was.’ Her face is still pale.

  ‘Was there a note with it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s a flower,’ I say. ‘That’s a nice thing, right? Black is most definitely odd, though. Could it be from a goth?’ But my joke doesn’t raise even a ghost of a smile.

  ‘I don’t know any goths.’

  I reach out and grab her hand. ‘Are you OK?’ I ask.

  She nods, avoiding my eyes.

  ‘Maybe you’ll find out what it means later. Maybe there’ll even be another surprise,’ I say, trying to encourage a smile.

  ‘I hate surprises,’ she says. ‘Apart from the party, of course.’

  ‘Well there was no way I was letting you leave without a party,’ I say. But I see through her attempt to placate me, the comment about the party hastily tacked on, and I’m puzzled at the vehemence in her voice.

  I throw the rose into the bin at the front of the house. When I come back inside, Ava has wandered into the living room and is staring out of the window, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. I can see she has tears in her eyes.

  ‘Come here,’ I say, guiding her to the sofa. ‘What’s the matter? Why has that rose upset you so much?’

  ‘It hasn’t. It’s just …’ A tear slides down her cheek and she lets out a sob. I sit close beside her and hug her to me. Her familiar Lancôme fragrance tickles my nose, and suddenly I’m inhaling years of memories of Ava being close to me, forever by my side.

  ‘Let it all out,’ I say. I know what this is. It must finally be hitting her, this massive upheaval in her life. It’s overwhelmed her like a tsunami. The mascara I put on her so carefully earlier has smudged, and I dab my finger at the black mark, rubbing it away. ‘I hate seeing you upset. It’s the move, isn’t it?’ She nods. ‘I reckon it’s a good thing you’re getting it out of your system before the guests start arriving. Cheer up, Ava. It’s your party; you’ll hate yourself if you let nerves spoil it for you.’

  I hand her a tissue and she blows her nose before smiling at me.

  ‘Thanks,’ she says. ‘You’re right. I feel better now. I’ve wanted to have a good old cry for ages.’

  ‘I’m not surprised, with the horrible time you’ve been having at work lately. You know I wanted to go in and thump Pete for how he’s treated you.’

  That makes her smile. ‘Of course I know, and I love you for being so protective, but I’m glad you didn’t. That would have made everything worse.’

  ‘At least you don’t have to see him any more.’

  She dabs her nose with the tissue. ‘Let’s have a proper drink.’

  ‘Sure you’re OK?’ I ask.

  She nods. ‘Definitely.’ Colour has returned to her cheeks and she’s smiling again.

  She follows me through the open-plan lounge into the kitchen, where glass bifold doors open onto the garden. We sit down with our drinks at the huge oak table, and I can’t help wincing at the thought that this will be the last time we’ll do this together. Chatting over drinks is our way of de-stressing after work, and I’m going to miss it. We both will.

  This party is our final goodbye to the house that we’ve shared for the past three years, and I know that despite her earlier wobble, Ava is glad I’ve organised it. Getting emotional is understandable. It’s hard for both of us. We’ve been inseparable for so long. Ever since … I stop that train of thought and look out at the lights strung up in the trees, more like Christmas than Bonfire Night.

  ‘Thanks,’ she says. ‘You know, this evening means so much to me.’

  ‘I knew you’d come round,’ I say, touching my glass to hers. Last night, when she admitted she knew about the party, she told me she’d wanted to slip away quietly. But I was sure she didn’t mean it.

  ‘You’ve worked so hard to organise it all,’ she says.

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I know you,’ she says, and we both grin.

  ‘Come here.’ I hold out my arms. ‘Lena hug.’

  She’s soft and warm and her hair smells of fresh lemons, and I don’t want to let her go.

  ‘I really do appreciate what you’ve done,’ she says, sitting back down and twisting the plastic wine glass around in her hands. ‘Have you invited Martha?’

  Where did that come from? ‘Of course not,’ I say. ‘Why?’

  ‘Mum suggested it might be a good idea. Apparently she wants to see me, make a fresh start.’

  ‘Really? When did she tell you this?’

  ‘About a month ago.’

  ‘But you don’t want to see her, do you?’

  She shrugs. ‘I was thinking about it.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I really don’t want her here. You know what she’s like, she’ll spoil the evening.’

  ‘I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d react like this. But you know, it might be a good idea. Ben agrees. Especially now that I’m going away.’

  ‘Oh, so it’s just me that didn’t know,’ I say, unable to hide how hurt I feel.

  ‘Ben’s never met her, so it’s different for him. Just hear me out. If Martha wants a fresh start, then maybe she wants to apologise. The least I can do is listen to her. It’s not as if I can forget her completely. Every time I hear her voice … She was on the radio just before you got home.’

  I take a sip of my drink, too quickly, and almost choke. ‘But you’ll be in America. There’s no danger of catching her plummy tones over there.’

  ‘She’s my sister, Lena. The only one I’ll ever have.’

  I turn away from her, her words stabbing at me. ‘Soul sisters’, we’ve always calle
d ourselves, but she appears to have forgotten. Will she forget about me altogether when she moves to New York? My glass feels small in my hand and I imagine crushing it flat.

  ‘These glasses are so tiny,’ I say, finishing my drink and feeling frustrated that everything isn’t perfect for tonight. I can’t help my eyes brimming with tears. ‘It’s not too late to change your mind,’ I add, trying to make light of it.

  Ava looks away, at the bare room, stripped of almost everything.

  ‘I still can’t believe this is happening,’ I say.

  ‘Oh Lena, please don’t make me feel guilty.’

  ‘But we rely on each other, don’t we?’

  ‘Of course we do,’ she says. ‘And I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me.’

  ‘I’ll worry about you over there, so far away.’

  ‘Don’t, Lena, honestly. It’s a new chapter. I’ve got Ben, he’ll look out for me.’

  I nod, turning away, unable to look her in the eye.

  Five

  2005

  Lena loved Ava’s house. But Ava’s mum was such a snob, and she didn’t like Lena hanging around her beloved daughter. Just because Lena lived on the council estate. The visit to Durham was a godsend, otherwise Martha would have been at the party tonight. Some of her friends would be there, but they were mostly all right.

  Ava put the bottle of fizzy wine and glasses on a tray, and Lena said she’d always known Ava was dead posh. Ava joked that she’d given the maid the day off. ‘To get us in the mood,’ Lena said as she opened the bottle with a loud pop, spraying Ava with bubbles. She poured, holding her little finger in the air like she’d seen on TV, and Ava choked on her drink, making the fizz go straight up her nose. Lena made her laugh so much.

  Ava’s bedroom was always tidy, but she’d made it look special today, stringing Christmas lights around the room. Lena said getting ready for a party was just as important as the party itself, which was why she’d brought the drink round. She was also really good at doing make-up, and she’d found a look she wanted to try out.

  ‘Make me look beautiful,’ Ava told her.

  Lena thought Ava was already beautiful, but she liked her own looks too. They complemented one another. Ava was fair where Lena was dark. Ava’s hair was long and poker-straight; Lena’s was thick and wavy. Boys loved it, but she was only interested in one boy since the day she’d first set eyes on him. He’d noticed her, she’d made sure of that – got changed in the school toilets and put on her false eyelashes, then persuaded Ava to hang around the market with her. They’d bought cans of Coke and sat by the stall that served coffee and cake to old ladies in sensible coats and hats, shopping trolleys parked beside them the way the girls parked their bags at their sides at the disco. Lena wasn’t shy, and when she saw him looking over, she went across to chat to him. Perfect timing, because tonight – only weeks after they’d first met – Danny was throwing a house party, and Lena and Ava were invited. Lena was determined to become his girlfriend by the end of the night.

  ‘Can I open my eyes yet?’ Ava asked. She had been pampered by Lena for at least thirty minutes. Lena had allowed her to take a couple of sips of her wine as long as she kept her eyes closed. Ava had done as she was told – she didn’t want to spoil the surprise – but she couldn’t wait to see what she looked like.

  Lena kept her waiting another agonising few minutes before she announced that she was ready for Ava to look in the mirror. Ava almost didn’t recognise the girl gazing back at her. She looked so much older. She’d never worn fake lashes before, and they were thick and spiky. The dark blue eyeshadow had a shimmer to it, and her cheeks were pink with blusher – or maybe that was the wine, she couldn’t tell. She felt warm all over; whenever she drank alcohol it made her want to smile and hug everybody. She threw her arms around Lena now and told her she loved her. Lena laughed and embraced her back. ‘I love you almost as much as I love Danny,’ she said. ‘Only he doesn’t know it yet.’

  After Lena had done her own make-up, a club anthem boomed out of the CD player, and both girls whooped, starting to dance.

  ‘This is what they play in all the clubs in Ibiza,’ Lena said. She was always talking about the nightclubs and DJs on the Spanish island; she planned to get a job at a hair salon as soon as she could to start saving up for a holiday. And Ava would have to come too, of course. Ava knew her mum wouldn’t let her, but she wanted to go wherever Lena went; her friend was a ball of energy and she loved being swept up alongside her. Even if her mother hated it.

  Six

  Ava

  The doorbell rings just as a dance track is playing in the background. Lena runs out to answer it.

  ‘Sue, David, come in, come in. Ooh, what have you got there?’

  It’s my parents. I get to my feet as Mum comes in holding a cake tin and I feel a rush of emotion. Of course she’s baked me a cake. Any occasion is an excuse for her, and she could rival Mary Berry with her fabulous creations.

  ‘Are you deliberately wearing the same colour dresses?’ Dad asks as he gives us each a kiss on the cheek. His old cord jacket smells of musky aftershave. I smile. ‘You girls never change.’

  ‘It’s just an amazing coincidence,’ Lena says. ‘We’re like twins, you see, on the same wavelength.’

  Dad laughs. I’m really going to miss him and Mum. The thought of not being able to pop around the corner for a hug or a word of advice makes my stomach knot. And I’m trying not to think about my piano.

  ‘Look, Ava,’ Lena says. Mum puts the tin on the table and eases the cake out onto a plate that Lena has found in a cupboard. It’s two-tiered and covered in thick chocolate frosting, with intricate white roses piped around the edges. It’s beautiful, but the flowers make me think of the thorn in Lena’s foot, the black roses that haunt me. I blink the image away.

  ‘You have to go on The Great British Bake Off, Sue,’ Lena says. They’ve been having this dialogue ever since the programme started. Mum’s baking has always been in a different league to other mothers, who’d turn up with anaemic-looking sponges and misshapen fairy cakes for the school summer fete.

  ‘Oh Lena,’ she says. ‘Will you stop. You know I’d hate to be on television.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Lena says. ‘I’m going to secretly fill in an application form for you.’

  She would as well, I think with a smile.

  Mum laughs and gives her a hug. I feel a twinge of emotion, thinking of everything I’m leaving behind, even though I’m so keen to escape.

  ‘The room looks good,’ Dad says. ‘Shame about the music.’ The current track has a lot of bass and not much else. Dad’s always been a classical man; that’s where I get my love of classical music from. He used to talk to me about the music he was playing and I’ve wanted to be a pianist since I was little. Maybe I could have been. My shoulder throbs and Mum moves my hand away from my scar, which I didn’t realise I was rubbing. We exchange a smile.

  ‘That’s why you don’t get to stay,’ Lena says. ‘You’d hate the noise.’

  ‘Well don’t go upsetting the neighbours.’ Dad looks at the table. ‘I might have known the dreaded punch would make an appearance,’ he says. ‘I hope it isn’t as strong as that time Auntie Sally came round.’

  We all groan, and Lena rolls her eyes. Dad never lets us forget the time my aunt overindulged one Christmas before throwing up in a flower pot. She’s been mortified ever since.

  ‘Dad, we’re not teenagers. This is a sophisticated party. Would you like a glass of the punch, or something more adult and sensible?’

  ‘Yes, what would you like?’ Lena asks. ‘I’m in charge of the drinks.’ She indicates the bottles lined up on the table, which is covered in a silver paper tablecloth with golden hearts scattered all over it. ‘We have wine, gin, vodka, rum, juice, Coke.’

  ‘Coke, please,’ says Dad. ‘I’m driving.’

  ‘I’ll have a gin and tonic,’ Mum says.

  While Lena pours the drinks, I make space for the cake, t
he golden hearts shifting and shimmering around the tablecloth.

  ‘What time is everyone coming?’ Mum asks.

  ‘The party officially starts at seven, but most people will no doubt be fashionably late,’ Lena says, just as a van pulls up outside the house. I peer out and see a woman emerging from it with a box. ‘And I’ve got something special planned around midnight.’

  ‘What’s that?’ I ask.

  ‘Ava … I keep telling her this is a surprise party,’ she says to my parents, ‘but she doesn’t seem to understand what that means. Lots of exciting things are going to happen.’ She leans in to my mother and whispers in her ear.

  ‘Oh, that’s lovely,’ Mum says.

  Dad winks at me. ‘I suppose young Gareth is coming?’

  ‘Dad …’

  ‘Can you imagine if I hadn’t invited him?’ Lena says.

  ‘Poor young man will be distraught that you’re leaving, Ava. He’s carried a torch for you for years.’

  I roll my eyes, and they all laugh. In truth, I’m relieved to be finally leaving Gareth behind.

  The doorbell rings and I freeze, the rose left on the doorstep still fresh in my mind. I sip my drink, willing myself into party mode.

  ‘Looks like a delivery,’ Dad says. ‘I wonder what it could be. A cake to rival your mother’s, perhaps? I’ll get it.’

  Lena grins. ‘It’s another part of the surprise.’ She follows my father, and when they come back in, they’re both carrying trays of canapés covered in cling film.

  ‘Oh Lena. You’ve gone to such effort.’ Tears spring into my eyes and I feel guilty about not being more enthusiastic, but the rose has unsettled me. Lena knows me so well; I’m convinced she can read my mind.

  ‘Hasn’t she?’ Mum says. ‘She’s been planning this for ages. I’m amazed she managed to keep it a secret for so long. If she weren’t so committed to being a make-up artist, I’d recommend a career as an event planner. Are you all right, darling?’ She’s noticed me wiping my eyes. I nod, swallowing back the tears.