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

by Samantha Hayes

  * * *

  Shona didn’t think the babies were too imminent, but to be on the safe side she’d gathered lots of towels and pillows, two laundry baskets lined with soft blankets, and a bowl of hot soapy water to keep things hygienic. She’d also fetched cupful of ice for Greta to suck on, and had set Amy to work dabbing at her forehead with a cool flannel.

  ‘Do you feel as though you want to push?’ Shona asked between howls.

  ‘No! Yes! It just fucking hurts…’ Greta screwed up her face in agony as another wave of pain consumed her body. She didn’t care who she swore at or if Amy heard. Shona noticed her belly tighten and contract as her body did its work. She stroked her cheek, but her hand was quickly batted away. When the pain subsided, Shona popped some ice in Greta’s mouth and leant her forward to massage her back.

  ‘OK, let’s take a good look at you, my love,’ a paramedic said after they’d knocked and come straight in. There were three of them – two women and a man – and one of the women snapped on surgical gloves, while another set up a portable ultrasound machine. Within seconds, they could hear the shoo-shoo of the babies’ heartbeats.

  ‘You’re about six or seven centimetres dilated,’ another said, after examining her. ‘So best that we get you straight to hospital. Looks like you’re going to be a mum sooner than you’d thought.’

  ‘Ahh… oh shit!’ Greta screamed. ‘Breathe, breathe, you stupid woman,’ she said, chastising herself for forgetting everything she’d learnt in childbirth classes. ‘I… can’t… go… anywhere yet,’ she huffed and panted through yet another contraction.

  Shona hugged Jason. ‘I’m so proud of you,’ she whispered in his ear, kissing him on the cheek. ‘Now go and look after your beautiful wife and babies.’

  Jason nodded, taking hold of Greta’s hand as she was helped out to the waiting ambulance by the paramedics. He felt useless, wishing he could take away some of her pain. ‘Mum,’ he said, stopping and turning in the doorway. ‘Dad and I chatted.’ He hesitated, caught sight of the expectant look on her face. How could he tell her that Patrick had been as stubborn as ever? ‘I think everything will be OK,’ he added, feeling a pang of guilt at the sight of his mother’s smile.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Day Eleven

  How do you measure time when you can’t remember what it feels like? How do you know when to sleep or eat or do stuff if you can’t see the sky? The world has gone away, and I don’t like it. I just want to go home.

  I was given an Enid Blyton book on the first day here, but I’d already had it out from the school library, reading it while lounging in the hammock last summer, rubbing Goose’s wet nose with the tips of my fingers as he snoozed beneath me. I know it takes me a day to read it cover to cover, which I’ve done eleven times so far. Does that mean it’s been eleven days now? I’m starving, and my lungs burn from the stale damp air down here. There’s no hammock and no sun and the weird fizzy light dangling from the ceiling gives me a headache.

  When I was brought here, I was too scared to move, but I’m not scared about that now; not worried that I’ll get told off for using the loo bucket in the corner or the sink or the bed or even putting on the clothes left here. They fit as though they were put there just for me. There’s even a pair of shoes in my size. If I wore them to school, I’d get teased about the big strap that makes them really babyish.

  I run the tap for a drink of water, but it’s still sludgy brown. Then I eat some ham, but it makes me retch. It tastes like slime and smells like Goose when he’s wet and muddy. Mummy always made my food. Now I’m crying again because thinking of her makes me angry and sad.

  I didn’t mean to go off alone!

  I’ve yelled a million times for someone to help me, but nothing happens. It’s just the hum of the lights and the smell of bad ham. The taste is stuck to the roof of my mouth. For something to do, I stand on the chair and poke at the ceiling. White powdery stuff showers down on me. My heart skips in case this is a way out. I dig dig dig at it with the handle of my plastic fork, but it soon hits something hard. I jab again and again and dig and gouge until it’s like snow falling. I can’t help laughing.

  ‘It’s Christmas!’ I cry out, even though I know it can’t really be. It wasn’t that long ago that I was getting ice cream, was it? I drag down more white bobbles of polystyrene with my nails, clawing and yanking at the ceiling as it rains down on the bed, settling on the blankets. It was put up the other day because I wouldn’t stop yelling.

  I look around the room. I’ve made a mess and I’ll get told off. I lie down on my bed and fall asleep, dreaming of snowmen made of sand. When I wake, the light’s gone off and it’s pitch dark. I really wish it was Christmas Eve.

  ‘The electricity is broken,’ says a voice through the blackness. Spanners, a hammer, pipes and a blow torch are clattered onto the table in torchlight. ‘But I’ll fix it for you. I’ll make it nice for you in here, you’ll see.’ Then comes the grin, the one that makes me feel safe yet fills my heart with terror. ‘It’s your new home now.’

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  As soon as the first baby was delivered, Jason went into a state of panic. He was a father. ‘Is he OK? Is he breathing?’ he said to the midwife at least a dozen times.

  ‘You can see quite clearly he’s breathing, Dad,’ she said, smiling. ‘He certainly has a good pair of lungs.’ The baby was wailing about his sudden entry into the world. But Jason felt a stab of worry. Why was he crying? What was wrong with him?

  ‘He’s beautiful and healthy,’ she said. ‘Now just let me sort him out and you can have a cuddle.’

  Jason was nervous. What if he didn’t do it right? He hadn’t quite recovered from cutting the cord – the emotional aspect of severing child from mother as well as the thought that it must hurt had unsettled him. Greta was quiet and resting for the moment, having spent the last hour howling in pain. He did what he’d learnt in childbirth classes – lower back massage, keeping the gas and air handy, letting her grip his hand while breathing steadily along with her, talking to her between contractions and helping her shift into different positions – but Greta was having none of it. She’d sworn at him, hit him, thrown her iced water over him and virtually bitten off his hand. Then, between contractions, she’d pulled him close and sobbed into his shoulder, telling him that she wanted to die, that she couldn’t carry on, that she was already a useless mother.

  Fifteen minutes later, the second baby was delivered, and Jason immediately saw that it was a little girl. A very quiet, very limp little girl. ‘Is she OK? Why isn’t she crying?’ He darted between Greta’s side and the see-through crib where the midwife had laid the baby. She was rubbing her vigorously with a towel, ignoring Jason’s concerns.

  ‘Oh God, this can’t be happening,’ Jason mumbled, his hands pushing through his hair. The assistant midwife had called for help, and within seconds a doctor and another senior midwife were there, crowding around the baby with monitors, tubes and other equipment. Jason had no idea what was going on except that his little girl was still blue and not moving or making a sound.

  ‘What’s going on, Jason?’ Greta said, trying to hoist herself up in bed so she could see. ‘Is she OK?’

  ‘I don’t know, love. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t think she’s breath—’ Jason checked himself. Their baby would be fine. There was no way he would allow her not to be. ‘They’re just checking her over, love. Cleaning out her airways.’ He’d seen the suction tubes go between her tiny blue lips.

  Greta rested back on the pillow. She was exhausted. And then they heard the cry. Softer than the first baby but nonetheless a beautiful, heart-warming cry. It was the most welcome sound in the world. Satisfied with her condition, the doctor went off to another delivery room, leaving the midwife in control again.

  ‘She’s absolutely fine now,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘It just took a moment to get her jump-started.’ Ten minutes later, Greta and Jason were holding a baby each, hardl
y aware that the midwife had picked up Jason’s phone and was taking photos of them.

  Over the next while, Jason gazed between his son, his daughter and his wife. Where had they all come from? He felt like the luckiest man alive. For the briefest of moments, his happiness was clouded with sadness as he thought he saw a glimmer of Lenni in his daughter’s face. Her curious expression – constantly changing as she tried to make sense of the world – glimmered with Lenni’s little dimples and serious frown. Then it disappeared, and she was his daughter once again, a perfect little creature in her own right.

  ‘Is there any news about Rain?’ Greta whispered to Jason, as the midwife showed her how to latch the baby onto her nipple. They watched as a hungry mouth found its way to the most important place on earth. Greta winced.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Jason hadn’t heard anything since he’d been in hospital, but then he’d been preoccupied. ‘I’ll check my phone,’ he said, while the midwife showed Greta how to feed two babies at once. She smiled, holding her new family with confidence, as if she’d done it all before.

  Jason stared at the screen. He’d had eight missed calls and several texts. He opened a message that had just come in from Claire, reading it three times. He stood, silent for a moment, drinking in the sight of his beautiful new family, before breaking the news to his wife.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Day One

  I’m sitting on an old plastic stacking chair. I haven’t dared move yet in case I get told off. It’s earthy warm in here and smells funny. The damp air makes me cough.

  After ages of sitting still, I really need the loo. I don’t know where it is. Everyone at home will be so worried about me. It’s been hours and hours since I went to get my ice cream. I’m jiggling back and forth on the chair. What will happen if I wet myself? When I weed on the floor at school, I got a bad mark. I had to wear someone else’s knickers from the lost property cupboard. They were grey and baggy, and everyone laughed.

  If I wet the floor now, I’ll probably get killed.

  I really want to find the loo, but I don’t think there is one. It’s just one room, and the door out is locked. There’s a plastic bucket that’s been left beside a foam mattress on the floor, so I use that, sliding off the chair slowly in case something bad happens. As I pee, I look at the mattress. Is that my bed now? There’s a stuffed toy owl on it. Whoo-whoo, I think as I pull up my sandy swimsuit. I can still taste that yukky ice cream in my mouth.

  I don’t even know if it’s dark outside because there aren’t any windows. It feels like I’m underground, but I don’t know if I am. I sit back on the chair because I don’t want to get told off when the door opens again. I tap my feet and wait. I wait for ages and ages longer. Tappety-tap.

  I’m really hungry now. And cold. My swimsuit has dried stiff on me and my skin feels crisp and salty. This place is horrid. I want to get out. It’s got old brick walls with a white furry crust. There’s just a chair and the mattress on the floor, the bucket and a big metal bowl on a wooden stand. A tap hangs on the wall above it and wobbles when I dare turn it on. The water tastes of soil.

  I start to cry. I don’t want to be a baby, but I’ve been here ages now. Hours and hours, though it feels like my whole life. One tear comes and then they all come. I lean forward with my face down on my knees, crying and crying until there’s nothing left.

  ‘Help!’ I call out, crawling over to the pile of clothes left on the floor, rummaging through them like Mummy does at the jumble sale. I want a jumper and I don’t care who knows it! When I find one and put it on, it smells dirty and stale. It has someone’s dinner down the front. I get back on the chair. And then I just wait.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Callum sat facing his lawyer. They’d been allowed fifteen minutes to talk in private. He hadn’t liked the way John had lowered his head and sighed grimly when all he’d done was tell him how it had happened. Virtually everything.

  ‘It wasn’t like that, John. You know that’s not the type of man I am. I’d had a bit too much to drink, I admit. She came into my room uninvited, for God’s sake.’ Callum didn’t like John’s blank face either, felt as though he was being judged. ‘My first thought was that I was having a bloody good dream.’ He laughed raucously, like when the group of them were at the golf club bar, but John’s expression remained blank. ‘You’d have thought the same if it happened to you, let’s be honest.’

  John raised his hands to halt him. ‘You know she’s a minor?’

  ‘Well, I bloody well do now. Fucking little tart. Going around dressed like that. My son thought she was eighteen.’

  ‘But did she tell you that?’ John didn’t wait for an answer. ‘To put it bluntly, I imagine the police suspect one of two things. One, that young girls are your thing and you forced her to have sex with you, or at least encouraged it, and then she ran away upset. Or secondly, that you had sex with her and then killed her when she threatened to tell.’

  ‘Killed her?’ Callum thumped his fist on the table, half standing up and leaning in towards him. ‘For fuck’s sake, that’s totally ridiculous! I swear I didn’t do anything wrong and I certainly haven’t bloody murdered the stupid girl. She’s a menace. She’d already come on to me inappropriately once before.’ His breathing was quick and shallow. Murder? How the hell could this be happening to him?

  ‘She had?’

  ‘Yes. I was in the cellar choosing wine last Saturday evening and she followed me down and started behaving like a provocative little slut.’

  ‘Anyone see this?’

  Callum shook his head. ‘No,’ he said quietly, wondering what the hell had possessed him to tell Claire it was Maggie, not Rain. He’d just wanted a reason to get rid of them both. ‘No one saw it at all.’

  * * *

  Shona was alone in the farmhouse, exhausted and awaiting news from Jason about the babies. She’d been looking after Amy, but distracted herself by walking her granddaughter up to the village to play with a school friend. The little girl needed some normality. The other girl’s mum, a good friend of Claire, was sympathetic and happy to help out for as long as needed.

  The walk had certainly helped clear her head so, on the way back, she decided to take the cliff path rather than the shorter road route home. She found herself gazing along the familiar length of Trevellin beach, remembering Lenni, thinking of all the years that had passed, shocked by how it didn’t seem any time at all since they were tearing around trying to find her.

  When she got back to the farm, Nick was still there, not realising Shona was within earshot judging by the whispered expletives, pacing and clenched fists. He quickly stopped when he spotted her. Shona thought he looked worn out. ‘Sit,’ she said, pointing to the chair. ‘Let me make you some food.’

  ‘It’s been a while since anyone did that for me,’ he said, while Shona buttered some bread.

  ‘Then it won’t hurt for once, will it?’ Claire had briefly hinted to her about his loss, skirting around the horrific details, as well as mentioning his new project in London. She hadn’t delved much into any of the friends’ lives since they’d been here, but had picked up snippets of conversations, gleaning facts here and there, building up a current picture of the people who’d once played such a large part in Lucas family life. She’d always loved Nick. He’d been a constant member of the usual gang of kids who gathered at the farm, and he’d been good to Claire. For Claire.

  ‘The old days were good times, weren’t they?’ Shona said, grating cheese. She wasn’t expecting an answer; rather she was trying to convince herself that things hadn’t been all bad.

  As it happened, she didn’t get any kind of answer because Claire and Maggie burst into the kitchen, spewing out words, talking over each other and not making any sense. Their faces were flushed, their expressions anxious. Shona picked out something about Jason and babies… a boy… a girl, and then she heard mention of Rain.

  ‘Slow down,’ Shona instructed. Maggie was clutching her phon
e to her chest, her knuckles white around it. ‘Claire, what on earth’s going on?’ Shona glanced between the two women.

  ‘Greta’s had a boy and a girl. They’re all fine. Jason sent me a text. I don’t know any more details.’ It came out quickly and then Claire fell silent, touching her forehead as she looked across at Maggie.

  ‘That’s wonderful news,’ Shona replied. But she knew there was more. Maggie had garbled something about Rain. She braced herself for the worst.

  ‘They… they’ve found her,’ she said quietly, as Claire held her. Together they rocked back and forth, Maggie’s face pressed against Claire’s shoulder. ‘Oh God, oh God…’ she said, ending with a muffled wail. Shona waited for more details, praying that Rain had been found alive but she was too afraid to ask. ‘The signal here is so patchy I only just picked up the message from earlier. All they said was that I need to get to the hospital urgently.’ She dragged a hand down her face, wiping away her tears.

  ‘I’ll drive you,’ Nick said. ‘And you don’t know anything else?’

  Maggie shook her head, unable to help more sobs. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘She could be on life support, for all I know, or…’

  Or worse, they were all thinking.

  ‘I’ll come too,’ Claire said. ‘You can’t face this alone. And Mum, we can visit Greta if they let us.’

  Clutching her head as if it was about to explode, Maggie allowed Nick to guide her out to Claire’s car and they set off for the hospital.