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

by Samantha Hayes

  ‘The glasses case was labelled with a name and address. My father’s name and address.’

  ‘Sometimes it’s best not to read too much into things, Claire.’ Nick could see where this was going.

  ‘It was him who scared the living daylights out of me at the viewing.’ She leant back against the cushions but sat up again. ‘Mum said he’d gone off in a right state that morning, after an argument about selling the farm. He must have got lost and confused.’ Claire’s hands were shaking as she pulled up Greene & Galloway’s website on her phone. ‘Look, that’s Galen Cottage. It’s so similar to the cottage where he’d kept Lenni.’ She dropped her head, stifling the sobs.

  Nick nodded, checking it out. ‘They’re very similar. But Patrick wouldn’t have taken your bag and phone, surely?’

  ‘At the time, I was convinced someone had. But Jason proved otherwise. I was so scared, maybe I was mistaken. My father wasn’t the only one muddled and panicking.’

  ‘You think he was panicking?’

  ‘He would have been if he couldn’t find Lenni there. His dementia was getting worse.’ Claire leapt up, opening the old cupboard behind her, rummaging through decades of collected belongings – everything from trinkets and sticky whisky bottles, books and papers to old electrical items that Patrick had refused to throw away. It all spilt out onto the floor, her breathing getting faster, her cheeks reddening. ‘There must be something here that will help explain…’ She moved on to another cupboard filled with his watercolour paintings before glancing around the study with wild eyes. Then she targeted her father’s bureau, frantically pulling out the drawers and emptying them.

  Nick came up to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. ‘Claire, stop. You don’t even know what you’re looking for. It’s not helping—’

  ‘I need to do this, Nick,’ she said, shrugging away, chucking more accumulated junk onto the floor. Dust motes speckled the air as she searched. She pulled down the desk flap, swiping away pens and pencils, stationery and notebooks – all the stuff the police hadn’t taken.

  She stopped for a second, staring at the ceiling, thinking. ‘The compartment,’ she whispered, pulling out a mini drawer at the back of the desk. ‘The police wouldn’t have known to look here when they’d gone through his belongings. He once showed it to me and Lenni. He told us it was a secret. We thought it was the coolest thing ever. Look…’ Claire removed the false bottom beneath where the drawer had been. ‘He used to let us stash sweets in here, so Mum wouldn’t…’ She trailed off as she spotted it. ‘Nick?’ she said, turning to him.

  He reached in and took out the phone.

  ‘Mum was looking for that everywhere. He refused to use it. I didn’t even know he had one until recently.’

  Nick opened it up and switched on the cheap, pay-as-you-go flip phone. ‘It’s almost out of battery. We should let the police have it.’

  ‘Give it to me,’ she said, swiping if from him. She toggled back through the list of calls made and received, scanning the numbers. ‘Look, he called Greene & Galloway several times, see?’ Her voice was urgent as she thought back over the dates and times, working it out. ‘I think he was the supposed cash buyer, Nick. He would have done anything to stop Mum selling up. He couldn’t ever leave because Lenni was locked up here. He had his lucid moments too, don’t forget.’

  Nick shook his head, raising his eyebrows. ‘You’re probably right.’ He leant in close, peering at the phone screen. ‘But stop now, Claire. Don’t torture yourself any more.’

  ‘There were other numbers dialled too,’ she said, ignoring him. ‘Look, these were to my mobile. As well the Old Stables landline. He must have been the one who left that twisted message, probably when he wasn’t thinking straight.’ She explained about the disturbing voicemail the night Jason and Greta arrived. The timing of the calls fitted. ‘It’s no coincidence all the silent calls I was getting have stopped now. He probably wasn’t thinking straight and misdialling me.’ She paced around the study, trampling on her father’s belongings.

  ‘Don’t overthink this, Claire,’ he said, reaching out to stop her. She was shaking. ‘Trust me, I speak from experience. Sometimes the only closure is accepting there will be none.’ He drew her close, placing a finger over her lips. She only stilled when he pulled her into his arms, holding her tight, stroking her hair. ‘I’m going to delay the restaurant opening for a while.’ He felt her tense again as she looked up at him. ‘I’m not leaving you alone with all this to deal with.’

  ‘No, Nick,’ Claire said quietly. ‘I won’t let you do that. The restaurant is everything you’ve always wanted.’

  ‘Not quite,’ he said, staring into her eyes. ‘Anyway, my mind is made up. I’m here for as long as you need. Maybe I’ll even move back to Cornwall permanently.’ He wanted to get it all out, tell her how he felt about her. But now wasn’t the time.

  She rested her head against his chest. He was right. Searching for answers that didn’t exist was only hurting her more.

  ‘I could easily sell the restaurant, even as it is. It’s been stressing me out more than I’d like. I had this crazy idea…’ He laughed at his stupidity, wondering how he thought he’d ever have got away with it.

  ‘Go on,’ she said.

  ‘When Jess and I split up, I couldn’t afford my own place. I’ve been couch-surfing with mates for months, so I was getting the restaurant basement converted into a living space. It’s not entirely legal, I know, and I’d have got shut down if it was discovered, but it seemed like my only option.’

  ‘So much has happened, Nick,’ she whispered, looking up at him again, thinking about what he’d been through. ‘Too much. But what happened to us?’ Their faces were close, each aware of the other’s breathing, the feel of their bodies pressed close, the warmth shared. They stayed like that for what seemed like forever, each knowing this wasn’t the right time for the kiss that would have been perfect if circumstances had been different. Perhaps if they’d been standing in the sea.

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  The day they brought Eleanor home was bright and clear, with a sky so indigo it almost looked as if stars should be visible. Having been back home in London for several weeks, Jason had come back to Cornwall alone for a couple of days. Greta’s mother had flown over to help out with the babies.

  As they stood outside the farmhouse waiting, an onshore breeze heralding Lenni’s arrival, Claire turned her face to the sun. She was filled with anticipation. They’d seen Lenni over the last couple of weeks, of course – the short visits gradually getting longer, stretching from ten minutes to several hours. They’d taken her gifts, were patient with her when she wanted to be alone with the curtains drawn and the lights off, yet listened to her when she was ready to speak. So far, she’d said little about what had happened to her. The psychologist said it was normal, that it might come out in time. For now, it was all about reconnecting, rekindling relationships, building trust.

  Occupational therapists and mental health workers had come to the farm too, preparing the family for her return. Everyone had been astounded by her progress, how her inner life force was keeping her going – a wilting seedling finally being given light and water.

  Claire took her mother’s trembling hand when they saw the car crowning the rise of the drive. Shona was still on medication, still struggling with everything, but was making progress each day.

  ‘You OK?’ Nick whispered, leaning close to Claire, taking her other hand. He meshed his fingers between hers as the vehicle came closer. Jason was close by, and Aunt Jenny had come down to offer her support to Shona.

  ‘I think so,’ Claire whispered back, not taking her eyes off the car.

  ‘Is she here yet?’ Rain came tumbling out of the house, squeezing in next to Jason. She’d decided to stay on in Cornwall a bit longer while Maggie got them settled into Rose’s place. Hanging out with Marcus and his mates was doing her good, and she reckoned she might be back next holidays.

  ‘This is it
, then,’ Jason said, as the car pulled across the gravel into the courtyard. The windows flared with sunlight, obscuring the faces inside.

  The front door of the car opened and Sarah, the psychologist who’d been visiting, got out. She removed her sunglasses and forked them onto her head, smiling at the small gathering. Low key was best, she’d told them, so as not to overwhelm Eleanor. A nurse got out of the back of the car and came round, opening the other rear door. For those few moments, it was as if the whole world was holding its breath.

  And then Eleanor emerged – a hand on the top of the door, her feet reaching tentatively for the ground. Her eyes were blinking, squinting, darting about.

  ‘Lenni,’ Jason said under his breath. Claire squeezed Nick’s hand, leading him a step forward as Eleanor stood upright. Outside of the hospital, she seemed so small. The nurse tried to help her, but she shied away. Typical Lenni, Claire thought, desperate to run up to her, to hold her, to never let her go.

  ‘Hello, Lenni,’ Claire said across the courtyard.

  ‘Hello,’ came a faint whisper back, but it could have been a breath of wind in the trees. She looked at the distance between her and her sister – the little girl she’d allowed to get lost. About twenty feet separated them, each one representing a year of missing time.

  ‘Darling,’ Shona said from behind, so weakly she didn’t think Eleanor even heard.

  Claire took another step forward, Nick beside her. She was aware of the others flanking her, how much it felt like Grandmother’s Footsteps, the game they all used to play as kids.

  Nineteen years.

  ‘Welcome home, Lenni,’ Jason said, his voice wavering at words he never thought he’d get to say.

  Lenni’s mouth motioned upwards, making a small smile.

  In turn, she took a step or two closer to them. Seventeen years.

  She was wearing grey linen trousers and a white blouse with flat black pumps on feet that shuffled her closer still. A pale-green cardigan was draped over her shoulders – all her clothes chosen by Claire. Her hair was different too, the brittle strands now untangled and trimmed. It sat a couple of inches above her shoulders in a wispy cut, making her look a little more normal, a little more real.

  Claire ventured forward a bit more. Fourteen years. It was only as she got closer that Eleanor’s flaking fingernails, her bad teeth, her sallow complexion became apparent. Her unusual gait was only noticeable when she walked.

  ‘It’s so good to have you home,’ Claire said, inching forward to twelve years.

  Lenni glanced down at her feet, as if urging them to work. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said in that defiant, almost childlike voice. ‘Sorry… sorry… sorry…’

  ‘Oh, my darling, don’t be sorry.’ Shona drew closer but halted. She wasn’t sure what to do. Was hugging her OK? Maybe she didn’t even want to be hugged.

  ‘You mustn’t be sorry, Lenni,’ Claire echoed. ‘You did nothing wrong.’ She gripped Nick’s fingers as she crept forward. Eight years to go.

  As Lenni stood alone in the middle of the courtyard, her psychologist deliberately holding back, the nurse hovering just in case, Claire noticed that her eyes had latched onto something, or someone. She tracked her gaze to where Rain was standing, a little removed from the rest of them.

  ‘Hello again,’ Lenni said, a smile lighting up her face. Cheekbones stood proud above her beaming mouth, sore lips framing dark teeth. At this distance, Claire saw the white streaks of sunblock smeared on her skin.

  Hello again, Claire thought? Did Lenni recognise something of herself in Rain, drawn to someone of a similar age when she’d been taken? The psychologist had warned them about things like that.

  ‘It’s hot,’ Eleanor said quietly, only taking her eyes off Rain briefly to look up at the sky. ‘And so big.’ She came closer, the nurse taking hold of her elbow when she wobbled.

  Four years.

  ‘Yes, we’re having a lovely warm spell,’ Claire said, flicking her eyes between Lenni and Rain. What was going on?

  ‘A lovely warm spell,’ Eleanor repeated, though it was directed at Rain.

  ‘We should go inside,’ the psychologist suggested. No one replied. All eyes were on Eleanor as she moved forward, releasing herself from the nurse’s steadying hand. She wanted to be free. Just a couple of years apart now.

  ‘Shall we go to the beach?’ Eleanor asked, approaching Rain. She held out a hand to her. ‘We can get an ice cream.’ The cheeky glimmer of thirteen-year-old Lenni was evident in her grin, though she had no idea how deep her words cut. No one heard the psychologist when she suggested that the beach probably wasn’t a good idea, that going inside and resting would be wise.

  Shona, Jason and Claire nodded to each other, drawing close to Lenni, opening their arms wide around her like a giant flower blooming. She allowed herself to be embraced, swallowed up, absorbed by their love. And as the years between them diminished absolutely nothing at all, as the vast expanse of missing time ceased to exist, they all turned and headed slowly for the sea.

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Freedom and Beyond

  ‘She’s real, she’s real, she’s really, really real,’ I say over and over as I scramble up the steps, glancing back down. My legs hurt and I’m panting, but it gets me thinking – if she’s real, then maybe I’m not.

  My heart thumps as I emerge into the place where I used to play, making pretend boats, houses and hospitals. She told me not to stop, to get out, but I have to lean against the old refrigerator to get my breath back – the fridge he slides over the trapdoor to the cellar below to keep me safe. All tucked up, he said. I catch my breath, the air burning in and out of my lungs. As kids, we never knew about the chamber down below. No one did, apart from Daddy. If I had the strength, I’d shove the fridge back over the hole, sealing him in. But then that girl would be locked in too. If she’s even real.

  She’s real. She’s real. She’s really, really real!

  There’s a noise from down below. Has he come back to life? Or maybe it’s her. Maybe she’s bad and wants to catch me. Or perhaps he’s going to lock her up now instead of me. I take a step down again, pausing, but I feel sick so pull myself up again, listening carefully. Then the noise again. Someone moving about down there. A tiny bird flaps out of the chimney, veering away through a glassless window.

  I step over all the rubbish and go to the front door, what’s left of it. I feel like crying because the whole world is out there and it’s really scary. But then I hear her words in my head again – Get out! – so I stand in the open doorway, sucking in the fresh woody air. Finally, I step outside, blinking as my eyes grow accustomed to the light, feeling the breeze on my face. Through the canopy of leaves above, I can just make out the sun, see a few clouds scudding along. It feels like summer. But which one?

  Then another noise from inside the cottage, someone getting closer.

  I try to run but can’t. My legs won’t have it. I set off through the trees, forcing them to work, grabbing onto the trunks as I make my way down the slope. I stumble, not knowing which direction to go. ‘Help!’ I cry, but my voice barely works.

  Finally, I reach the edge of the woods and the world opens up into the biggest, most colourful painting I’ve ever seen. It’s as if an orchestra is playing. It stretches for a thousand miles left and right and up into the sky too. My mouth opens, and my tongue burns dry from the breeze. I spread my arms wide, throwing back my head. I laugh so loudly that I don’t even care if I’m discovered.

  Then I see him. A man out walking his dog.

  I drop to the ground, my fingers clawing at the moss and dirt and twigs. He’s down at the bottom of the field, dangling a lead, calling to his dog as it darts in and out of the hedges. But then the dog stops, standing proud, its nose stuck up and sniffing the air. It glances my way and sniffs again, barking. I’m behind a tree now but that doesn’t stop the creature looking right at me and letting out another high-pitched bark.

  A dog… a man with a lead…
me, alone…

  I slap a hand over my mouth, stifling the scream. Please don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me… I bite my palm, my whole body shaking, watching him walk away. The dog follows him, giving one last bark in my direction.

  If you’d just stayed home, none of this would have happened…

  I swing around to where the voice is coming from, but there’s no one there.

  ‘Yes, yes, I should have stayed inside…’ I whisper, my mind spinning back through what seems like a thousand million years. It’s as if I’m there again, standing, waiting, whistling to myself, trying to keep cheerful, but still he didn’t come. I glanced at my watch. It was new for my birthday. ‘Quarter to eleven,’ I said to myself, trying not to feel scared. It was dark and the latest I’d ever been out alone. The village disco finished at ten. ‘Come on, Dad,’ I said, shuffling from one foot to the other. ‘Where are you?’ I really needed the loo.

  ‘You getting a lift home, love?’ the lady who ran the disco said. She’d been sweeping up, and suddenly the village hall car park was plunged into darkness as she turned off the lights. I heard her locking the door, grumbling to her husband that I was still there, that they couldn’t leave me alone.

  ‘Yeah, my dad’s coming to fetch me. He’s probably been held up.’

  ‘Well, you just wait here for him, then,’ the woman said. Her husband, the man who played the disco music, took her by the arm and led her off to their car. He had his hand on her bottom. I watched the red tail lights get smaller as they drove the half a mile down the lane back towards the village. And then I was quite alone, standing outside the village hall in the pitch dark on a Friday night. I wanted to cry, but fought it back. I’d never be allowed out again if I acted like a baby.

  My watch said five to eleven. If he wasn’t here by the hour, I was going to set off walking. It would take me forever to get to the farm, but I didn’t want to wait here alone all night. Mum would have been on time.