old and well-thumbed, as if they have been rescued from a charity shop. There are some larger coffee-table books on the lower shelves. Most of them appear to feature the Scottish landscape and traditions. There’s one about Victorian London, which seems out of place but, again, probably a rescue book. At the end of the shelf is a small stack of DVDs.
A Disney film, Lion King; an old John Wayne western, and a thriller called Rogue Trader. None of them appeal to me. It’s then I realise that I haven’t seen a television in the croft, never mind a DVD player.
‘Aha! Caught you,’ says Joanne, coming into the room.
I jump unnecessarily and spin round. Joanne is carrying a mug of tea. ‘You’re supposed to be resting,’ she says, placing the mug on the coffee table.
‘I was having a look at the books.’
‘Found anything interesting?’
‘Not really. Although there are three DVDs here and yet no TV. Seems odd.’ I hold the boxes up.
Joanne gives them a cursory glance. ‘Maybe there used to be a TV here or perhaps the last visitors left them.’
I return the cases and sit down next to Joanne. ‘This is a lovely croft,’ I say. ‘You’ve gone to a lot of trouble for this weekend.’
‘I’d been toying with the idea for a while,’ says Joanne. ‘It was actually Zoe who made up my mind to go ahead with it.’
‘Really?’ I give Joanne a quizzical look. ‘I didn’t think any of us knew anything about it.’
‘Oh, she didn’t know. It was something that was brought up in conversation one day and it spurred me into action.’
‘It’s very generous of you.’
‘The pleasure is all mine. You know I love organising parties. Who better to organise my own than myself? That’s what I told Tris. This way, I get to totally please myself.’
‘You have a point.’
‘Not to mention your birthday too.’ She stands up and calls from the doorway. ‘Come on, you two. We’ve got a game to play!’
‘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—’
