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

by Samantha Hayes

  ‘Things have been, you know, OK. Up and down.’ He couldn’t possibly tell her everything on the phone. It would be hard enough face-to-face. ‘And I’ve finally bought my own restaurant. It looks more like a war zone at the moment though.’ He attempted a laugh.

  ‘That’s great news,’ Claire said, although he sensed she was holding something back.

  Nick imagined her there with him – taking her hand and showing her around the empty space, telling her all about his crazy plans, how he’d only be serving organically grown and locally sourced food, all the dishes inspired by different times in his life. He was even sketching out a cookbook, had a vision of himself being interviewed on television, and the restaurant becoming a favourite with celebrities. And then the emptiness set in. Doing it all alone just wasn’t any fun. If he thought too hard about what had happened, all he really wanted to do was burn the place down. With him trapped inside.

  ‘Callum’s fine, thanks,’ she said in response to a question he hadn’t realised he’d asked. ‘Marcus went and got all grown up and Amy’s six now.’

  Nick’s heart skipped. She’d been a baby last time he’d seen Claire. The child had broken his heart as well as melted it, drawing a line under what would never be his.

  ‘How’s the lovely Jess, then? And what about Isobel? She must be a teenager now.’ Claire laughed so sweetly it almost made everything seem all right, as if none of it had happened.

  Nick was aware of Trevor approaching, glancing at his watch. It was Saturday morning and the men had only come in for a couple of hours as a favour.

  ‘Things have happened, Claire.’ He hoped she wouldn’t probe further.

  ‘OK,’ was her slow, tactful reply. She added a little cough as punctuation. ‘I’m calling because I’m organising a reunion. It’s for Dad.’

  Nick listened as she explained everything. He mouthed ‘two minutes’ to his builder.

  ‘So will you come to Trevellin in July?’ She paused but then added, ‘It’ll be twenty-one years soon.’

  ‘That long?’

  ‘She’d be thirty-four.’

  They were both silent for a moment.

  ‘Claire, I’ve got someone with me. Can I call you later?’

  ‘Sure. On this number though.’

  ‘Right,’ Nick said to Trevor, after adding her to his contacts and putting his phone back in his pocket. ‘We’ve got a restaurant to open.’ And for some reason – the first time in many months – a tiny smile lifted the side of his mouth. He felt scared admitting it, but it almost felt good.

  Chapter Seven

  Shona heard her granddaughter before she saw her. Perfect timing, she thought, smiling, as she dusted the cake with icing sugar. The kettle was simmering on the Aga as Claire and Amy gambolled with Russ across the farmyard towards the house. She watched as two of the dearest people to her in the world approached the back door, feeling love and warmth seep through her.

  But she also couldn’t help feeling that the welcome she was about to offer – the cake, the tea and the chit-chat – were a mask for reality. Inside, everything hurt.

  ‘My darling Amy,’ Shona said, going outside to greet them and scooping her grandchild under her arms. She was still just able to lift her and wouldn’t consider herself old until she couldn’t. ‘You wait till you see what Grandma’s got for you.’

  ‘A present?’ Amy dropped down, scurrying inside.

  Claire laughed. ‘Hi, Mum.’ She gave her a kiss. ‘Something smells good.’

  ‘Just a sponge cake.’ Shona left the door open so Russ, Callum’s Labrador, could come and go as he pleased. ‘And don’t chase the chickens,’ she told the old brown dog, though she didn’t think he’d have the energy.

  ‘It’s so warm,’ Claire said, fanning herself with her straw hat.

  ‘Summer at last,’ Shona replied. ‘Earl Grey?’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  ‘And all this, young lady, is for you.’

  Amy’s alert green eyes tracked Shona to the corner of the large kitchen. There seemed little point in ever using the rest of the house when this room had an open fire, the cooking range, comfy old sofas and the French doors leading out to the garden. No one ever called at the front door unless they were on official business, and countless dogs and kids and even chickens had tramped in and out for as long as Shona could remember. So far, everyone seemed to believe that selling up was what she actually wanted to do. It wasn’t.

  ‘This box,’ Shona began, as Amy sat down cross-legged on the rug, ‘is full of toys from a long time ago. You won’t find any noisy electronic gadgets in here.’

  Amy gasped with joy and Shona left her to delve inside the box. She turned to Claire, who was filling the teapot. ‘I’ve been having a sort-out,’ she said quietly. She knew there would be a reaction, she just wasn’t sure what yet.

  Claire glanced over to Amy as she pulled a pretty rag doll from the box. Her daughter squealed with delight. ‘Mum, no.’ She was wide-eyed.

  ‘Yes, love,’ Shona replied firmly although inside she didn’t feel at all firm about her decision at all. ‘It’s long overdue.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘They’ve sat collecting dust in her room for over two decades.’

  They both knew there was little hope now, even though they’d always tried to keep positive. Months after the police had found her shorts in a ditch, even the detective in charge of the case said the chances of finding her alive were slim.

  ‘I just don’t think it’s right.’ Claire went over to Amy. ‘You’ll have to put those back, I’m afraid, sweetie. Grandma made a mistake.’

  ‘No, I didn’t, Amy. You go right ahead and play with them.’ Shona also loomed over the child until she realised what they were doing to her. ‘I’m sorry, darling, you’d better do as Mummy says.’ Shona backed off, clattering cups onto a tray. She cut up the cake and suggested they sit outside as the sun was still on the terrace. ‘Why not take Russ for a run around the lawn, Amy? He looks as if he could do with the exercise.’

  ‘He’s not very good at running any more. Daddy says he’s on his last legs and it’ll be a blessing when he’s gone.’ Amy pulled the reluctant dog by its collar.

  ‘It wasn’t quite like that,’ Claire assured her mother, as they sat at the flaking wrought iron table. ‘The vet’s bills have been pretty high recently and Callum—’

  ‘You don’t need to explain,’ Shona said, pouring the tea. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you with the toys. But I have to sort things out ready for the move.’

  Claire bowed her head. ‘I know. It’s just that I don’t want you to move. I know looking after this place as well as Dad is a lot of work, but I could help out more. I could go part-time. What about a holiday to mull things over? Take Dad on a cruise?’

  ‘Your father would hate a cruise.’ Shona sipped her tea and watched as Amy tried to run with Russ. The dog lay down, panting.

  ‘He was never big on holidays, was he?’ Claire said. ‘“No one speaks bloody English and they all eat horse meat,”’ she said in a deep, growling voice, mimicking her father. ‘“There are perfectly good beaches on our doorstep and all for free!”’

  They laughed, knowing that Patrick was probably right. But even if they’d wanted a holiday, the bed and breakfast had always tied them to the farm during the summer. Looking back, Shona wondered how she coped with it all.

  Claire took a deep breath. ‘Mum, I’ve done something I hope I don’t live to regret.’

  Shona frowned. The sun was behind her daughter, so she squinted, raising her hand to her forehead. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I wanted to do something nice for Dad… so I wondered, I thought perhaps—’

  ‘What, darling?’

  ‘I’m organising a reunion.’ Claire hesitated. ‘I thought if I invited all the old group – Maggie, Nick, Jason, perhaps Uncle Angus and Aunt Jenny too – it would be really good for him. Like old times. And with partners and children too, there’d be so many of us to help
that you wouldn’t have to do a thing.’

  Shona listened to her daughter tripping over her words, trying to make it sound appealing.

  ‘I’d take care of everything. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger. It would be stimulating for Dad, really help with his memory. I worry about him so much and…’ Claire was rambling. ‘I’ve already made some phone calls, actually.’

  Shona’s face gradually broke a smile. ‘I think it’s an excellent idea, darling. I would love nothing more.’ Then the smile fell away. ‘But what about Jason?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I’ve said he can stay with me rather than here at the farm. I was hoping it might help repair things.’

  Shona raised her eyebrows.

  ‘I’ve called Maggie and Nick too, but nothing’s completely firmed up yet. I should have run it past you first, I know, but…’ she trailed off.

  ‘But you knew you didn’t have to, right?’ Shona took her daughter’s hand.

  It was all going to be OK, Shona reassured herself as mother and daughter sat in the late afternoon sun. The light filtered through the twisting clematis onto the lawn, dancing like fleeting memories. She recalled Patrick buying the quivering purple-flowered plant, choosing the perfect spot for it. It had quickly flourished, spiralling up and along the pergola to form a thick canopy and flowering every summer with velvet blooms the size of saucers.

  ‘I’m sure Dad will think it’s a splendid idea,’ Shona said. In truth, she wasn’t sure. His reaction would depend on his mood and that hadn’t been predicable for a while. It wasn’t just his mind that was changing with the knotty, foreign weed that was invading his brain, but rather that his whole personality was shifting to accommodate the assault.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon chatting about plans, which week in the summer would work best, what they would all do, and who would have which room. Shona decided not to say anything when Amy ducked back inside the kitchen and sneaked out the rag doll, riding it around on Russ’s back as if it was finally having the time of its life.

  Chapter Eight

  Not So Long Ago

  I’m awake but it’s dark. The same tarry black as my empty sleep.

  What do you dream about with when all your memories have gone?

  The electricity is off again.

  ‘Can you fix it?’ I asked last time it happened, but I was told I should be more understanding, more grateful.

  I feel my way to the tap, twisting it so it spews a trickle of water into my glass. Last week it came out brown and gritty, so I got bottled water again, though not enough. ‘To tide you over,’ I was told, which reminded me of something, somewhere. Fresh and free.

  I try to make a note of every day that passes and wind my watch, but sometimes I forget. I could be out of kilter with the rest of the world by days or even months or years. I lost a whole season once. But I’m set straight with a smile, or I get a flower to show me it’s summer, and one time I was taken out to see the snow. I’m thirty-three years old and today is the twelfth of February 2017.

  Or maybe it’s August and I’m only thirteen.

  I sit in the chair, waiting. When the power has been off before, the food in the fridge went bad. I’ve paid the price of slimy ham and lumpy milk once too often. Hospitals aren’t for people like me, I’m told.

  Later, I wake with a jolt. I must have dozed off. There’s a horrid smell. Everything stinks in here anyway, but this is worse. The walls stink. The floor stinks. The furniture stinks and I stink. It’s a soup of mould and sweet yeast and sad, exhaled breath. But this time there’s something else in the mix – a dog, wet and salty from the sea. Just your mind playing tricks and best forgotten, I’m told, when I complain that people keep visiting, talking to me.

  Suddenly, the light comes back on. I screw up my eyes, opening them gradually as the glare from the bulb burns through my lids. There’s an image scorched onto my eyes, which doesn’t go away even when I blink – me on a long stretch of beach with a cobalt-blue sky and a bright umbrella straining in the breeze. Frothy green waves rush up the sand and there’s a man walking his dog. It runs up and licks me. This memory tastes as delicious as ice cream, but when the wind whips up I’m all alone again, screaming, begging not to die.

  Then I run at the wall. There’s hardly any space in here, yet I manage a good speed, hurling myself against it. Usually, I just get a bruise, but sometimes I go nice and dizzy. Once, I prised off a couple of the wooden panels to see what was underneath, but all I found was yellow padded stuff that made me sneeze. It helps pass the time.

  I put on a film. I’ve got loads. I’ve seen them all a thousand times and know all the words off by heart. It’s summertime in this movie, which is why I like it. I imagine my room to be hot and bright, the sun beating down. My head throbs and so I pretend I’m wearing a hat. I slip on some sunglasses while my skin scorches, peeling and bubbling from the heat. Then, much later, a pair of gentle hands rubs cool cream on my shoulders.

  ‘You’ve caught the sun, little one,’ she says. I giggle up at her, crinkling my nose, imagining myself running about with my hands cupped, ready to catch the sun as it falls from the sky. Her voice is sweet, and she smells of roses. I don’t know who she is.

  Suddenly, a pain grips my side. No food for three days now. Then, as if my thoughts have sent out an emergency signal, the familiar clattering and clanking sound heralds what I hope will be a glorious feast. I get down on all fours and crouch behind the chair, sucking on my fingers, chewing and eating the peeling skin, waiting. When the door opens, a rush of cool, fresh air sweeps in.

  ‘Hello,’ I whisper. My voice is croaky.

  The door locks again and the chair is shoved aside.

  ‘What are you doing down there?’ The face looms like a big pale moon – doughy and troughed. I can smell the outside.

  ‘Hiding,’ I giggle. ‘What did you bring me? I’m starving.’

  ‘Stew.’ Two bags of food are unloaded onto the little table. I’ve had lots of tables. I smashed all the others. The stew is in a plastic bag and feels cold and sloppy. There’s a huge bag of crisps and I pull it open immediately, shoving my face inside like a horse. They’re delicious. The best crisps ever!

  ‘Drink this orange juice,’ I’m told, so I do. Over the rim of the glass I see ham and bread and more margarine being put on my table. I’m given some baked beans and a tin of frankfurters too, plus there’s a can of mixed vegetables and some real potatoes still with the earth stuck in their eyes.

  Then a vitamin pot is rattled under my nose. ‘Make sure you take these.’

  Later, after I’m alone again and my belly is cramping around the crisps, I decide to watch another film. I know it inside out and back to front, but it always makes me feel better. A woman gets into her car, strapping her two little children in the back. She drives off down a lonely road and the music gets loud and scary. At the junction, when she stops, a bad man forces his way into the car.

  ‘You should have stayed inside! You should have stayed inside!’ I scream out, like I’ve been taught. I tear at my hair, throwing my shoe at the screen.

  Doesn’t she know how dangerous it is out there? Why doesn’t she ever listen to me?

  I cover my eyes, and when I peek again, the children are dead and the man is on top of the woman. That’s when I count my lucky stars that I’m locked up safe in here.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Thanks for letting me know. That’s excellent news,’ Claire said, hanging up. She gave Jeff a thumbs up. ‘Gary and Eleanor offered on Cliff Lodge. Guess how much?’ She couldn’t help the smile.

  ‘Twenty grand under asking?’

  ‘Nope.’ Claire stood, hands on hips. ‘Full price,’ she squealed, making a silly face.

  She was well on target for an excellent month now, despite the slow start. Halfway through July and she’d streaked ahead of the others in what was usually a quiet time. ‘They’re cash buyers too. I must ring the owner.’

  Claire settled back at he
r desk and made the necessary calls. Of course the vendor was delighted and solicitors were instructed to set the grinding wheels of paperwork in motion next week. Nothing else would happen this late on a Friday.

  ‘Such a great start to what is going to be a fabulous few days,’ she said to anyone who was listening. She stretched back in her chair, glancing at her watch. It was almost time to go.

  ‘Sorry?’ Jeff looked up from his computer.

  ‘You haven’t forgotten, haven’t you?’

  ‘Forgotten what?’

  ‘My week off,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘I’ve got guests coming to stay, remember? I’ll pop in for a couple of hours here and there if you need me, but that’s all.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course I remember,’ he replied.

  ‘Don’t let the place fall apart while I’m away,’ she said, winking and scrolling through her inbox to answer a few emails.

  ‘Don’t worry, all is safe with me.’ He gave her a wink back, tucking his shirt in and straightening his tie.

  The agency was well respected locally. Located in one of the oldest buildings in Porthmarryn, it boasted an interior that would take even English Heritage’s breath away. From the limewash colours to the original quarry tiles, the bent oak beams straddling the ceiling of what used to be the baker’s shop, and the old oven where Claire kept a stash of handmade local chocolates to offer customers, they were one of the most prestigious agencies in the area.

  ‘Hello, Greene & Galloway, Claire speaking.’ She made a face, glancing at Jeff as he prised open the heavy cast iron door of the oven, taking out a truffle. He popped it in his mouth.

  ‘Hello?’ Claire frowned and held the handset away, staring at it. ‘Hello, how may I help you?’ She shrugged and hung up. ‘That’s the third one today,’ she said, puzzled.

  ‘We get those annoying spam calls at home. They make Marion hopping mad,’ Jeff said with his mouth full. ‘But really, you have fun next week, Claire. I’ve arranged for Janie to work extra hours, so we’ll manage.’