The Reunion

The Reunion by Samantha Hayes





Prologue





August 1996





‘It’s not your fault.’

That’s what the police officer told me as I sat shaking under a blanket. ‘Little girls go missing,’ she said, as if it happened every day. I felt as though I was underwater – her words fizzy bubbles, popped one by one by my mother’s piercing screams.

I’d lost my little sister.

‘Mrs Lucas,’ she said. ‘We need you to keep calm…’

The rest of the officer’s words floated, unheard, between me and my panicking mother as the horror of not having little Lenni in the kitchen hacking up chunks of crumbly cake or sloshing milk from the carton settled between us.

Of course it was my fault.

They asked me what she was wearing but my mind was on fire, wouldn’t work. Then my younger brother, Jason, came in, tripping on the step, wide-eyed, grabbing the door frame, panting. He looked around – his gaze a slow swirl of realisation. Everything was in slow motion.

‘Is she back?’ His hair was the colour of tandoori spice as the curls brushed his tanned cheeks.

I shook my head, then tried to focus. I knew what I wanted to say, but it wouldn’t come out… a swimsuit, plastic beach shoes… My teeth clamped together. The gritty sand between my toes felt like rocks. ‘Or maybe a dress…’ I heard myself saying. The lightness of that perfect summer’s day – a day when things should have been special for Nick and me – had transformed into a crumpled photograph of horrific possibilities.

‘No, she’s not back yet,’ the police officer told Jason. One of the two entrenched in our kitchen, she was young, kind and patient. Their uniforms made everything seem so badly serious.

‘Yet?’ My mother stopped crying, scoring her nails into the table top. Her face was ferocious, splitting at the seams in a way I’d never seen before.

‘I’m sure we’ll find her very soon,’ the officer said, as if we were discussing the chance of rain later. ‘Most are just runaways or get a bit lost.’

‘She’s only thirteen,’ Jason said. ‘But she acts much younger,’ he added for some reason. He glanced at me, swallowing several times. I stared at my feet.

The officer spoke into her radio, turning away from us as the crackled message fed back.

Think, think, think…

‘Please, Claire, please? Pretty please with cherries on top and fairy dust and icing sugar from angels’ wings?’ Lenni’s feet had scuffed the hot sand. She was so impatient. So determined to be independent.

I laughed. She seemed tiny with the ocean behind her. Her hair was ratty, dripping and dark from the salty water, not the usual flyaway red-gold. She jumped about in the one-piece bathing suit I’d lent her – sloppy at the legs and loose at the shoulders because she insisted on wearing a grown-up swimsuit. She hated those stupid ones for younger kids that Mum always bought. Her protests would be terminated with a pout – a delicious little-sister pout that I couldn’t resist.

Lenni hadn’t matured much since she was eight.

‘I’ll be quick. Lightning quick. So quick I’ll be back before I’ve even gone.’

‘Then you must have been and come back already, Lenni, so sit down and wait for the others to finish their swim. We can all go and get ice cream then.’

She jumped and stamped and went red with rage.

‘Lenni, you’re thirteen. Stop it.’

‘Exactly. So let me go and get ice cream.’

‘You know the rules. Mum says not to let you out of my sight.’

‘Mum won’t know.’

Poor Lenni. The baby of our family. The one Mum and Dad protected the most out of the three of us. She was driven to school every morning instead of taking the bus. She wasn’t allowed into town on a Saturday to pick her way through racks of cheap earrings and nail varnish with the other girls. She wore flat shoes, all her skirts were below the knee and she’d never held hands with a boy. Accident-prone and without fear, Lenni had already got herself into enough scrapes to make our parents constantly concerned. Over the years, their anxiety spiked as Lenni’s trusting and innocent nature became her vulnerability. Dad said she was easy prey. The kids at school joked she was simple.

I sighed. ‘You promise you’ll be quick as a fox?’

Lenni’s face broke like a sunrise as a wave crashed and spilt around her ankles. I jumped up and we dragged the trampled-on beach towels and discarded clothes above the tideline. The air was humid and salty; the water cool and dangerous. We’d all dived straight in when we arrived.

‘Here’s a pound,’ I said, pulling money from my purse. Lenni’s eyes lit up. ‘Go straight along the beach, up to the road and use the zebra crossing—’

‘But that way takes forever,’ Lenni whined. She pulled on her shorts and wiggled her feet into her rubber beach sandals. The denim darkened at the hips where the water seeped through.

‘Not the cliff path. Mum would have a fit.’

She pulled a face. ‘OK.’ She took the money and pushed it into her pocket. ‘Hate you, sis.’ She grinned cheekily over her bony shoulder.

‘Hate you too, Len-monster,’ and I lunged for a tickle, but she darted off down the beach, leaving a trail of footprints in the sand.



* * *



The police officer was talking to me, but I couldn’t understand what she was saying. She was holding a notepad.

‘Sorry…’ It was an apology more than a question.

‘I asked you who Lenni’s friends are.’

I touched the side of my head, squinting as the room went blurry. Truth was, Lenni didn’t really have any friends. The kids in her class were mean to her and she never had anyone back to play. ‘Oh God…’ I buried my face in my hands, hardly able to stand what I’d done. If I hadn’t gone back into the sea, if only I’d watched her go down the beach, tracked her veering off inland to where the sandbank rose, dotted with gorse and marram grass, separating the dunes from the row of shops, counted down the minutes until I saw her again, perhaps I’d have somehow kept her safe.

But Nick had called out to me. He’d dived head first into the waves, beckoning me with his whole body – his tanned shoulders, his lean back, his long legs. He broke down my name into streamer-like syllables when he resurfaced.

Clai-aire…

It was my last try for Nick, part of the reason I’d got us all together that day for one final burst of fun before we went off to different universities and colleges where he would surely find someone else. It was as though I was still underwater with him. Suspended. Nothing real.

It had been three hours.

Three hours since I’d said Hate you too, Len-monster.

Three hours since the tide washed away her footprints.





Chapter One





June 2017





Claire looked up from her work. She hadn’t noticed them come in.

‘How about this one?’ the man said. A couple were browsing the wall display.

Had he just called her Eleanor?

She put down her pen, watching them for a moment, focusing on the woman, giving her a slow look up and down.

‘Morning…’ Claire came out from behind her desk. They were in their late thirties, professional-looking, browsing the half-million-pound and above properties. ‘How may I help you?’

The man turned, giving a polite smile. ‘We’d like some more details on this one, please.’ He pointed to a property.

‘And this one too,’ the woman added, smiling.

Claire hesitated before replying. Wondering, extrapolating, working out the age. Had she misheard the name? ‘Are you looking for an older place?’ she asked. ‘Or would you consider something new as well?’

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