Callum could tell she’d convinced herself it was a good plan, and, in many ways, she was right. Patrick would gain a temporary respite from his degenerating brain. But she needed to accept that some stupid reunion wouldn’t halt the daily deterioration as his disease took hold. He decided that keeping quiet was best for now.
‘It’s a lovely idea,’ he said, drawing close and wrapping his arms around her waist. But she didn’t respond. She was staring out of the window again. Big drops of rain splatted against the glass and the magical light was gone. Claire’s hair returned to its normal mousey-brown colour and the electric atmosphere in the kitchen fizzled out.
Chapter Four
Maggie was soaking in the bath when her phone rang. She’d swooned when she’d first seen the place with its sunken Italian marble tub, and had virtually melted at the luxury of the entire house when she’d moved in with Gino two months ago.
She stood up, sending a wave of water over the edge as she reached for a towel, drenching the floor when she ran to the bedroom.
‘Hello?’ She caught it just in time. ‘Oh my God, oh my God, oh… my… God…!’
Both women were laughing hysterically.
‘I know, right…’ Claire said down the line. ‘It’s been so long. How are you?’
‘How long have you got?’ Maggie replied, suddenly feeling the need for a cigarette, even though smoking in the house wasn’t allowed. ‘You know better than to ask me that. Anyway, if you got yourself on Facebook, you’d know.’
The two women laughed again.
‘I’m unemployed and living the life of Riley in Gino’s – yes, Gino, I know! – amazing place.’
She heard Claire say something about never settling, about nothing changing. The line was bad but even through the humour and the crackles, it still stung deep.
‘Rain’s fifteen now, can you believe? She has the body of an adult woman with the common sense of a five-year-old. And there’s me with an urgent need to travel the world on the back of a Harley with a man ten years younger than me and an even more desperate need for immediate sex, but my Italian lover is working late tonight.’ Maggie lit a cigarette anyway, blowing out. ‘And how are you, my darling, darling girl?’ She giggled at the stupid accent she’d put on. There was a long pause. Maggie wondered if Claire had hung up, if her flippancy had overstepped the mark. Perhaps she was calling with bad news.
‘I’m fine. Still working at the estate agency.’
‘That’s fantastic, Claire.’ Maggie didn’t think she sounded very enthusiastic. Drying off a little, she lay back on the bed, flicking ash into the wine glass she’d drained earlier.
‘Marcus is doing his A levels and Amy is in her second year at primary school now.’
‘How time flies.’ She’d not seen Claire’s youngest since she was a toddler. She’d always considered Claire her best friend, but as time drifted on, so had their lives, their loves, their jobs and regular contact. ‘And how’s that wonderful man of yours?’
Claire laughed. ‘Callum’s fine. He’s a consultant now.’
‘Mmm, a brain surgeon,’ Maggie replied with a giggle.
‘Sometimes it’s brains,’ Claire said, echoing the laugh. ‘Listen, I was wondering…’
Maggie sat up. She knew there’d be a reason for the call.
‘Are you free at all during the summer holidays? I thought it would be nice if…’ Claire was hesitant.
‘Spit it out, Claire, for God’s sake. I’m going to say yes anyway.’ Maggie plumped up her pillows, drawing in on her cigarette.
‘I have some sad news first, I’m afraid. Dad’s not been well.’
Maggie felt a chill run up her legs and back. She’d always adored Patrick. He’d been a second father to her – sometimes a first father.
‘He was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s six months ago.’
Maggie sighed heavily. ‘Christ, I’m so sorry to hear that, Claire. How rotten for him. How rotten for you all.’ She found it hard to imagine the workhorse of a man, the long-limbed climbing frame of a father she’d loved as her own, struck down by any illness, let alone this. ‘If there’s anything I can do…’ She meant it.
‘That’s why I’m calling, actually.’ She heard Claire swallow. ‘I’m organising a reunion. Mum’s decided to sell the farm. It’s too much to cope with as well as looking after Dad. So I thought getting everyone together would be good for him. It’ll be just like old times.’
There was silence.
‘Oh, Claire…’
‘Say you’ll come, Mags. For Dad.’
Maggie could almost feel their hands clenching together as they used to do as inseparable teens. The passage of so much time so quickly made Maggie sad. ‘Of course I’ll come,’ was her heartfelt reply. In reality, she was wondering how to tell her daughter that she’d be spending some of her precious summer holidays in Cornwall.
* * *
Later, Maggie woke to the sound of the front door banging shut.
‘Rain?’ She glanced at the clock. Eleven thirty. She’d not long dozed off. ‘You’re back early, love.’
Rain was silhouetted in the doorway by the landing light. ‘That’s because I only have one friend in this dump of a town and she’s a loser. No reason to stay out.’
‘Oh, love.’ Maggie reached out to her, but Rain didn’t respond. She stood stiffly, her arms clamped across her chest.
‘Can I go back to school tomorrow? I don’t want to come here at weekends again.’ Rain shifted from one foot to the other.
Maggie knew how hard it was for her to get used to another potential stepfather, settling in a different town yet again. They’d moved around so much it was difficult for her to make local friends. But being a single mother was also hard. Deep down, Maggie knew Rain hadn’t exactly hit it off with Gino, and was best off back at her boarding school. At least she had friends there, even if they were from all over the world.
‘Of course, love,’ Maggie said, patting the bed. ‘Come and sit. I’ve something to tell you.’ The bed dipped slightly as Rain reluctantly planted herself on the mattress. Maggie flicked on the bedside lamp. ‘Good heavens, what happened?’ Rain’s make-up was smudged from tears and her lips looked swollen, almost bruised.
‘I just went to a bar…’ She trailed off, running a finger over the duvet.
Maggie frowned, knowing that something more had happened, most likely to do with a boy. Rain was a troubled soul and she daren’t risk an explosion by asking who or what had upset her. ‘I had a call from an old school friend earlier,’ she said, trying to sound casual. ‘Do you remember Claire Lucas… or Rodway as she’s called now?’
Rain shrugged.
‘I haven’t seen her in ages. She was my best friend.’
Something must have struck a chord with Rain because she looked up and listened.
‘Four of us were great friends in Cornwall. We did everything together, but now Claire’s dad is poorly. She wants us to have a reunion for him, to make him feel better.’
‘Cool,’ Rain said genuinely. ‘You’ll have fun.’
‘It’s down in Cornwall, where I grew up,’ Maggie added. She hadn’t visited for twenty years. No point in mixing old crap with the new. Even though it wouldn’t be easy going back, she wanted to show Rain a piece of her past. The time finally seemed right.
‘Where grandma and grandpa used to live?’
Maggie swallowed. ‘Yes… yes, that’s it.’
She was saddened that Rain had missed out on loving grandparents. Taken at face value, her childhood sounded perfect – scampering around a big farmhouse, playing down at the beach all summer long, exploring caves, being part of such a close-knit group of friends. But that was Claire’s childhood, not hers. Maggie had always left out telling anyone – let alone Rain – the truth about her mother and father, how they’d neglected her, how she’d lived a virtually feral existence on their council estate, fending for herself while they pleased themselves, mainly with fags, drugs and booze.
Thank God for Patrick and Shona.
Maggie’s parents had died since she’d moved away, so now it was her turn not to care. She’d managed OK, hadn’t she? Threading her way through life on the goodwill of whichever well-off bloke would take them on. ‘So, you’ll come?’
‘Me?’ Rain tucked her legs onto the bed, snorting. ‘Come to Cornwall?’
It was the reaction Maggie was expecting. ‘Of course. We’ve both been invited for a week. You’ll get to meet everyone. Claire’s got a little girl and a teenage son called Marcus.’
Maggie wondered if he looked anything like his father, which led her to wonder what Callum, not part of their original group, looked like now. He was a bit older than the rest of them, she recalled, although it had seemed like an entire generation back then.
Rain poked her mother.
‘What?’
‘You’ve got tears in your eyes.’
Maggie blinked furiously. Was it the news of Patrick’s illness that had upset her or that she’d suddenly realised how far off-track her life really was?
‘So, you’ll come?’ She gripped Rain’s hands. ‘There’ll be picnics on the beach, silly games, stories that’ll bore you stupid and lots of pub visits and walks. What do you say?’ It was about time Rain met them all. It might help her understand.
‘I say it sounds the worst way ever to spend a whole week of my summer holidays. But I don’t suppose I have a choice, do I?’
‘Is that a yes, then?’
Rain shrugged again.
‘Good, because I’ve already told Claire we’re coming.’
At last, Maggie thought, flopping back onto the pillow after her daughter had gone to bed. Something good was going to happen.
Chapter Five
‘That’s one,’ Claire said.
Callum put his book on the bedside table. ‘One what?’
‘Maggie said she’ll come to the reunion.’ She’d sounded exactly the same – wild, crazy, passionate, kind. ‘She’s bringing her daughter too.’
‘Great,’ Callum replied. ‘Let’s hope she doesn’t take after her mother.’
‘Don’t be mean, Cal.’ She prodded his arm, scrolling through her phone’s address book, angling the screen slightly away, searching for a particular name. But when she couldn’t find it, she closed the list down. Anyway, she didn’t want to talk to him yet, not until she’d spoken to Jason. She knew they’d been in touch once or twice over the years and she felt it would probably be wise to get the low-down first, though she doubted he was the type to broadcast his life on social media.
‘You’re not making more calls now, are you? It’s late.’ Callum rolled onto his side and pressed his face against Claire’s stomach. ‘Why don’t you turn that thing off and get yourself out of this?’ He tugged at the oversized T-shirt she was wearing.
‘I need to call Jason,’ she said, smoothing down her nightdress.
They usually spoke weekly, and if Claire ever went up to London they’d always meet for lunch to make it seem as if they didn’t actually live several hundred miles apart. Their relationship was strong, unbreakable, forged silently over the years by the sense of culpability they shared. But inviting Jason back to Trevellin was another matter entirely. He never came to the farm. Time may have passed, but she wasn’t sure it was long enough to heal the deep hurt he felt. It could do more damage than good, leaving her stuck in the middle.
Greta answered her call and the conversation flowed as easily as ever.
‘Oh Claire, how lovely to hear from you. No, that’s fine… we’re still up. Sleep is hard now anyway… Yes, I’m huge! Work’s fine, really busy. You? Yes, I’m looking forward to being off for a while though. Sure, hang on, I’ll fetch him.’
There was a muffled sound as Greta called for Jason. A second later her brother’s voice came on the line. ‘Hey, sis.’
‘Hi,’ Claire said, sliding Callum’s hand off her thigh. ‘How are things?’
‘Good. Greta’s massive. You?’
Claire laughed fondly. ‘Everyone’s really well. I tried to call you earlier, but it went to voicemail.’
‘Everything OK?’
‘Kind of, yes. Mum’s thinking of selling the farm, Jase. Seriously thinking about it. It’s all her idea.’ Claire knew that he would be thinking the same as her, as their father – the same as everyone except their mother it seemed.
‘Christ, what’s brought this on?’
Claire explained about how coping with the farm as well as Patrick was getting increasingly hard for their mother. She heard Jason swallowing heavily at the mention of their father. Shame it’s not your pride you’re swallowing, she thought so loudly she worried he’d hear. ‘Anyway, how’s work? Much on?’
‘Zilch,’ Jason replied, no doubt grateful for the reprieve, even if it was about his failed career. ‘If it wasn’t for Greta, we’d be living on the streets.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Pity isn’t what I need.’
‘Then maybe you need a holiday,’ Claire said, trying to sound bright. She heard Callum groaning beside her, fully aware that he was on a hiding to nothing. He picked up his book again.
‘Greta can’t fly anywhere now. Doctor’s orders. She’s on maternity leave soon.’
‘Then I have the perfect solution.’ She waited, but Jason was silent. ‘I’m organising a reunion. It’s for Dad. I thought it would be good for him if we – you know, all the old group – got together at Trevellin for a few days. We could do all the things we used to as kids. The beach, the walks, the games, tell stories. I’ve done a bit of research and apparently it could really help his long-term memory.’
‘You honestly think it’s that simple?’
Claire sighed. ‘I’m trying to make this all right, Jason. To do something good for Dad… for you too. Why are you always so against stuff like this?’
‘I’m sorry, Claire. I didn’t mean—’
‘It’s OK,’ she added quickly. A disagreement could lead to him refusing and she didn’t want that. But for the first time she was wondering who, exactly, the reunion was for. She pushed the answer from her mind.
Callum got out of bed and stretched into his robe. He walked into the bathroom, shaking his head, while Claire lay back on the pillows, closing her eyes. ‘So, will you and Greta come to Trevellin?’
‘No,’ was his instant reply.
Claire’s heart sank. Out of all of them, it was Jason she wanted there the most.
‘I won’t stay in his house. You know that.’
‘But Jason, he’s ill. You have to let this go.’
A pause. ‘It’s not that easy, Claire, and you know it.’
But Claire didn’t know it. She simply couldn’t understand how one misjudged incident had turned into years of bitter feelings.
‘Then stay with us. We have room here. The others can stay at the farm.’ It felt unfair pressing him, but she was determined to do this for Patrick.
‘I’ll speak to Greta,’ was Jason’s final response.
Claire knew not to push further, so she took a deep breath. Callum was still in the bathroom. ‘By the way, I don’t suppose you have Nick’s number, do you?’ There. She’d said his name.
‘Yeah,’ Jason replied. ‘I’ll text it to you.’
And the conversation was over.
Chapter Six
Nick Malone stared at the wreckage. It was the same as his life: the insides all ripped out, a huge amount of vision required to see anything good in the future.
‘You really think it’ll only take a couple of months?’
‘Sure,’ the contractor said. ‘Believe me, I’ve seen a lot worse.’
Nick was nodding but not seeing a kitchen at all. There were four walls and a floor, something resembling a ceiling above them, though the network of ancient wires and pipes made the space appear more like the aftermath of a multi-car pileup than a catering kitchen.
The restaurant area was no better. In fact
, it was worse. A previous flood meant the floor had been ripped up, but not until the sodden plaster of the ceiling above had been dragged down.
‘I have to be open by the end of September. I need to build a buzz in the run-up to Christmas.’
Trevor, his builder, unfolded his thick arms and swiped a hand across Nick’s back. ‘Mate, the plans are finalised, and I’ve got eight of my best men on the job. I’ve done dozens of restaurants, so relax. I’m talking with the architect on a daily basis, so you just need to get working on your menu, interview your staff and pick some wallpaper. OK?’
The décor. That would have been Jess’s job. The furniture, the flooring, the lighting, the paint, right down to the colour of the soap in the toilets would have been her department. She’d have loved every minute of it.
‘I’ll need an interior designer. I don’t have a clue about that sort of stuff.’ Nick’s mobile phone was vibrating in his pocket.
‘I know someone,’ Trevor said, turning to one of his builders.
‘Hello, Nick speaking.’ He didn’t recognise the number. He walked up to the window that overlooked the small yard, wondering what was stirring inside him.
‘Claire? Claire Lucas, how the hell are you? It’s so good to hear from you.’ He didn’t think he conveyed how much he actually meant this.
In a daze, he stared out to where the industrial-sized dustbins were stored. The enormity of what he’d taken on still made him wake up at night in terror.
‘I’m really well,’ she said back. ‘It’s lovely to hear your voice, Nick. How are things with you?’ She sounded bright and sweet and hardly any different to when they’d last spoken, which must be about five or six years ago.
The Reunion: An utterly gripping psychological thriller with a jaw-dropping twist Page 3