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

by Samantha Hayes

  ‘Yes.’ Claire felt the flush in her cheeks.

  ‘How well do you know Rain?’ the female PC continued.

  ‘I’ve only met her a couple of times, when she was much younger. Maggie and I were best friends as kids. Maggie was a bit of a tearaway and I was the sensible one. We kind of balanced each other out.’ Claire managed a little smile.

  ‘Do you know Rain’s father?’

  ‘I’ve never met him, but I know he’s a politician.’ She wasn’t sure what Maggie had revealed but felt she should be honest with the police. ‘He’s married, but not to Maggie. His wife doesn’t know about Rain.’

  Both detectives looked at each other.

  ‘No, it’s not like that. This has nothing to do with Rain’s father, I’m certain.’

  ‘Let’s flip that around, then. Do you think it has anything to do with Maggie? Is she struggling for money, perhaps?’

  Claire recoiled at the question. She didn’t like what they were implying. ‘Maggie’s always just got by, but no, of course I don’t think she’s got anything to do with it. You’ve seen the state she’s in.’

  ‘Then what do you think has happened?’ The constable tapped the pen on her lip.

  Claire’s mind smouldered, reigniting the past. ‘In all honesty,’ she said, glancing between the two officers, ‘I have absolutely no idea.’

  * * *

  Callum stooped to avoid the low beams as he joined his wife and the officers. He knew Claire had noticed his stern look.

  ‘We won’t keep you, Mr Rodway, but it would be helpful if you could tell us where and when you last saw Rain,’ PC Wyndham said, after introducing herself.

  Callum scratched his cheek, frowning. ‘I dropped her off with Marcus and a couple of his mates in Newquay for a house party last night at about ten o’clock.’ The officer noted it all down while Callum watched, thinking how young she looked, how her cropped hair and flat shoes made her appear almost androgynous.

  ‘And how did they get home afterwards?’

  ‘I gave them forty quid for a taxi,’ he said, rolling his eyes. ‘Well, I gave it to Rain to take care of because last time Marcus spent it on booze and I ended up having to go out and fetch him at three in the morning.’

  ‘Do you know what time they came back?’

  Callum’s swallow stuck halfway down his throat as he flicked a look at Claire. ‘I don’t know for certain. Marcus told me Rain left before them, going off with the taxi money. Thankfully, he was able to get cash out of the machine this time.’

  ‘But do you know how or when Rain came back, Mr Rodway?’

  Callum stared at the officer, finally swallowing down the lump. ‘No.’

  * * *

  A while later, Claire showed the officers out. ‘Maggie’s worried sick,’ she said quietly at the back door. ‘If there are any developments, please let her know as soon as you can.’ She remembered how it had nearly killed them as they’d waited for news of Lenni. Minutes turned into hours which turned into days, months and finally years. Now they were counting in decades.

  ‘Mum,’ Claire said, when they’d gone. ‘Why don’t you and Dad go to bed? It’s nearly midnight.’ Her mother agreed, reluctantly admitting there was nothing more to be done tonight. She coaxed Patrick to do the same. After they’d gone upstairs, Claire went looking for Maggie. She wasn’t hard to locate – she just followed the smell of cigarette smoke. She was outside, standing around the corner of the nearest barn, staring up at the pitch-black sky, sucking in hard, blowing out harder still.

  ‘Did the police say anything else?’ Claire asked.

  Maggie shook her head. ‘I’m worried, Claire,’ she said, hugging her arms around her body. ‘This isn’t what Rain does.’

  ‘Maybe she met someone at the club last night and arranged to meet them elsewhere. Perhaps that’s why she left the boys. Teenagers aren’t exactly known for their honesty.’

  ‘No.’ She inhaled again, hand shaking. ‘Rain would have told me. She tells me everything like that.’

  Claire opened her mouth, then stopped herself. From what she’d seen, she wasn’t sure that was entirely true. For a start, it didn’t take an expert to notice that Rain had issues with her food. Had she spoken to her mother about that, she wondered? She was about to mention the possibility of kidnapping, the seed sown by the officer about Maggie needing money, but she held back. The police had also mentioned several other scenarios, which she daren’t tell Maggie about at this point. The riptides and currents were strong in the area, and the chance of her having had an accident on the rocks or cliffs and falling into the sea were high. With this in mind, they were scaling up the coastguard search at first light.

  ‘I’m worried with you,’ Claire said, pulling her close. She felt partly responsible – this week had been her idea, after all. They squeezed each other tightly before going back inside, surprised to see Shona and Patrick downstairs again.

  ‘Help me, will you, love,’ Shona said. ‘Dad wants to go out searching.’ She pulled a weary face. ‘For Lenni.’

  Claire felt another surge of guilt. What had been intended as a pleasurable and healing week for him had turned into a nightmare. What kind of memories were being stirred up? Not the ones she’d intended, that was for sure. ‘Come on, Dad,’ she said, gathering what was left of her resolve. ‘Let’s get you upstairs. It’s time for bed.’

  ‘But I need to find her,’ he said, squinting as if part of him knew what he was saying wasn’t right.

  ‘We’ll talk about that in the morning,’ Claire said, encouraging him back up. Thankfully, he followed and she guided him upstairs with a hand settled beneath his elbow. He veered off to the wrong bedroom on the landing. ‘This way, Dad,’ she said.

  Her parents’ room smelt faintly of her mother’s floral perfume, of fresh laundry and of love. Her parents had slept together in this room for as long as she could remember. It was a thick, intense kind of love that filled the house and stuck to all the Lucas kids as they’d grown up. Sometimes, Claire thought, we were loved too much.

  ‘Get into your pyjamas, Dad,’ she said, laying them out for him. Her father’s watery eyes stared up at her as he sat on the bed. He hated being taken care of, she knew that, but for now he seemed accepting, almost a little relieved. ‘Why not say a little prayer for Rain,’ Claire suggested, recalling him once saying the same thing to her as she cried herself to sleep a week after Lenni had gone. She fetched a glass of water from the bathroom and, when she returned, her father was in bed, his eyes closed and his thin, dry lips muttering words she could barely make out.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Company

  There’s someone here. There’s someone here! I drop to the floor beside my bed and watch, shaking with anticipation. The little girl is talking, laughing, singing a song. She is in my room. There’s someone here, I tell you!

  My teeth clamp together and I claw at the foam mattress, putting the pieces in my mouth, waiting for her to see me. I’m way too scared to say hello, just like when I was at school. I haven’t seen anyone else in such a long time, I don’t know what to say. The only people I see are in the films, and they never talk back.

  I want to yell ‘Go away’ in case she’s bad, but I clamp my hand over my mouth, so I keep quiet. Has she come looking for me? Maybe she’s here to rescue me, to take me home, to make everything normal again. But then I feel sad. What if she’s been captured and put in here too?

  The television chatters in the background, the flickering lighting up my little room. A man’s voice drones on about nuclear war, about how we will all die if the bomb goes off.

  There’s a little girl in here. There really, really is!

  Why don’t you believe me?

  My breathing is noisy as I wait and watch – even noisier than the telly or her singing – and I’m scared she’ll hear me. My nose is clogged and crusty, as if I’ve been breathing soil, as if I’ve been buried alive. And all the while the little girl is chanting. Teasing.r />
  I want her to leave me alone now. Get out!

  No, please don’t go…

  Eventually, I fall asleep on the floor and, when I wake, she’s gone.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Nick was the closest to the phone, so he grabbed it, handing it straight to Maggie. ‘Hello?’ she said, followed by single-syllable responses. She hung up, deflated, turning to the others. ‘No news. They have people out making enquiries and will begin a full-scale search in the morning.’ Maggie couldn’t stand the thought of her daughter out alone in the dark Cornish countryside, possibly lost, possibly hurt. To make matters worse, an onshore wind was getting up, making an overnight storm likely.

  ‘Searching the coast at night would be madness,’ Nick said. ‘But it’s so frustrating not to be doing anything.’ He paced about, mirroring how they all felt: utterly helpless.

  ‘Agreed,’ Jason said. ‘But we’re best off trying to get a couple of hours’ sleep, then searching again at first light.’ They’d all gone back up to The Old Stables, not wanting to disturb Patrick and Shona while they discussed what to do. Angus and Jenny were still at the farmhouse.

  ‘I’m so sorry about this, Claire,’ Maggie said, cupping her hands around a mug of sweet tea. Her voice was flat and tired. ‘You’re all so kind.’ She managed a little smile before it fell away. ‘And I’m so angry with Rain, yet sick with worry.’ She put the mug on the table, dropping her head into her hands.

  Claire exchanged glances with Jason then Nick, wondering if they thought it was as serious as she did. ‘You should try to get some sleep too,’ she said, touching Maggie’s back. ‘It’s only a few hours until dawn.’ She looked at her watch, knowing that sleep would be impossible, but any kind of rest was better than nothing.

  Jason went upstairs to join Greta, who had already succumbed to exhaustion, and Maggie and Nick reluctantly went back up to the farmhouse. Claire watched from her back door as the pair walked arm in arm, eventually disappearing from the cones of light thrown out from two lanterns standing sentry at her gateway. She stood there a few minutes longer, contemplating the blackness beyond, wondering which part of the night had swallowed up Rain. She gripped the door frame hard, trying to quell the rising tears. Thoughtless teenager or something more sinister – it was all too reminiscent.

  After locking the door securely – then unlocking it again in case Rain came back – she decided on a nightcap. It was unlike her, but the only thing that would guarantee an hour or two’s sleep. She sat at the kitchen table, unable to prevent her mind from going back to the first night Lenni had gone missing when, shamefully, she’d slept soundly. She’d always hated herself for that, the next morning trying to convince herself she’d been exhausted from dashing about trying to find her baby sister. Or, perhaps, as she now wondered, it was self-protection that had made her sleep that night. The only way to escape the guilt.

  Claire sipped the whisky that she’d sloshed into a floral teacup.

  ‘Where are you, Rain?’ she whispered, tapping a finger on the table as the whisky seared her throat. She knocked back the rest, pouring another shot which didn’t do anything to allay the negative thoughts.

  Some days, in her mind, Lenni had become someone’s new daughter, stolen to order because a couple unable to have children of their own had so much love to offer a trusting little girl like her. Other times she’d been taken out of the country, perhaps by gypsies or kidnapped by a child-trafficking gang. Claire imagined her alive but feral, wasted away with empty, sunken eyes.

  She knocked back the second shot of whisky and put the cup in the sink. The most unthinkable scenario, she now realised, was ironically the most desirable. That Lenni was dead. She flicked off the kitchen lights and went upstairs to bed.

  * * *

  Claire woke to the sound of a storm, with rain pelting against the glass. ‘Callum,’ she whispered. Her husband groaned and rolled over, looping his arm around her waist, pulling her closer as she tried to get out of bed to close the window. It was already starting to get light. ‘Cal, no, I have to get dressed. We’re going out searching.’

  ‘It’s four in the bloody morning,’ he moaned, squinting at the clock. ‘We’ve had about two hours’ sleep.’

  Claire swung her legs out of bed and sat up, bracing herself for what lay ahead. Her mobile phone buzzed on the bedside table. Are you awake? I’m at the door. Callum shoved a pillow over his head while Claire slipped on her dressing gown, going downstairs to let Nick in. ‘Did Maggie sleep at all?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘We’ve been up talking for the last hour. She’s going to call Rain’s father later to see if he’s heard anything.’

  ‘About time,’ Claire said, closing the door behind him. She couldn’t understand why Maggie hadn’t called him straight away. Married or not, he had a right to know if his daughter was in danger and Maggie had a right to know if Rain was with him.

  Claire filled the kettle. She swilled out a couple of yesterday’s mugs, tossing in teabags. ‘Nick, does this feel…’ She turned away, not managing to finish the sentence, so she stood with her hand on the kettle, head down, waiting for it to boil.

  ‘Familiar?’

  Claire poured boiling water into the mugs. ‘I don’t like it. There are already too many similarities.’ She caught his eye as she passed him his tea.

  ‘Losing a child is…’ Nick took a sip instead of finishing.

  ‘Is what?’ Claire sat down but didn’t take her eyes off him. She pulled her robe tighter around her chest.

  ‘It’s still raw.’ Nick’s voice was deep and low, but Claire didn’t miss the waver in it. The look on his face told her he hadn’t wanted to say anything.

  ‘What’s raw, Nick?’

  He stared blankly ahead but then, as if the weight of his sadness was too much, his head dropped forward, chin on chest. Claire put a hand on his arm. ‘Nick?’

  ‘It’s Isobel. She died.’

  ‘Oh, Nick, I’m so very, very sorry.’ Claire clasped his hand in hers, hardly able to believe what she was hearing. Hardly able to believe he hadn’t told her before now. All the things she felt she ought to say wouldn’t come out. ‘When?’

  ‘A year and a half ago.’

  Claire had assumed that Jess and Isobel were simply unable to make the trip to Cornwall and, for some reason, she hadn’t wanted to ask why, perhaps sensing Nick’s reticence to talk about his family. ‘I can’t even begin to contemplate what you’ve been going through.’ She released his hand, allowing him to sip his tea. He looked exhausted, still in yesterday’s clothes.

  ‘I may as well be honest, Claire.’ He stared at her, as if looking for something of the past, something familiar and safe. ‘The coroner’s findings were inconclusive, though an accident was stated as a possible cause of death.’

  Claire nodded, waiting for him to continue.

  ‘Initially, the police weren’t satisfied, especially as some of the injuries didn’t quite fit the accident theory. She fell down the stairs, hit her head and suffered a massive intracranial haemorrhage. It was the bruise marks on her upper arms that made them suspect me. I was questioned but never charged.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ she said, knowing Nick would never hurt anyone, let alone his daughter. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘You don’t have to say anything. Just believe me.’

  ‘Of course I believe you, Nick.’

  ‘My theory is that she ran downstairs to answer the front door, but tripped at the top.’ He shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe it. ‘A delivery driver had put a card through the letterbox. They’d written down the time of the visit, which pretty much tallied with the estimated time of her death. Isobel was alone at the time. While Jess could prove where she was, I couldn’t. It didn’t help that a neighbour made a statement saying that I was home, that he’d heard shouting, although he later retracted it as he was uncertain.’ Nick took a deep breath, drinking more tea.

  ‘You don’t have
to talk about it if you don’t want.’

  Nick shrugged. ‘Isobel was home alone most afternoons because Jess and I were too damned busy to be there for her after school. I was working all hours at the restaurant, and then I discovered Jess’s affair.’ He dragged his hands down his face, sucking in a deep breath. For the first time, Claire noticed the empty space where a ring used to be. ‘The same neighbour also told the police he’d heard me yelling a few days before Isobel died, that he saw her running out of the house in tears and that I’d chased after her, grabbing her in a threatening way. True, I did chase after her, but I didn’t want to hurt her. She’d fled the house because she heard me yelling at her mother. I’d just found out about the affair. It was her mother she was angry at, not me. Losing Isobel finished Jess and me off.’

  ‘You should have called me, Nick,’ she said. Her words echoed between them.

  ‘I’m doing OK. I have the business to focus on and the divorce will be finalised soon. It’s all about piecing back together some kind of life.’

  Claire didn’t think he sounded OK at all.

  ‘I considered calling you for a long time,’ he said. Claire’s hand itched to take hold of his again, but she didn’t. ‘In fact, you were the first person I thought of phoning after it had happened. I knew you’d have listened, let me come and stay, given me space to grieve.’

  ‘Of course I would, Nick.’ Claire realised how close they were sitting to each other.

  ‘But you have your own life,’ he went on, looking around the kitchen. ‘And I know it’s up to me to make a new one for myself now. Fill the hole that Isobel left with something else.’

  Claire took Nick’s hand again, despite the nagging voice in her head.

  ‘Or someone else,’ he added, just as Maggie came through the back door.