‘Thanks, Mags,’ Claire said, closing her eyes for a moment. ‘I’m just a bit wrung out.’
‘Do you remember that time at the circus?’ It was obvious she was trying to distract Claire.
‘Dad the lion tamer?’
‘Yeah. I was so damned jealous that your dad got picked to go in the ring. Mine didn’t even go to the show – he was probably pissed and passed out somewhere. Do you remember what you said to me when the lion tamer asked your dad if he had any children in the audience?’
Claire did remember, but kept quiet.
‘You whispered, “Put your hand up, Maggie. Pretend it’s you.”’
‘Did I?’ She laughed.
‘So I stuck my arm in the air and the lion tamer plucked me out of the audience when it should have been you.’ Maggie fidgeted with her fingers. ‘For those few minutes in the circus ring, I pretended that he was my real dad. It was magical.’ The two women stared at each other for a moment. ‘So, thanks, Claire. It meant a lot.’
Claire touched her arm. ‘Look, Jason’s coming back.’
‘All seems fine in there,’ he said, holding up a big key. ‘It was still in the lock. I made sure there was no one lurking inside.’ He shot another quick glance at Maggie. ‘And we found these on the ground by your car.’ He held up her car keys.
‘I don’t under—’
‘The good news is that your handbag is in the boot, along with your phone.’
‘But… but…’ Claire touched her forehead. That wasn’t possible. That wasn’t where she left them, was it?
‘They shouldn’t have sent you to do a viewing out here alone,’ Maggie said. ‘It’s so remote. If you’re feeling stressed, things can blow out of proportion and—’
‘I’m not stressed,’ Claire said, marching barefoot across the drive. She went up to her car, yanking on the handle, but Jason had locked it. Peering through the window, she saw that her big leather bag was now on the passenger seat. Jason had also plugged in her phone to charge.
She leant back against the car for a moment, feeling dizzy, before marching up to the front window, knowing she looked and sounded crazy. Then she beckoned them over, pointing to her shoes lying in the earth beneath the broken window. ‘See? I had to smash my way out with a poker. There was an intruder. I was locked in!’ She was close to tears now. ‘OK,’ she said finally, letting out a big sigh. ‘You’re probably right. Maybe a cat or a bird got trapped in the house, and then I accidentally locked myself inside.’
‘It’s not that we don’t believe you—’
‘Just give me my car keys, Jase. Let’s go home.’
‘I’ll drive your car,’ he said, picking up her shoes. Claire didn’t argue. On the way back she phoned Jeff, staring out of the passenger window, watching as the narrow lanes whipped by. Jeff told her how well his chapel viewing had gone.
‘Oh, and did you get my message earlier?’ he added.
‘What message?’ Claire felt the seat belt tighten around her chest.
‘Mr Barrett called to cancel moments after you’d left the office. What a time-waster he turned out to be.’
Chapter Eighteen
Fireworks and Vodka
Once in a blue moon (whatever one of those is), I’m taken out. My body aches if we walk too far, so my favourite thing is to sit and watch. One time it was night and we lay on our backs, staring up at the stars. We saw the Plough and Little Bear constellations and the pink twinkle of Betelgeuse on Orion’s shoulder.
‘It’s a dying star,’ I was told.
‘Is it sick, then?’ I got worried it might fall from the sky and crush us.
‘Just very, very old.’ I could smell the booze. It was chilly, so I snuggled up close, praying we could stay like this forever.
Sometimes I get treats when we’re out. Lollipops or chocolates or second-hand shoes that are in the shape of someone else’s feet. Once, I got given a mouse in a cage, but it died after a few days. I think it wanted to run free, like me.
Today we’re meant to be going out. I don’t know where to, but I’m still here alone so I’ve been gently knocking my head against the wall to pass the time. I don’t know if it’s day or night. I haven’t wound my watch in a while.
I lie on the floor, waiting, stripped naked because my clothes feel like electric shocks on my skin. I twirl my hair, just a small strand winding around my finger, staring at the ceiling. Eventually, it works loose and a clump comes away.
Then the doors are rattling and a familiar shadowy figure looms above me. ‘You’re not ready.’
I curl up, covering my naked body. ‘I thought you weren’t coming.’ I feel around for my clothes.
‘Sometimes it’s not easy to get away. You know that.’
I nod, apologising, feeling wretched and mean for complaining. ‘Where are we going?’ I can’t wait to breathe the outside air.
‘We can go in the car if you want.’
‘But what if we die?’ I say, remembering last time. I was crying on the back seat, worried we would crash.
‘Then we’ll walk.’
I pull on my clothes – too-small garments even for my skinny bent body. Then I lie on the floor with my feet sticking up the wall. One foot scrapes back and forth against it. Back and forth. Back and forth. Something is always going back and forth in here.
‘It’s a special time.’
I’m suddenly still. ‘Special?’
‘The last day of the millennium.’ I don’t know what that means, but I’m given a boiled sweet. ‘Get something warm on. It’s cold out.’
I pull on my coat, zipping up the hood tight around my face like I’m always made to, and we go through the lengthy process of getting outside. I’m led by the arm. The freezing night air burns my lungs and I screw up my eyes as we walk, stumbling along the lane, across fields. We keep going for ages and I wonder if I should scream out. Last time I did that I got gagged with a scarf.
My feet are freezing and soaking from the long icy grass. My teeth are chattering and my cheeks sting from the bitter breeze. I can’t help laughing loudly, hysterically, as we come to a stop. I feel so free.
‘What do you think?’
‘It’s amazing. Beautiful!’ I want to cry when I see it but can’t because my tears are all used up. I sit down on the blue tarpaulin and wrap myself up in the rug. A storm lamp is lit and a picnic of Scotch eggs, Crunchie bars, vodka and bananas is revealed. We’re in the middle of a field with the dark skeletons of trees looming around us. ‘Thank you, thank you!’ I say, grabbing all the food I can. The cold and the wet don’t matter any more.
‘There’s more to come.’ I smell the cigarette smoke, and then I’m given the vodka bottle. Before I can even bring it to my lips, our faces are lit up by colourful flashes of crazy light sparkling across the dome of the black sky. I squeal in delight. My mind is flooded with so many memories I can hardly breathe… toffee apples and woolly gloves… Goose the dog shivering under my bed… the melting mask of the guy… Daddy lighting the touchpapers and Mummy’s hot chocolate…
‘Is it Bonfire Night?’ I stuff a chocolate bar in my mouth.
‘I told you already. It’s the new millennium.’ Then more vodka. ‘It’s auspicious.’ But I don’t know what that means.
‘It looks like the fireworks are coming out of the sea,’ I say, pointing to the horizon. The reflection in the water makes it doubly good. We lie back on the grass to get a better view.
It goes on forever, like the heavens are raining jewels on me. I suddenly feel so special, the most cherished person in the world. This is all for me! And I hardly realise I’m even doing it as I slowly, oh so slowly, unfurl my legs from the knot of rug and flex my feet. I can smell the alcohol and I know what it does. Even more slowly, I peel the rug from my shoulders, slide myself away a little. The cold air bites at my neck.
‘Want a chocolate bar?’ I say but get nothing back – just that droopy vodka stare. I stuff the chocolate in my pocket instead. ‘More drink?
’ I hold out the bottle and it’s snatched from my hand as fireworks crackle along the coast. ‘Pretty, isn’t it?’ I say, but there’s just a mumble in reply now. The empty bottle drops onto the tarpaulin.
Slowly, I ease myself up so I’m sitting, then into a crouching position. I barely breathe, glancing behind me, the way we came. Our footprints look like black stitches sewn across the iced grass. My mouth is dry, and my knees hurt but I spring up, tripping a little as my shoe strap gets caught in the rug.
I run.
My legs don’t work properly, and my lungs feel as if I’ve swallowed a firework. I have no idea where I’m going. I just keep running, stumbling, my arms flailing, my hair caught in my mouth, my heart firing bullets.
Then I’m flat on my face. A hand is around my ankle.
Chapter Nineteen
Everything Nick owned was going into this project. It was his final chance.
‘The thing about kitchens,’ he said, looking at his watch, ‘is that they have to work.’ He was finding it hard to explain, especially when other things, other people, were on his mind. ‘It’s not about just making sure it all fits and wiring up appliances.’ Nick paced about, thinking hard. ‘You sure you don’t need me to stay on-site, Trev?’
The builder folded his arms. ‘Mate, if you don’t get your arse out of this building, I’m going to kick it all the way to Land’s End.’ He gave Nick a playful shove on the shoulder.
Trevor had come highly recommended and, over the last couple of months, they’d become something like friends, enjoying the occasional after-work beer together. Nick reckoned he could trust him, but was still uneasy about leaving the project at such a crucial stage. There was hardly any spare cash or time to undo mistakes, and while he reckoned Trev would keep quiet about the basement, it was still a risk.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and scuffed the rubble-covered floor. He nodded in agreement and took one last look around the site that, in a couple of months, would be opening its doors to some of the fiercest reviewers in the trade. He felt anticipation and fear, as well as utter emptiness. Jess had always been by his side.
* * *
In the car, he switched between radio stations but couldn’t find anything decent. He shuffled randomly through playlists, and when the tune blared out he felt like he’d been punched in the guts. He gripped the wheel tightly, driving through the pain. Jess had chosen all these songs for him – her favourites, some old, some new. This was the song playing when they’d had their first kiss. He was sentimental like that. Now he wanted to smash things if he heard it.
Life had to be recalibrated.
He skipped to the next track, trying not to think. He swerved suddenly as a horn blared, narrowly missing a van.
Shit.
He overrode the satnav and, instead of taking the M4 towards Bristol, he left London on the M3, veering off after Basingstoke. He didn’t think it would take much longer and it would give him time to think. Think about her.
The last time he’d seen her was at Revel. He’d had no idea she was coming in. They’d met once or twice over the years, trying to keep in touch, trying to do the right thing, even though seeing her always filled him with a sense of loss, of what might have been.
That day, towards the end of a busy lunchtime service, one of the waitresses had handed him a note written on a napkin. His first thoughts were that it was from an undercover critic – there’d been a spate the last few weeks – so Nick wiped the sweat off his face and went to table eight as requested. There was only a handful of diners left, mainly business customers, plus a woman sitting alone, straight-backed, hair the colour of apricot glaze. She was staring out of the window.
‘Was everything OK with your meal?’ Nick said from behind.
She turned around, making him freeze. His heart waited for his mind to catch up.
Her face broke into a broad smile. ‘Hey, Nick…’ She stood up, those green eyes taking his breath away.
‘My God. Claire Lucas!’ They hugged briefly, awkwardly. He couldn’t help the grin. ‘It’s been ages. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’
‘Because I didn’t know, that’s why.’ They both sat down. ‘I was in London for the day. A friend suggested we eat here, but just as I arrived she had to cancel.’ Claire swept her hair off her face. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I spotted your name as chef on the menu. Do you have a few minutes?’
‘Of course,’ he said, thinking she looked even more beautiful than he remembered.
‘And it’s Claire Rodway now. Did you forget? We’re in the Old Stables now, next door to Mum and Dad. You remember it, right? Took years for Callum and me to renovate… Not that we did the actual work ourselves, Callum’s far too busy for that but…’
Nick nodded, trying to listen, to take it all in, but all he could manage was to focus on her lips, watch them move around words he didn’t want to hear. Of course he knew she was married. He’d received an invite to the wedding but didn’t go.
‘That’s great.’ His eyes were drawn to the cluster of freckles on her nose, the small gap between her front teeth that, when she smiled, made him feel eighteen again.
‘And Marcus is growing up fast, and baby Amy is a joy.’ Then she’d got out her purse and shown him photographs.
‘Fantastic,’ he replied. ‘I’m glad things are good for you, Claire. And I’m pleased you came in.’ Nick swallowed. ‘Callum is a lucky man.’ He couldn’t believe he’d just said that.
He noticed Claire’s chest rise quickly as she inhaled suddenly. ‘Thanks, Nick,’ she replied, holding her water glass.
‘It’s funny you ended up with him.’ He clenched a fist under the table. What was wrong with him? ‘I was terrified of him, you know,’ he said, adding a laugh. ‘Didn’t he live in that huge house next to the church with his brother?’
Claire laughed, the smile reflecting in her eyes. ‘Yes, he did. But Cal’s not scary in the least.’
Nick remembered the Rodway boys well – Callum and Michael. They were clever, rugged and good-looking, the whole family commanding a superior status in the village. ‘Didn’t Michael go on to become some hotshot accountant?’
Claire nodded, smiling, clearly trying to hold back her amusement. ‘A banker,’ she corrected.
And Callum Rodway, Nick remembered, was the taller, more handsome brother. Much older than their group of friends, he reckoned Callum was probably shaving while he and Claire were still in nappies. ‘Didn’t he used to babysit in the village?’ Nick wished he could just drop the topic. ‘I swear my mum used him a couple of times.’ The Rodway boys had a reputation for being responsible, and it didn’t surprise him that Callum had become a doctor. ‘I’m just glad it’s worked out well for you, Claire, and that you’re still near your parents.’ He knew her plans for university had been crushed after what happened that summer. ‘So, you’re happy?’
Claire stared at him for what seemed like an age. ‘Of course.’
She didn’t ask if he was.
* * *
Nick braked at the junction, winding down the window. Whatever happened during the next week, he had to focus on the restaurant, not get sidetracked with things that couldn’t be changed. He’d told Trevor he’d call each day for progress reports. ‘I can be back on-site in a few hours,’ were his parting words, at which Trev had nearly shoved him out of the door. It was the cellar that was concerning him most.
With the end of the journey in sight, Nick skirted Dartmoor, heading towards Bodmin and Wadebridge. From there it was narrow lanes all the way to Trevellin, and with every bend he took, every gateway he pulled into to allow a car to pass, Nick’s apprehension about the reunion grew.
Of course he was looking forward to seeing everyone again, but witnessing the happy goings-on of the Rodway family would still sting. He wasn’t sure he could stomach too much familial bliss when his had fallen apart so comprehensively.
He passed a sign. Trevellin village was three miles away. His heart thump
ed as he tried to work out exactly why he was feeling so apprehensive. Then that kiss in the sea was on his mind again – beautiful, silly, perfect; the only time anything physical had ever happened between him and Claire. Given what came afterwards that day, neither of them had ever mentioned it again.
Chapter Twenty
The beach was crowded at the northern end but as they walked further along it became less so. Stripy windbreaks and colourful parasols flapped in the breeze, while kids splashed about in the shallow breakers of a mid-tide.
‘I’d forgotten how beautiful it is here,’ Maggie said, hitching up her long skirt as a wave broke around her ankles. Patrick’s grin as he tried to keep up with everyone was reminiscent of him as a much younger man, Claire thought as she slowed down to wait. She was relieved he’d come back to the farm safely a couple of hours after driving off, grumbling about having forgotten what he’d gone to the village shop to buy. No one had the heart to tell him he’d not set off for the shop in the first place.
She felt sad that he and Jason hadn’t acknowledged each other yet – not even a nod – but she knew that having the pair of them on the same beach was a breakthrough. While Patrick’s lack of greeting was perhaps due to his mind letting him down, especially with so many faces around, Claire hadn’t failed to notice the way he’d glimpsed Jason a couple of times, as if he’d wanted to speak. She wished she could say the same for Jason, who had walked off ahead at a much faster pace.
‘Take your shoes off, Granddad!’ Amy called out, dancing around with a wig-like spray of wet seaweed in her hand.
‘Why would I want to get my toes all covered in sand?’ he replied in a silly voice, wiggling his feet. ‘I don’t want Grandma telling me off for catching a chill.’ He ruffled Amy’s hair as she skipped past.
The Reunion: An utterly gripping psychological thriller with a jaw-dropping twist Page 8
