‘Hello there,’ a man’s voice called out, making me jump. I didn’t see him at first, out there in the darkness, but then I recognised him. ‘Bit late to be out alone, isn’t it?’
Something wet was licking my hands, scrabbling at my jeans. It was his dog. He called it off, but the dog didn’t listen. ‘I like dogs,’ I said, bending down and stroking it. ‘Good girl, Ginny.’ I ruffled her shaggy coat and gave her a big hug.
‘She likes you,’ he said. I laughed at that. ‘How are you getting home?’
‘Dad’s coming. He’s late. I think I’m going to walk.’ I peered beyond him, through the deserted car park and out into lane. The hall was just outside the village; if I turned left and walked for about a mile and a half, I’d reach the top of our drive.
‘It’s very dark,’ he said. ‘Do you have a torch?’
I shook my head.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘Ginny likes a long run last thing at night. How about I walk you home? That way you’ll be safe.’
‘But what if Dad comes?’
‘Then he’ll pass us on the way.’
That was true, and he was being kind, I thought, even though I knew his house was in the opposite direction. ‘OK, then,’ I said, but only because I knew him. I put on my cardigan. It was starting to get chilly.
‘How was the disco?’ he asked, as we tramped along, the streetlights now behind us.
‘Noisy,’ I said. I wasn’t supposed to have gone to the disco at all. Mum wouldn’t have liked it. While the cat’s away, Dad had said earlier with a grin, but I knew it was only because he wanted to sit in the pub with his friends and he didn’t want to leave me home alone.
‘You mean I can actually go?’ I’d pestered him loads.
‘Just this once. But don’t tell your mum or I’ll be in trouble.’
And so, I didn’t. Mum, Jason and Claire had gone to Bristol to look at the university for Claire, and while they were there, Mum was going to buy Jason a new suit for church.
‘You’re getting all grown up, young lady,’ the man said, as we walked. I liked that. No one had ever called me grown up before. I went on to tell him about the disco, about school, about the animals on our farm, and a moment later, his big sweaty hand was snug around mine.
‘Don’t mind, do you?’ I saw the flash of his grin in the moonlight.
I shook my head. I knew this was the sort of thing grown-ups did. It gave me a funny feeling down low, but we walked on. After all, he came to the farm quite often. Mum always said he had an ulterior motive, whatever that meant.
‘You have soft skin, young lady,’ he said, slowing to a stop. ‘And a pretty young face.’ He trailed his finger across my throat. For a second, I was scared. No one had ever done that to me before. He smiled down at me. He was tall. Ginny ran between us, her soft fur brushing against my bare legs. I didn’t realise what the other feeling was immediately. It just felt warm and almost nice. When I looked down, I saw his hand was on my chest.
‘Don’t do that!’ It came out automatically, just like Mum had always said it would. ‘Please,’ I added, because he was a family friend.
‘But you like it,’ he said. ‘I know you do.’
I shook my head and backed away. I didn’t like it one bit. ‘Sorry,’ I said, as if I was telling him he couldn’t borrow my pencil sharpener. I started to walk off quickly, but before I knew what was happening, I was on my back on the verge.
It hurt so much. His hand was over my mouth the whole time while his other hand grappled with me down there. He undid his jeans and stuck something between my legs and Ginny began to bark. My vision was blurry. My tears were hot. My breathing was fast but my heartbeat slow. It went on forever – just like a million years – and cut me clean in two pieces.
‘Don’t fucking tell anyone, right?’
I heard his zipper. I nodded frantically, staring up at him.
‘If you do, I’ll kill your brother and sister. And then you.’
I shook my head frantically. He was the big boy from the village, the one everyone liked. ‘No, I won’t tell anyone, Callum. I promise on my life.’
I lay on my back and watched him walk back to the village. His dog ran after him. When I looked at my watch, it said half past eleven. Ten minutes later, the headlights came around the corner and a car slowed to a halt. I heard my father’s voice, saw his shocked expression as he stood over me. I couldn’t look at him; couldn’t stand for him to look at me, for him to know what had happened.
‘Oh God, Lenni, no…’ He was on his knees beside me, his hands searching me for injuries. ‘Dear God… I’m so sorry I’m late. Who did this to you?’ He touched the blood between my thighs and wept, letting out a big howl.
I stayed silent, just as I’d promised. I didn’t want Claire and Jason to be killed.
My father bundled me up and carried me to the car, sobbing into my hair. He told me that he was sorry a thousand times over, that he should never have let me go out, that no one must know about this until he could make arrangements.
I’m good at keeping secrets, I wanted to say, but couldn’t speak a word. He banged his fist on the car door, cursing himself for being late, swearing that he would never let this happen again.
‘You should have stayed inside the hall,’ he said, glaring at me in the driver’s mirror. ‘Mark my word, I shan’t let you out again.’ We drove off towards home, my father promising that from now on I would always be safe, that no one would ever know what he’d let happen to me. That no one would be able to do it to me ever again.
* * *
Instinct tells me where to go and the house down at the bottom of the field eventually comes into view, taking my breath away. I take one last look back up towards the woods and the cottage and, like a flash of light – an angel with her blond hair trailing behind – I see that girl running away. She sees me too, and stops for a moment. Her eyes are as wide as mine. Then she urgently waves me on, disappearing into the trees. I only get a glimpse of the tattoo on her ankle, reminding me of something from long ago.
I press on down the hill, only glancing back once to see if she’s still there. She isn’t. The sight of home getting closer floods me with a puzzle of memories. As I approach the gate, the ground is rough. There used to be sheep in the fields but there aren’t any more, just a few goats, and there are chickens pecking in the courtyard now. Up close, it doesn’t look so very different to the faded, sepia photograph I’ve kept safe in my mind. I suddenly feel dizzy, as though I’m going to pass out, as if I’m in the wrong life.
I ease my way through the kissing gate, making the hinges squeak. I stop and go back, doing it again and again just to hear the noise. I close my eyes, remembering, hearing children’s voices streaming through my head until I realise that it’s my own giggles. I cross the yard, going right up to the house, feeling the warmth of the sun-soaked bricks radiating against my boiling skin. I don’t feel very well. I knock on the door, then I knock again. A lady comes, and I’m not scared at all. I know she’s nice, even though she’s frowning at me.
‘I want to come in. I want to,’ I say over and over again, but she tells me I can’t. Even when I point up the hill, showing her where I live, she still shakes her head.
I squint up to the woods again, hoping to see the girl so I can give her another wave. She made me promise that I’d never tell a soul what happened, that she killed my father. She said she’d been hiding in the woods for a couple of days, that she’d seen him coming and going to the cottage, that she knew he had a secret. She followed him down and hit him with the hammer, but only because he tried to hurt her first.
‘Everything bad inside me just came out,’ she said afterwards, shaking and sobbing. She had blood on her hands. I understood what she meant, except all my bad stuff was still locked up.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’m good at keeping secrets.’
I turn back to the woman at the door. It’s only when I ask about Goose that something gleams in the lady�
��s eye – a fragile bridge spanning a million years. Finally, she opens the door wide and my mother lets me in.
* * *
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A Letter from Samantha
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for choosing The Reunion. I really do hope you loved reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! If you’d like to be kept up to date about my forthcoming books, then you can easily sign up here to receive all my latest news:
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The Reunion is a really special book for me, harking back to my many Cornish holidays as a child. Back then, the summers seemed long, endless and carefree when, for several months each year, we’d stay in a caravan at Harlyn Bay near Padstow.
It was actually the inspiration for my fictional setting of Trevellin – a place I remember as rugged, beautiful and mysterious. I had a special spot on the beach where I would sit and read for hours, lost in the magic of a book. As I wrote The Reunion, many of the scenes were scooped from my memories.
The ice cream parlour was a place I loved to go too, trekking the long stretch of beach to the row of shops, picking through all the flavours. And I also remember gathering mussels on the rocks, boiling them up in our caravan for supper. Unlike Lenni, my brother and I were allowed to roam free until we dropped with exhaustion.
Having been back to Cornwall for holidays since with my own children (all now grown up), I knew I wanted to set a book there. Being a mum and a thriller writer, I tapped into every parent’s worst nightmare – a child going missing. Years ago, one of my own daughters briefly slipped my hand at a theme park. Just those ten minutes searching for her sent me into a flat spin. But what if those ten minutes turned into ten hours, ten days, ten years or more?
So, taking the theme of childhood friendships blighted by the mysterious disappearance of a young girl, I merged the past with the present and came up with the idea for The Reunion. Would you trust your friends if the same thing happened again?
Finally, if you loved my book, I’d be so very grateful if you could write a review online. I genuinely cherish feedback from my readers and, of course, it helps spread the word amongst other readers like yourself! Plus, if you’d like to join me on Facebook or Twitter or email me through my website, it would be wonderful to hear from you. All my details are below.
Meantime, happy reading and I look forward to sharing my next book with you!
Sam x
www.samanthahayes.co.uk
Acknowledgements
Abundant and heartfelt thanks to Jessie Botterill, my lovely editor. It’s a pleasure to work with you, and your insight and skill has made this book the very best it can be. I’m truly grateful. Huge thanks also to Kim Nash and Noelle Holten for getting me ‘out there’ into the hands of my readers – your enthusiasm is infectious! And indeed, much gratitude and many thanks from me to all the fantastic team at Bookouture for your passion, hard work and dedication.
As ever, big love to Oli Munson, agent extraordinaire, for always having my back, and to all the lovely people at A.M. Heath, including Jennifer Custer and Hélène Ferey. Everything you do is truly appreciated.
A special shout-out to Tracy Fenton, her amazing admin team and all the lovely members of THE Book Club on Facebook – your zest for books is inspiring! Huge thanks, too, to all my lovely readers worldwide – I couldn’t do this without you.
And of course, much love and thanks to my wonderful family – Ben, Polly and Lucy, Avril and Paul, Graham and Marina, and Joe – for all your support, love, listening ears and cups of tea.
Finally, much love to Debbie, my dear friend, who’s always there. Stop it!!
Published by Bookouture
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An imprint of StoryFire Ltd.
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
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www.bookouture.com
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Copyright © Samantha Hayes 2018
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Samantha Hayes has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-78681-304-6
The Reunion: An utterly gripping psychological thriller with a jaw-dropping twist Page 34