The Reunion: An utterly gripping psychological thriller with a jaw-dropping twist

by Samantha Hayes

  ‘But you can’t fly, darling. You don’t have wings.’

  Patrick realised that he was also crying. He buried his face in his daughter’s sandy hair, breathing in the scent of her. It was the sweetest smell in the world, but he needed to get her to hospital. Meantime, Shona was running along the clifftop, scrambling down the shingle track to the beach. She was standing at the point where the rocks met the expanse of sand beyond.

  ‘Bring her to me, Pat,’ she called out, watching, barely able to breathe as he carried their precious little girl to her. When they finally reached her side, she took hold of Lenni, cradling her tight.

  ‘I’m OK, Mummy. It was that bird’s fault.’ Lenni coughed and winced.

  ‘We need to get her to hospital,’ Patrick said, carrying her back to the house and the car.

  Later, after Lenni had been given stitches in the zigzag gash behind her ear, they came home with a clean bill of health but a whole load of guilt for having taken their eyes off their daughter. Lenni was becoming more and more accident-prone, more fanciful and absent-minded, and far less aware of dangers than they thought normal. She was so different to Claire and Jason. Just last week Shona had found Lenni about to push a screwdriver into the plug socket because she was pretending to be a handyman. Days before that she was playing hospitals with her dolls and a packet of aspirin. She was about to crunch all the tablets up. So that evening Shona and Patrick made a pact. She would always be supervised by an adult.

  * * *

  Maggie was singing along to the radio to stay awake. Rain had long since fallen asleep, stretched out in the back of the campervan. She wasn’t wearing a seat belt, but Maggie thought it would be worse to suffer a grouchy Rain for the whole of the next day if she didn’t get any sleep at all.

  She mumbled the words to some eighties song she vaguely remembered, no doubt from the village disco. She grinned at the memory of the weekly event that got them all so excited. Those two hours on a Friday night were certainly the highlight of her week. She and Claire would shuffle around the edge of the hall, eyeing up the boys who went to the posh school near Wadebridge, waiting for them to ask for a dance. Everyone was holding out for the slow tunes, hoping to get a snog.

  She could almost smell the old village hall – a blend of dusty floors, ancient curtains and disinfectant in the grotty loos. Afterwards, she’d sleep over at the farm with Claire, gossiping until the early hours. But then they became too cool for the local disco, especially when the younger kids infiltrated. She’d heard from a friend that Lenni went once, though she could hardly believe she was allowed – such a shy little creature, who probably stood glued to the wall in terror all night.

  Maggie approached Exeter and the end of the M5 with a smile on her face. The campervan stopped vibrating as she slowed, taking the exit for the A30. She’d had little sleep before they left – partly down to preparing for the trip, but also because Gino had got talking when he came home from the nightclub he owned.

  Maggie’s stomach clenched when she remembered his words. ‘I’m not sure things are working out the way I want,’ he’d said.

  Working out between you and Rain, she’d thought bitterly, but didn’t say. Subsequently, she’d loaded the camper with more possessions than she’d normally take away for a week, deciding not to say anything to Rain. She didn’t want her to worry that they could be homeless and virtually penniless yet again.

  Rain stirred. ‘Are we nearly there?’

  Maggie glanced in the rear-view mirror. ‘Another hour and a half to go. Maybe two, depending on traffic. There’s some water in the fridge.’ She heard Rain shuffling about and then silence as she swigged from a bottle. Then she felt her daughter’s warm breath on her ear as she climbed into the front.

  ‘It’s going to be all right this week, isn’t it?’

  ‘Of course,’ Maggie replied, not used to hearing insecurity from Rain. ‘You’ll adore Claire, and she’s got a teenage son too.’

  ‘He’s a dork.’

  ‘That’s a bit harsh.’ Maggie’s heart sank. She was hoping the holiday would do Rain good, perhaps strengthen their relationship which, she had to admit, hadn’t been the best over the last few years. ‘You haven’t even met him yet.’

  ‘We’ve messaged. He didn’t have much to say for himself. I looked at his photos. Trust me, he’s a dork.’ Rain switched on to another radio station, turning it up loud, and Maggie couldn’t help wishing that her daughter was still asleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Claire opened the back door and stepped out into the morning sun. It was a beautiful day and normally she’d have taken Russ for a walk already, but she’d been clearing up from last night and preparing breakfast. Amy stood beside her, clinging onto her legs as the pale-blue VW campervan trundled down the long drive.

  ‘It’s so wonderful to see you,’ Claire said, as Maggie stretched out of the car.

  There was a moment’s pause, a moment of appraisal as each woman stood back and sized the other up without being obvious. Then they hugged fiercely, laughing into each other’s hair about how crazy this all was, how they should have done it years ago, and how time flew by. Finally, they held each other at arm’s length.

  ‘You don’t look a day older than when I last saw you,’ Maggie said. Her hair was wild around her face.

  ‘You neither,’ Claire echoed.

  They let go of each other as a groggy figure emerged from the other side of the van. The girl’s long hair was highlighted with streaks of pale-copper and blonde, looking stylishly dishevelled. Slim tanned legs stuck out from beneath tiny ripped shorts and Claire noticed that she was already a few inches taller than her mother.

  ‘Rain,’ Claire said fondly, approaching her for a hug. ‘You’ve certainly changed a bit!’

  Rain stood rigid, so Claire just patted her on the shoulder, refusing to be fazed by the girl’s lack of greeting or, indeed, the skimpy top that showed off much of her flat belly. She’d got her own teenager. She knew how things were. ‘Last time I saw you, you were at primary school,’ she said, but there was still no response. Maggie was fussing over Amy, who was bouncing up and down.

  ‘And doesn’t Amy look just like you?’ Maggie said. ‘Where’s that big lad of yours?’

  ‘I don’t suppose we’ll see anything of him before midday,’ Claire replied.

  ‘Lucky him,’ Rain said, swishing her hair back off her face. She pulled a pair of huge sunglasses from an oversized shoulder bag and put them on.

  ‘Good journey?’ Claire asked, patting the campervan. ‘Marcus would give a limb to own something like this. Some of the surfer lads around here have them.’ Claire noticed Rain suddenly paying attention.

  ‘It was a bit of an indulgence,’ Maggie confessed. ‘I was seeing this guy who—’

  ‘Maggie,’ Rain cut in. ‘No one wants to know about all that.’

  ‘Oh, but I do,’ Claire said, taking Maggie’s arm. ‘I want to hear about it all, in great detail.’ She whispered the last part. ‘Come inside. Let’s get coffee. There’s bacon cooking and fresh bread. Jason and Greta arrived yesterday. I heard them moving about so they must be up by now…’

  Claire chattered non-stop until Maggie and Rain were inside sipping on mugs of coffee. She busied about in the kitchen, feeling strangely self-conscious, extremely happy yet nervous all at the same time. After weeks of planning, the reunion was finally happening.

  ‘I have lots in mind for the week,’ Claire said. ‘And I’ve dug out a ton of old photographs. I thought it might help Dad’s memory if we all went through them together. I’d like us all to take him to the beach often, perhaps play some of the old games he taught us and…’

  Claire heard herself reciting plans but was conscious of a sadness brewing inside her. This time next week it would be over. They would all go back to their own lives – her included – and get on with another decade or so. It was that last part that brought Claire down from the high she’d survived on these last few weeks. Did
n’t she want things to go back to normal?

  ‘Is there any fat-free yoghurt?’ Rain glanced disdainfully at the spread Claire had set out on the long table.

  ‘Rain,’ Maggie said, scowling, but then leapt to her feet. ‘Oh my God, Jason!’ She flung her arms around him as he came into the kitchen.

  Claire smiled. Maggie the performer. Maggie the centre of attention. Maggie the one always up for taking a risk. Though she sensed that something had dulled her since they’d last met. Taken the shine off her just a touch.

  ‘You feeling a bit ropey, bro?’ Claire laughed as Jason ran his hands across his face.

  ‘Callum’s fault,’ he confessed, before introducing himself to Rain.

  She stared back. Her sunglasses were now forked on her head and her full lips sat in a pout, making her appear innocent and childish while giving off an undeniably sexy look at the same time.

  ‘Yes, this is my mute daughter, Rain,’ Maggie said. ‘She clearly left her voice and her manners at the services three hours ago.’

  ‘Thank you, Maggie, but I’m quite able to speak for myself.’ Rain held out her hand, almost as if she expected him to kiss it. ‘Delighted to meet you,’ she said in a voice that revealed her boarding school background. ‘You’re Claire’s brother, right?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Jason replied, not knowing what to make of the kid. He coughed, trying to clear his voice. Callum had got the cigars out late last night.

  ‘Where’s Greta?’ Claire asked.

  ‘Right here,’ came a voice from the doorway. Greta radiated such a picture of glowing health that Claire heard Maggie catch her breath.

  ‘Jason, you’re married to an angel! A burgeoning angel, you lucky, lucky man!’ Again, that over-the-top voice that had always been Maggie’s trademark briefly resurfaced. It had often landed her in trouble.

  ‘I’m not sure about the angel bit, but I’m definitely burgeoning.’ The two women hugged lightly, and Maggie placed her hands on Greta’s belly.

  ‘Twins?’ she asked. Bangles and chunky bracelets jangled at her wrists, under the floaty sleeves of her gypsy-style top. ‘I think they’re both boys.’

  Greta laughed, eyeing Jason.

  ‘They don’t want to know the sexes,’ Claire said, smiling and laying out the rest of the food. Callum joined them, and everyone sat around the table, soaking up Claire’s hospitality. There was much chatter and laughter for the next hour or so, with none of the eggs, bacon, tomatoes and homebaked bread left when Claire cleared away. Even Rain had managed to down a few blackberries and a quarter of a piece of toast.

  Claire offered to make something else for Rain, but Maggie insisted they all ignore her fussy daughter and her silly eating habits. ‘She’s always on some stupid fad diet or another just to be awkward.’

  ‘It’s good to watch what you eat,’ Callum said. Rain gave him a small smile. ‘Especially when you get to my age.’

  ‘She’s got a long way to go, darling,’ Claire said. ‘Don’t worry, Rain. You won’t end up looking like him.’

  ‘How old are you, Mr Rodway?’

  ‘Rain!’ Maggie scolded.

  ‘Let’s just say I’m still in my forties,’ he said.

  ‘What he means is he’s nudging fifty.’ Claire grinned as he pushed back his shoulders and sucked in his stomach.

  ‘You still have time, then,’ Rain said.

  ‘For what?’ Callum leant forward on the table.

  ‘For some fun, of course.’ Rain stood, excusing herself from the table, lifting up her long legs as she stepped over the wooden bench.

  ‘Right,’ Claire said, after she’d gone, clearing her throat. ‘Anyone want more coffee?’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rain sat on the closed toilet seat and pulled her phone from her bag.

  —he def looks like a loser, she tapped into WhatsApp after spotting Marcus coming down the stairs.

  —but he’s male, right? Katie, her best friend, replied seconds later.

  Rain managed a smile despite her dismal mood.

  —haha not entirely sure. She added a sticking-out-tongue emoji.

  —don’t let the girls down.

  Rain deleted what she was typing, about how she really felt.

  —i won’t, she replied, adding a couple of cheeky aubergine emojis.

  She put away her phone and rested her head in hands. Don’t let the girls down. But what about letting herself down? Despite what all her friends thought, she wasn’t really like that. She might act a certain way, but it wasn’t really her. Not if she dared to look deep inside.

  She remembered taking to heart something her mother had once said, a drunken comment that was probably more to do with Maggie than anything, but it had resonated with her own low mood at the time.

  ‘You can’t fall off the floor, sweetheart…’ She’d passed out after that, but Rain had since wondered if it was Maggie’s fault that she hated herself so much. Her friends’ mums were different, always doing lunches and playing tennis and having people over and stuff. Maggie never seemed to have time for her. Katie’s mum took her shopping regularly, they went riding together, had spa days and did other cool things. Instead, Maggie was always off with some new man or other, far too busy for her own daughter.

  ‘No, I won’t let you down, Katie,’ Rain whispered, feeling a sudden surge of defiance. She stood up, grimacing as she caught sight of herself in the toilet mirror.

  She knew what to do to make things better, she thought, flipping open the toilet lid. She dropped to her knees, forcing her fingers down her throat, stroking the soft flesh until the first retch came. Soon, the tiny amount of food she’d just eaten was swirling in the water, ending with the dark purple of the fruit she’d swallowed first – an indicator it had all come up.

  Rain sighed, staring into the pan. She heaved herself up off the floor, pulling a toothbrush and paste from her bag. She scrubbed out her mouth, staring into the mirror. She didn’t hate herself quite so much now. Until next time.

  She smeared a slick of gloss across her lips and rolled them together, pouting at her reflection. Then she flushed the toilet, slung her bag over her shoulder and headed out into the flagstoned hallway of the farmhouse. It was very different to anything she was used to. Sure, she’d lived in old houses before. She’d also had modern apartments with great expanses of glass overlooking city rivers and trendy eating areas. There’d been the houseboat on the Thames and the castle in Scotland, the Parisian apartment in the Marais over a gay nightclub where she’d never got to sleep before the early hours, and the stately home which had been open to the public during the summer. Maggie had a knack of rehoming them regularly.

  But this place was different, and she wasn’t quite sure why. It smelt of cut grass and bacon, of coffee and bread, and then there were the flowers and the fresh-smelling washing folded and left on the stairs… but there was another scent. Something she couldn’t quite identify.

  She snapped the elastic band around her wrist to make the tears go away.

  Slowly, Rain put her bag on the polished hall table. A couple of letters addressed to Callum Rodway had been propped against a vase of lilies. There were some hooks on the wall beside the front door, each overloaded with a muddle of coats and scarves and a couple of bags. Below was a rack with a dozen different pairs of shoes, ranging from tiny black patent ones to men’s walking boots with soles like tractor tyres.

  On the wall opposite was a collection of framed photographs of the family. In the centre of the arrangement was a large black and white photo of the four of them lying on their fronts on a furry rug. Amy was very young, probably only about two or three, and her geek brother was posing next to her, wearing too-big glasses and with a crop of spots around his mouth. There were various other pictures, mostly of the kids with the dog or at the beach. She straightened a couple of crooked ones.

  Rain peeked into the living room beyond. It was similarly decorated with slightly shabby yet once plush furniture: faded sofas with
giant cushions, a wicker basket overflowing with toys that would once have set Rain’s heart pattering, as well as several bookcases stuffed with paperbacks. There was a log burner and thick rugs on the wooden floor, heavy tapestry curtains and someone’s magazine left open next to an empty coffee mug.

  She gritted her teeth as the tears welled up again. Her breathing was short and shallow. She knew exactly what was different about Claire’s house – a place she’d been in for only an hour. And she now realised exactly what the unfamiliar smell was too.

  This place was a home. A proper, permanent home. It was comfortable, lived-in and brimming with memories. Rain fought the feelings of jealousy but couldn’t prevent the tightness in her chest. She wondered if she should throw up again.

  The smell was undeniably of love.

  ‘Hey…’

  Rain swung around and came face-to-face with Marcus. He was holding a half-eaten piece of toast in one hand and a mug of tea in the other.

  ‘Oh, hi,’ she said back.

  He wasn’t that bad-looking up close, she supposed, now that he wasn’t wearing nerdy glasses and the spots had cleared up. His ripped jeans and that T-shirt with the name of a band she and her friends talked about non-stop were OK too.

  ‘You a fan?’ she asked, staring at his chest.

  ‘Saw them at the O2 last year. They were awesome.’

  ‘Sick.’

  ‘I’m Marcus,’ he said, flicking his long fringe from his eyes with a toss of his head. ‘I would shake your hand but…’ He glanced at the mug and toast.

  ‘I’m Rain,’ she replied. ‘As in pissing down.’

  ‘It’s pretty.’

  ‘Pretty weird,’ she replied, despising herself for smiling.

  ‘Are you weird, then?’ Marcus’s voice was deep and resonant, as if it belonged inside someone much older, more manly. Someone like his dad.

  ‘Very,’ she said, twirling her hair. God, this was going to be easy. Easy and boring. ‘Maybe I’ll get a chance to show you?’