‘Dad,’ he said, dropping his bag to the ground as they stared at each other. Jason felt his skin prickling with sweat, the shakes getting worse. He knew he looked dreadful, reflected in his father’s expression. Decline happens gradually in your own mirror. Wiping yellowed and dirty fingers down his face, feeling the deep familiar ache in his joints, he pushed his next fix from his mind.
‘Your mother’s inside,’ was all Patrick said. Later, at dinner, Jason broke down. He pushed his plate aside and dropped his head into his hands. He told them everything – about the drugs, his hopeless life, how he couldn’t carry on. How he thought he was going to die from the guilt. His mother was beside him, holding him, waiting for assurance from Patrick that everything would be all right, that they’d get help for him, that they’d get through this as a family like they’d always done.
‘I want to come home,’ Jason had said, sobbing, his pride long gone. ‘London’s not such a good place for me right now.’ He remembered relief exuding from his mother. But there was nothing from his father. ‘I can work for you on the farm, Dad. It’s what you always wanted, isn’t it?’ He lifted his face. ‘Maybe I can even renovate the old cottage. Make it my own like Claire is doing with the Old Stables. I’ll go to the clinic, get healthy again.’ Jason swallowed, hating how desperate he sounded, wondering what else he could do to make the look on his father’s face go away.
‘We make our own beds,’ Patrick said calmly.
‘Pat?’ Shona said, watching as he continued eating. After three more mouthfuls, he set down his spoon.
‘The cottage is too far gone anyway.’
Jason blocked out the rest of the evening, obliterating it entirely with the emergency wrap he’d got tucked in the lining of his coat. When his parents had gone to bed, he retraced his steps up the drive, past Claire’s house with lamps shining behind the curtains. She didn’t even know he’d been home. The kitchen blinds were open, so he stopped for a moment and watched the scene inside. Callum was sipping on a drink, tapping his phone, while Claire stood at the sink. She’d worn the same expression since Lenni had gone missing – tight, expectant, sad. Not quite her. As if she’d been holding her breath all this time.
Jason pulled up his coat collar, shoved his hands deep in his pockets. He walked on. Hitching got him to the station by 3 a.m. and he slept on a bench until the first train back to London. The squat was freezing but filled with familiar faces, familiar smells and the familiar filth of a life he didn’t want any more. He stood in the wrecked kitchen watching the other no-hopers and addicts. Then he turned and left, heading for the homeless shelter. He didn’t care how he got it, but there would be change in his life.
In the Fulham café, a tear trickled down Shona’s cheek. This was why she didn’t come to visit him very often, Jason supposed. Like Patrick, it had become easier not to face the truth.
‘Dad doesn’t understand about drugs any more than he understands about you asking for help. Seeing you like that, it felt as though he’d lost another child, as if the boy he once knew and loved had gone to the same place as Lenni.’ Shona pulled a tissue from her handbag. ‘What he didn’t realise is that you were the one with a chance of coming back.’
* * *
Jason wrapped the towel around his waist and went into the bedroom. Greta was already showered and changed, looking beautiful, if anything even larger, as she waited for him to dress. She was lying on her side on the unmade bed reading the newspaper. It was difficult to tell where her pale-blue tunic ended and the pastel duvet cover began. For all he knew, she might have been wearing all of it.
‘Are they asleep?’ he asked, stroking her belly.
‘Thankfully, yes. I hardly dare move.’ He didn’t think it would be long before she had to take maternity leave, though knowing Greta she’d try to keep working until the end.
He sat on the corner of the bed, cradling his head in his hands. He knew she’d want to go up to the farmhouse soon. She was enjoying the break from London and he didn’t want to spoil things for her. ‘I’m not sure I can face seeing Dad again today,’ he said. His thoughts in the shower had unsettled him. ‘I’ll walk you up to the farm, but I won’t stay. I’ll maybe do some job hunting online.’ It also meant he wouldn’t have to face Claire. He’d promised he’d call the police about the message she’d received, but since this morning the police had been on his mind for other reasons.
Greta sat up. ‘I was hopeful things were going OK between you and your dad.’
‘Only because he’s forgotten much of what’s happened, not because he wants to make up.’ He reached out and squeezed Greta’s leg. ‘Which only makes it harder.’
‘I was also hoping you’d be able to see a way around this. He’s your father, Jase. It’s a relationship that deserves healing.’ She moved closer. ‘Can I be honest? Really honest?’
Jason nodded, bracing himself.
‘I think you’re being a complete arse. I think you’re being selfish and self-indulgent, and not acting like the man I fell in love with.’ She swung her feet off the bed and slipped them into a pair of leather loafers that she hated wearing. Greta spent most of her life in heels. ‘Your dad’s ill, most likely unable to make the first move even if he wanted to. Perhaps your perception of him is really a reflection of yourself, Jason – stubborn, proud and stuck in the past.’ She sighed, followed by a big inhalation. ‘But I still love you to bits.’ She stood up. ‘I’m off up to the farmhouse to help out. No need to walk me up, but I do hope you come.’ She planted a kiss on her husband’s head and went downstairs, leaving Jason turning his phone over and over in his hand, more confused than ever.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
‘So, when’s the big opening?’ Claire was scraping seaweed and barnacles off what felt like a never-ending supply of mussels.
‘All being well, mid-September.’ Nick glanced across at her, his stomach churning at the thought. Things in his life were actually far from being well. ‘I’m banking on some pre-opening trade reviews before Christmas. And I’ve already got a couple of corporate parties booked for December.’
‘That’s really great, Nick,’ Claire said, catching his eye. ‘Remember how we used to play restaurants when we were kids? You cooked all kinds of weird stuff over a campfire. I’m not sure all of it was edible.’ She sluiced off another batch of mussels. ‘Who’d have thought that you’d end up with your own restaurant for real?’
‘My speciality was worm and leaf soup with a side of boiled garden snails, wasn’t it?’
‘You actually used to try to make us eat it.’ Claire laughed, looking over at him again. ‘Ouch!’ She flinched, dropping the knife into the sink.
‘Let me see that.’ Nick took Claire’s hand, gently holding her forefinger under the tap. ‘Amy, do you know where Grandma keeps the plasters?’ he said over his shoulder.
‘Are you a doctor like Daddy?’ Amy asked, running up with a little box. She wrinkled her nose at the sight of blood.
‘No, I’m not like Daddy,’ Nick replied, not taking his eyes off Claire. He dabbed lightly at the wound with kitchen paper, telling her to hold it tightly in place while he unwrapped the plaster. Amy ran off again as he peeled it around the wound.
‘Thanks, Nick,’ Claire said, but he didn’t let go of her finger. When she looked at her hand again, it was enveloped by his. She quickly pulled away. ‘I’ll… I’ll set the table then, seeing as I’ve made myself useless at the sink.’
The kitchen was suddenly filled with noise and chatter, and Claire was grateful for the reprieve. Shona and Patrick came inside following their evening stroll around the garden, but Patrick was making noises about checking the paddock gates again, wanting to make sure there were no more intruders.
‘It’s all secure, Pat. There’s no need.’ Shona didn’t want him wandering off again.
Greta arrived next, offering to help with the meal. ‘I can’t guarantee I won’t be more of hindrance, though,’ she said, rubbing her bump. ‘I’ve
been getting Braxton Hicks contractions all day.’
‘You just sit down and relax. It’s all under control,’ Claire said, but her father thought she was talking to him and he mumbled something about not being a child, about not being mollycoddled.
‘I’ve just had a worrying time with Dad again,’ Shona confided to Claire when he was out of the room. ‘He got really confused in the garden. He was certain we were out searching for…’ She made an expression that Claire knew only too well. She thought back to when he really had been scouring the woods and fields, when they’d all filled those early days with frantic and fruitless searches.
Without fail for the first six months, Patrick set off at dawn, taking a pack of supplies with him, tirelessly going over and over old ground. The familiar landscape of the wood, their fields and those of the surrounding farms eventually transformed into a harsh terrain that no one apart from Patrick wanted to set foot on – the land that had taken Lenni, seemingly swallowing her up. Eventually, his searches dwindled to once every couple of days, then maybe only a couple of times a week. Sometimes he’d be out looking when the sun had set, as if Lenni might only reveal herself after dark.
Patrick came back into the kitchen, staring at Greta as if he had no idea who she was. ‘You’re pregnant,’ he said.
‘Yes, I am,’ Greta replied in her charming way. She smoothed her hands over her bump. ‘We’re having twins. They’ll be born within the next month.’
‘We?’ Patrick’s eyes sparkled with the puzzle, his mind forcing together pieces that wouldn’t quite fit. ‘One word of advice for you, then. Don’t give birth while you’re in this house.’
‘I’ll try not to,’ she said with a laugh. ‘They’re not due just yet.’
‘It’s not a lucky house for children.’
Greta was about to reply but the back door burst open and Maggie blustered in. ‘Has anyone seen Rain?’ She was breathless and pink-cheeked. ‘Is she with Marcus?’
‘Mags, what’s wrong? Are you OK?’ Claire placed a hand on her arm. ‘Marcus is still up at our house in his room, but I know he’s alone.’
Maggie came up close to Claire. ‘I’m a bit worried.’
‘But you said yourself she’s always going off, that she can look after herself.’
‘I just bumped into that girl they were with earlier, Marcus’s friend from the village. The one with glasses.’
‘Pip?’
‘Yes, Pip. She said that Rain didn’t come back up from the beach with them. Apparently, she’d gone off earlier. Alone.’
‘I’m sure she’ll be fine,’ Claire said, despite the small prick of concern she felt.
‘If it was three in the morning and I hadn’t heard from her, I wouldn’t be too concerned. She goes out at night with her sensible head on, if you know what I mean.’ Maggie frowned, checking her phone.
‘And she doesn’t have it on during the day?’
‘Not exactly. It’s just that… she seemed a bit odd this morning. A bit distracted. Did you notice?’
‘She’d been up partying all night, don’t forget. She was probably tired.’
‘That’s not what’s bothering me. There’s simply nothing for Rain to go off alone for around here. If there was a shopping mall nearby, I’d say she’d have gone there.’ Maggie gripped Claire’s arm.
‘Maybe she’s gone for a swim or a walk or taken a bus to Newquay?’
‘Rain on a bus? I don’t think so.’
‘Have you not spotted the good-looking lad who runs the surf shop yet?’ Claire said, laughing, but her concern was still growing. ‘She’s probably having a one-to-one demonstration of all the latest boards as we speak.’
Maggie offered a grateful smile and glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll give her until nine, then I’m going out to look.’
Claire swallowed and glanced at the kitchen clock. She hadn’t realised it was seven-thirty already. The mussels had taken ages to prepare. ‘Let’s make it sooner,’ Claire suggested. ‘And I’ll come with you.’ She gave her a gentle squeeze and then excused herself. She went straight up to the Old Stables and headed for Marcus’s room.
‘What?’ he called out when she knocked on his door. She went in. ‘Don’t yell, Mum, I’ll tidy it tomorrow.’ Marcus was lying on his bed texting.
‘When did you last see Rain, love?’ She leant on the door frame.
Marcus shrugged. ‘On the beach this afternoon?’ It was more a question than an answer. Claire noticed his cheeks redden. ‘She left before us.’ His phone buzzed, and he read the message.
‘What time was that?’
‘Dunno. About three. Maybe five-ish.’ He tapped a speedy reply.
‘Marcus, would you give me your attention for a moment? Rain’s not come back to the farm yet and Maggie’s getting worried.’
Marcus laughed. ‘You mean you’re getting worried, Mum.’ He looked down at his phone again, finishing his text. ‘Actually, I think she said she was going off to the shop.’ He narrowed his eyes in thought. ‘Yeah, that was it. She said she wanted an ice cream or something.’
‘An ice cream?’ The room around her suddenly flashed from light to dark. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Think so,’ Marcus said, picking up his phone again when it pinged. ‘What’s the big deal?’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Inside Out
‘We’re going out tomorrow,’ I’m told. ‘Make sure you wear these.’ There’s a plastic bag stuffed with clothes that smell funny. Of other places. Of other people. Before I can even ask where we’ll be going, I’m alone again.
I peek inside the bag and take out a T-shirt with ‘Sale £4.99’ written in felt pen on the sticky label. Someone else wrote that. Someone I don’t know has given me their felt-pen writing, which is more exciting than the T-shirt itself. I trace my finger over the pound sign, tracking around both nines. It looks like a girl’s writing – careful and precise with the dot in exactly the right place. She’s underlined the word ‘Sale’ with a squiggly line.
I pull off the label and grind it into the floor with my foot. I spit on it. I hate the shop girl and I hate the T-shirt with its pink pony. It’s babyish and too small but it’s clean and new and means I’m going somewhere. Maybe I won’t come back. Maybe I’ll run away. There’s a pair of pale-green shorts and some new socks too, together with a packet of jellied sweets, a hairbrush, some sanitary towels and a shopping list – even more precious than the shop girl’s writing on the label.
The items in the bag are listed on the paper. There are also things on the list that weren’t for me. My heart skips a beat. The handwriting is large and slopes down to the right… T-shirt, shorts, socks, sweets…
Then stamps, butcher, library, dentist…
I smooth out the paper. If I collect enough little things like this, maybe the inside will eventually become the same as the outside. I fold up the list carefully and put it in my secrets box – a box that used to contain tea bags. I already have a feather, a leaf, some lollipop sticks and the silver ring pull from a can of Coke. It’s already nearly the whole world in there.
* * *
The next day I put on my new clothes like I was told. I feel like a baby. Then the noises and the door is unlocked. I haven’t bothered to hide behind the chair today. We’re going out! It’s the day of all exciting days.
‘Hello,’ I say, dashing up for a hug. But I don’t get one. ‘Do I look nice?’ I stretch out my T-shirt. I would twirl but that would make me sick and then we wouldn’t go out.
‘Very smart.’
‘Can we go to the seaside?’
I get a thoughtful look back. ‘We’ll have to go in the car.’
‘Of course, of course!’ I squeal and jump about, even though I hate the car. The stuff in my tummy nearly comes up, but I hold it down. During the short journey I curl up into a ball on the back seat because I have to pretend to be invisible, like I’m not even alive. The engine growls like a horrid monster, making me shake as we swing around
bends and go up and down a hill. Tears escape from my screwed-up eyes and my heart nearly stops from being so scared. When we park a few minutes later, I don’t want to go to the beach any more. I hate it. I hate the sea and I hate outside! I want to go back.
The breeze blows cool on my neck as the car door opens. ‘Come on, get out. It’s a beautiful day.’ I do as I’m told, unfurling my arms from around my head and sticking my feet out of the door. Blue sky is lashed with grey just like when my dad used to do his watercolour paintings. He’d often set up camp on the clifftop with a little folding stool and wooden case of paints that opened out like a magical kaleidoscope of colour. I know I’ll never see those paintings again.
‘I’m cold,’ I say, shivering.
‘Nonsense, the sun is shining.’ A hand pulls me out of the car, then drapes a coat over my head and shoulders as I stumble and stagger. ‘Get a move on.’ There’s no one about as we go along a path to the headland, my feet taking tiny fast steps to keep up. Below us is the most deserted beach in the world, big and wide. The wind makes it hard to breathe.
‘I want to go back.’
‘But I have a surprise,’ I’m told and, before I can protest, we are sitting on some rocks and I’m given a pair of huge black binoculars.
‘You’ll be able to see the whole world with these. Just mind it doesn’t see you back.’
I raise them to my eyes slowly, uncertain I even want to see the whole world. Nothing is in focus and all I can make out is the green-blue chop of the sea. It makes me feel sick again.
‘There’s nothing there,’ I say, disappointed, and the binoculars are snatched away.
‘Try now.’
And then it is like seeing the whole world! One tiny coin-sized piece of it explodes into an entire universe before my eyes.
The Reunion: An utterly gripping psychological thriller with a jaw-dropping twist Page 16
