The Reunion

light. Andrew wouldn’t mind, he’d just roll over and go straight back to sleep, and even if he didn’t go back to sleep, he wouldn’t get pissed off. He’d snuggle in closer and hold her as she read, she knew he would. She didn’t feel like reading, though, and she felt even less like being held. In the pit of her stomach, anger roiled like acid.
    Her rage at Jen’s duplicity had abated not one iota over the past few hours. Throwing them all together unexpectedly was cruel to her, Andrew, and even to Lilah. The worst of it was, she hadn’t been able to express these sentiments out loud, not in the forceful way she wanted to. Because in this, Andrew would not be on her side. He would see her point, but he would make allowances. He would forgive. Andrew would always forgive Jen. No one was supposed to get angry with Jen. All this time had passed, rivers, lakes, oceans of water under the bridge, and still, she wasn’t supposed to get pissed off with Jen.
    Nat was angry, restless and absolutely starving. They hadn’t had anything to eat since the Pret a Manger sandwiches they’d bought for the flight, and she’d eaten hers in the departure lounge, couldn’t even wait until they’d got onto the plane. She sat up, slowly, trying not to wake Andrew. Carefully, she swung one leg at a time over the edge of the bed, placing her feet on the pleasantly warm wooden floor. She sat up very straight, then twisted her torso gently from side to side, loosening out the muscles and the joints in her back. She ached. Her back was always worse after a journey. Finally, she got to her feet, grabbing one of Andrew’s sweatshirts from the suitcase (she’d refused to let him unpack – there was no point as they were
definitely
going to leave the next morning) and crept out onto the landing. The doors to Jen’s and Lilah’s bedrooms were closed, the lights out. She padded along to the top of the stairs and peered down: there was a warm glow coming from somewhere. The fire still burning, presumably. Running her hand along the wall for guidance, she tiptoed down the stairs, the stone floor cold underfoot.
    The fire was burning in the living-room hearth, but the lights were out. Mercifully, there was no one in the kitchen either, so she raided the fridge, helping herself to a wedge of Brie and some crackers which she found in a cupboard. The house was perfectly silent, save for the occasional crackle from the dying fire next door. She ate hurriedly, standing at the kitchen counter, in the dark. She ate a second biscuit, a third, a fourth. She breathed deeply, exhaled.
    She felt comforted. She had an emotional relationship with food, that’s what her mother told her. Had done for years and years, ever since she spent all that time in hospital. When she came out, she ate. Nat argued that it was better than drink, or an addiction to painkillers. Her mother always smiled at that, said, ‘Of course it is, darling,’ then went back to her green salad. Her mother was a size eight and liked to talk about the fact that she could still fit into the suit she’d worn as her going-away outfit at her wedding.
    The corrosive feeling in her gut subsided; she could almost feel her blood sugar rising, the tension ebbing out of her neck and shoulders. She piled a few more biscuits onto her plate and took her bounty through to the living room, still dimly lit by a few hot coals in the grate. She sat down in one of the battered leather armchairs, her plate balanced on her knees, and ate.
    They used to cook on the fire, the summer they spent here. There wasn’t a stove back then, just a hotplate they bought from Leclerc, so they either barbecued out back or cooked on the fire, in here. They toasted bread and baked potatoes, cooked fish wrapped in foil. This was the room they lived in. They even used to sleep here, sometimes, when it rained. They couldn’t go upstairs because the roof was leaking and, in any case, it wasn’t entirely safe upstairs in the early days. Natalie and Lilah always had to be closest to the fire, because they were always coldest. Andrew would lie at Lilah’s back, his arms around her. Jen and Conor used to curl up in the corner underneath the window; Dan liked to lie against the opposite wall. He was paranoid about sparks from the fire setting his sleeping bag alight.
    The memory of it brought a lump to her throat. She remembered waking in the grey dawn light, opening her eyes, and the first thing she would see in