‘What was wrong with her?’
Marcus took out another couple of cigarettes. He lit them both and passed one over. ‘She was just kind of “not right” apparently…’ He inhaled deeply. ‘My grandparents were really protective of her because of that.’
‘You mean, like, she was special needs?’ Rain didn’t really get it. She was just glad Marcus was being generous with his fags.
‘Yeah, exactly. And Mum said she was too trusting, couldn’t spot danger. She says these days she’d have got a diagnosis, but back then they wrapped her up in cotton wool instead. They were worried something bad would happen.’
‘Ironic,’ Rain said with a dry laugh. ‘Maggie doesn’t give a shit where I am. All she cares about is screwing money out of my father to pay for my boarding school so I’m out of her face.’
‘They’re divorced?’
‘Never married.’ Rain took a breath. She didn’t normally talk about this, let alone to imbecile boys. ‘My dad is, like, famous and everything. He’s a politician and always on the news. He’s got his own family. Maggie used to work for him in some crappy secretary job and so here I am. It’s all dirty keep-quiet shit.’ Rain felt a glimmer of relief. She’d never told anyone before.
‘Sorry to hear that,’ Marcus said. She reckoned he meant it.
Rain felt the tears again, so she sucked hard on the second cigarette. ‘So,’ she continued, composing herself. ‘This kid-sister-aunty of yours, why’s she got a boy’s name?’ Rain wanted all the details, though she’d already planned on googling the story later.
‘Lenni is short for Eleanor. It’s a bit weird.’
Rain laughed. ‘I’m queen of weird names. Maggie must have been high when she chose mine.’
‘Your mum’s cool.’ Marcus scuffed the ground as he walked. ‘Why don’t you call her “Mum”?’
Rain shrugged. ‘To piss her off, I guess.’ Maggie was always trying to sling a rope between them, connect with her in some way. But she never quite reached her, and Rain wasn’t sure she’d grab it even if she did.
Up ahead there was a cluster of barns and houses. They were nearly back at the farm and she hadn’t got half as much of this dead kid story out of Marcus as she wanted. ‘Let’s stop here and watch the sheep for a bit,’ she said, going into a gateway and leaning on the wooden bars. The skinny shorn creatures stared at them, chewing, looking dumb. ‘Baa-aaaa,’ she called out. They just carried on chewing.
Marcus leant next to her, glancing at her. She looked back – making sure she lingered on his eyes, moving her gaze slowly down to his lips. A snog would delay their return, but she didn’t want to make the first move. What if he backed off? Besides, she had the whole week. Then her heart sank at the thought of seven days in this place. She needed some excitement.
Her phone vibrated in her back pocket, breaking the moment. ‘Katie,’ she said. ‘I can’t hear you, the signal’s crap.’ She stepped away from the gateway, staring at her phone. ‘Can you hear me now?’ she asked. ‘Good. No, I haven’t yet,’ she whispered, unable to help the giggle. ‘How’s France? Oh great. That’s just what I want to hear while I’m stuck here. Guess what I can see right now?’ She stole a look at Marcus. She knew he was listening. ‘Fucking sheep. All I can see is a hundred dozy fucking sheep.’
Marcus spread his arms wide, making a clown-like face. ‘Yeah, and don’t ask what else I can see,’ she continued. He had an OK body, but he was still an idiot. ‘Message ya soon, babe. Love you too.’ She went back to the gate. ‘My best friend is in Cannes for the weekend.’ She rested her head on the gate, letting out a long, low moan. One of the sheep bleated a reply.
‘So, this Lenni kid,’ Rain said. ‘They didn’t find anything like a limb or a head washed up on the beach, then?’
‘You’re sick.’ Marcus stared at her. ‘Mum said the only things found were her ice cream cone, some silver charm thing and a pair of shorts.’
‘Her shorts?’
Marcus nodded.
‘Were they all ripped and bloody?’
‘Fuck’s sake, Rain, I didn’t ask. Mum gets upset.’
‘If I had some amazing family secret like this, everyone would know about it.’ Rain felt the blush swoop from her cheeks down to her chest.
‘And your mum shagging a famous married politician isn’t an amazing secret?’ He laughed. ‘Anyway, Mum prefers we don’t talk about it. She says that we can discuss it with her and Dad but no one else.’
‘So why are you telling me?’ She waited but he didn’t reply. ‘That smacks of guilt, if you ask me.’ A few months ago, she’d had a fascination with stuff like this. Maggie had left a book lying around about old murder cases, detailing how the killers were caught decades later because of forensic advances. She had no idea why her mum was reading it, but Rain had picked it up, hooked from the first page, and gone on to read others like it. ‘Maybe that’s why your mum doesn’t want you telling anyone.’
‘You’re mental, do you know that?’
‘No, I’m serious. Think about it, Marcus.’ She brushed her hair slowly off her face. ‘A hot summer’s day, a bunch of teenagers hanging out and probably getting up to no good, then the little kid they’re supposed to be looking after just vanishes. I bet they’re all in cahoots to keep quiet.’ Rain tipped her head sideways. ‘Did the police question them all?’
‘I guess,’ Marcus said. ‘You’d have to ask Mum.’ He frowned. ‘But don’t, OK?’
Rain gave him a look.
‘It’s why Mum’s not happy about Nan selling the farm,’ Marcus went on. Rain knew she had a knack of getting people to open up, say or do whatever she wanted. It was something she’d learnt as a little girl, a bonus of Maggie’s guilt. ‘They once made a pact that someone would always be at the farm in case she came back.’
‘I once read something about a mother who made a shrine to her missing son. She lit candles every day, bought him presents and toys, just like he was still there. She became so obsessed, she didn’t have a life of her own. She went all weird and twisted until it was like she was dead too.’
‘Mum’s not like that. She’s pretty normal.’ He laughed. ‘As normal as mums can be.’
‘You say that.’
‘It’s true. She’s got a good job, she loves Dad, and Nan and Granddad are just regular old folk.’
Rain had to admit that she quite envied Marcus living near his grandparents. She’d never known hers – they’d long since died – and of course access to her father’s family was strictly forbidden.
‘Anyway, I reckon that’s what all this shit’s about,’ Rain said. ‘This reunion.’ She folded her arms across her chest, drawing Marcus’s eyes to it.
‘C’mon, let’s get back,’ he said, walking off down the lane, this time at a much brisker pace.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sweet Sixteen
When it’s my birthday, I’m brought cake. I blow out the candles and make a wish.
‘You’re a big girl now,’ I’m told, as if it’s time to fly the nest.
‘I won’t ever leave you,’ I say, because I get smiles for that. Anyway, how can I?
We eat the cake and my lips get sticky and my teeth ache.
‘I’ve got you a present.’
I smile and close my eyes, holding out my hands, feeling something cool and smooth in my palms. Then I’m told to look and when I do, I can’t help the gasp. ‘It’s beautiful.’ I can hardly speak. ‘Is it dead?’ I turn the jam-jar around and around, holding it up to the light, letting my eyes soak it up while my brain works it all out.
‘Of course it’s dead. It’s a peacock butterfly. I trapped it myself.’
I place it carefully next to my bed, so it will be the first thing I see when I wake up. Catching things is clever, I think.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Claire had a few minutes alone with Jason before Greta came back into the kitchen. ‘So, will you come?’
He glanced up from scrubbing his hands. Wherever Callum had sped of
f to in the car a couple of hours ago had given him a puncture. The recovery service was going to be hours, so Jason had gone out to help.
‘For Mum?’
Jason nodded but didn’t say anything.
Relieved, Claire handed him a towel, forcing herself not to hug him. He’d hate that. He and their father may have been in proximity on the beach earlier but there was something more intimate about dinner at the farm, something symbolic about setting foot inside the house that Jason had resisted for years.
‘I’ve been wondering if we should tell the police about that message,’ she said, but Amy came skipping into the kitchen.
‘Mummy, Mummy, will you untangle it?’ She held up a Barbie doll with elastic bands knitted into its hair. Claire took it from her daughter and started picking at the tangle.
‘Just leave it, will you, Claire?’ Jason said, giving her a look before walking out of the room.
* * *
The rest of the afternoon was spent at the Old Stables looking at old photographs, selecting the best ones to show to Patrick later. They’d all been in fits of laughter.
‘Dad got worn out at the beach,’ Claire said, holding up a picture of him, aged thirty-something, standing bare-chested on the same familiar curve of shoreline. His trousers were rolled up to his knees and he was holding a small plastic spade. The photo was black and white, but Claire remembered the spade was pink. ‘He’s gone for a lie-down. We’ll show him these tonight.’
She knelt beside the low table in her living room, spreading out the dozens of pictures she’d borrowed from her mother. They’d been stored in boxes up at the farmhouse and were rarely looked at, let alone arranged into albums. The musty smell coming from them made Claire pensive for a moment, as if their childhood had somehow been preserved. She was bracing herself for photos of Lenni. It never got any easier.
‘Here’s what I managed to dig out from some of my old stuff back in London,’ Nick said, coming back from his car and handing Claire an envelope. She hesitated, their fingers brushing momentarily. ‘There aren’t very many, I’m afraid.’
Maggie and Jason had also brought a few snaps and they shared them out, laughing at how young and naive they all looked, grateful they didn’t have those hairstyles any more. ‘These old shots are great,’ Maggie said, holding a couple. There was one of her and Claire doing handstands. ‘Rain would go crazy to put these on Instagram.’
‘Remember how Dad used to stick the Polaroid prints under his armpit to develop when we were really little?’ Claire said. ‘And count to twenty.’ It had seemed like pure magic as a kid. One minute they were in a rock pool or riding the Shetland pony along the sand, and the next they were locked up forever in a photograph.
‘Do you remember the sandcastle-building competitions we used to have? Pat could never choose a winner and gave us all a prize.’
‘A bag of sweets from the village shop, usually,’ Claire replied, watching as Nick flipped through some pictures. His expression didn’t change.
‘In the winter it was house-of-card building competitions or picture drawing, and sometimes he’d make up those impossible maths games. He was so good at keeping us entertained.’ Poor Dad, Claire thought. All these things still locked in his brain, gradually decaying as if they never happened.
She was about to make more tea when Rain and Marcus arrived back. Her heart sank as she smelt cigarette smoke on one or both of them. She decided not to say anything just yet. Marcus knew how she felt about it and she’d have a word with him later. ‘What have you two been up to?’
‘Just hanging,’ Marcus said. ‘What’s all this?’ He eyed the stacks of pictures.
‘Oh, seriously cool,’ Rain said, taking a bunch of photos from Maggie. ‘These are so ancient.’
‘Careful,’ Jason said with a laugh. ‘It wasn’t that long ago.’
‘Is this you, Claire?’ Rain studied a picture.
‘Yes, I was only about fifteen. God, my hair looked awful,’ she replied.
‘No, it’s sick. And is that the dead girl?’ Rain pointed to the younger child holding on to Claire’s waist as if they were doing the conga.
‘Rain,’ Maggie warned, eyeing her daughter.
‘It’s OK,’ Claire said. ‘Yes, that’s Lenni, my little sister.’
‘Is she definitely dead, then?’ Rain flinched when Maggie snatched the photos from her. ‘Was she murdered?’
‘Rain, that’s enough,’ Maggie said. ‘I’m so sorry, Claire.’
‘Marcus has been telling me all about it.’
Marcus squirmed, turning scarlet. Claire didn’t want her son to feel that way. ‘It’s OK. It’s fine to talk about it. We don’t know what happened to her, Rain. We think that after all this time, she’s most likely dead, yes.’ She swallowed, aware of how dry her mouth was. ‘But we’ll never give up hope.’
‘Is that why you’re all here? To, like, figure out what happened?’
‘Rain—’
‘Really, Maggie, it’s OK.’ Jason glanced at his sister and they gave each other a half nod. The silence that followed was broken only by an ambulance screaming down the drive.
* * *
‘I called your mobile but there was no answer and the landline was engaged,’ Shona said, frowning, as they waited in the hospital corridor. She paced about, fiddling with her hair, wringing her hands. ‘I was frantic. I couldn’t leave Dad like that even for a second, so I thought I’d better just call an ambulance.’ Her hands shook as Claire gave her a cup of tea from the machine. Claire remembered that Callum had been organising the golf tournament, the reason the line was engaged. If he hadn’t been, he would have gone down to help.
‘Mrs Lucas?’ A doctor came out of the side room. ‘You can come in if you like.’ The two women followed her into Patrick’s room, not knowing how they would find him.
‘You scared the life out of us all, Dad,’ Claire said from his bedside. She took his hand. Patrick was sitting up, looking fed up and confused.
‘Is he going to be OK?’ Shona asked the doctor.
‘He’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘He suffered a mild concussion, so considering everything else, we’ll keep him in overnight for observations. He has a small cut on his head but no other injuries.’
‘Well, I could have told you that before my wife called the bloody ambulance.’ Patrick made a move to get out of bed, but Shona gently held him in place with a hand pressed against his shoulder.
While the doctor examined him again, Shona told Claire how she’d found him lying in the yard, dazed, not knowing where he was, how he thought he’d tripped but couldn’t be sure. ‘To be honest, I thought he was still upstairs resting,’ Shona confessed guiltily. ‘He must have gone out without me realising.’ Claire comforted her, reiterating it wasn’t her fault. ‘I should keep a much closer eye on him,’ Shona went on. ‘But the place is so big that it’s hard to know where he is all the time.’
‘What were you doing, Dad, that made you fall?’ Claire asked, turning back to him and stroking his arm. ‘Can you remember?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m fine, so just let me go home.’ Patrick avoided the question, batting her hand away, though his frustrated expression told another story. His eyes narrowed, as if his brain was processing a thought, a memory he couldn’t quite grasp. He sank back into the pillow, dragging his hands down his face, letting out a frustrated sound – something between a sob and a growl. ‘I couldn’t find her.’
It broke Claire’s heart to see him looking so frail in the loose hospital gown. The faded fabric fell away from his shoulder, exposing pale skin that seemed to be only just hanging on to his bones, nothing like the strong and tanned muscles he once had. There was a blood pressure cuff around his arm and a clip with a wire attached to his forefinger. She wondered if the reunion had already been too much for him, stirring up memories he couldn’t deal with.
‘Mr Lucas, we really do have to keep you in overnight for observation. To be on the safe side.
’ The doctor held Patrick’s medical notes against her chest. Claire and Shona expected another outburst but, instead, he just closed his eyes.
‘Can I have a quick word?’ Claire said to the doctor. They went into the corridor. ‘Do you think this is to do with his Alzheimer’s?’
‘It’s impossible to tell. Alzheimer’s can play tricks on patients as well as their carers. He most likely got disorientated and tripped. Something as simple as moving furniture around or changing routines can be upsetting. Has anything unusual happened at home in the last day or two?’
Claire looked away, dropping her head. Then she folded her arms, as if it might protect her from the guilt. ‘Maybe.’
‘Let’s see how he is tomorrow, OK? If there’s cause for concern, I’ll organise some scans.’ She excused herself as her beep sounded and Shona came out into the corridor.
‘He’s dozing,’ she said. ‘I’m so worried about him, Claire.’ They held hands, each knowing they’d have to face more of this as his illness progressed. They looked back through the open door into his room. He looked so small under the bed covers, flat on his back with his arms down by his sides. His fingers and lips twitched as he played out fragmented dreams, making Claire long for a glimpse into his deteriorating mind.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jason heard the car pull into the drive and went to meet Claire at the back the door. He knew she’d have phoned if things had been serious.
‘Dad’s doing OK,’ she said, dumping her handbag and keys on the table. She touched his arm to reassure him. ‘He had a fall and has a mild concussion. But because of everything, they’re keeping him in overnight.’
‘But Dad doesn’t fall,’ Jason said. When did he miss him getting old? ‘He’s really going to be OK?’
Claire stared at him for a moment, then smiled. ‘Yeah, he is.’
‘But he’s grumpy as hell about being kept in, which can only be a good sign,’ Shona said as she came inside. She looked wrung out.
The Reunion: An utterly gripping psychological thriller with a jaw-dropping twist Page 10