The Reunion

Cosmo's 'hottest new beach read for Summer 2022'

Polly Phillips

• Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK
• Year: 2022
• Print ISBN: 9781471195419
• eBook ISBN: 9781471195426
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Crime & Mystery Literature
• Index: Literature

'Dark, gripping . . .  a cracking piece of revenge drama' HARRIET TYCE

'An utterly addictive, deliciously dark look at the underside of glamorous university life . . . An absolute five star read' GYTHA LODGE

'I was completely hooked. Reminiscent of Big Little Lies' VICTORIA SELMAN

A chance to reconnect.
A chance to get revenge . . .

Emily Toller has tried to forget her time at university and the events that led to her suddenly leaving under a cloud. She has done everything she can to forget the shame and the trauma – and the people involved. She has tried to focus on the life she has built with her children and husband, Nick.

But events like that can’t just be forgotten. Not without someone answering for what they’ve done. 

When an invitation arrives to a University reunion, everything clicks into place. Emily has a plan.

Because if you can’t forget – why not get revenge?

A fresh, original and strikingly relatable psychological thriller, perfect for fans of ANATOMY OF A SCANDAL.

PRAISE FOR POLLY PHILLIPS

‘A cracking revenge read full of unexpected revelations’ HEAT
 
‘A dark and compelling page-turner’ BELLA

'The Reunion is a standout tale of guilt, betrayal and toxic friendship, simmering with suspense and observations the reader instantly relates to' VICTORIA SELMAN

'The pages don't so much turn as burn in this provocative, twisting tale about the magnetism of contempt, the intoxication of revenge, and the weight and unpredictability of the past' DOMINIC NOLAN

‘Friendships don’t get much more toxic than this – a compelling tale of jealousy, rivalry and the things we do to those closest to us’ 
T.M. LOGAN, author of The Holiday and The Catch

‘From the intriguing and hooky first chapter to the final page, it held me in a vice-like grip'
SOPHIE HANNAH, author of Haven’t They Grown
 
'A perfectly-paced page-turner that cleverly explores the "frenemy" relationship'  
PHILIPPA EAST, author of Little White Lies

‘Pacy, stylishly-executed and brimming with tension. This book captures frenemies in a truly terrifying way!’ 
JO SPAIN, author of Dirty Little Secrets

One

Now

10 hours to go

My ten-year-old daughter is lying face down on the floor, refusing to look at me. I’ve tried cajoling, bribery, even bare-faced threats, but nothing will shift her. If I’m honest, I’m tempted to join her. How easy it would be to slip off my shoes, sink on to the soft-pile carpet next to her and forget about the reunion entirely. But for once in my life, I’m not going to lie down and submit. I look at the Cartier watch on my wrist. Nick should be home by now; he’s always better with the kids in these situations than I am. He’s got the whole ‘firm but fair’ thing nailed, whereas I tend to be a pushover who then explodes with resentment when they don’t listen. Because he spends less time at home, he’s also very much the fun parent, whereas I’m the one who moans about tidying their rooms and finishing their homework. It’s one of the curses of being a stay-at-home mum, the other being that people think I’m good at domesticity, rather than just doing it by default. I wish I was one of those mums who sewed and ironed, could produce perfectly iced cupcakes and really revelled in the role. But I’m not.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ I pat ineffectually at Artie, but she shrugs me off.

‘No.’

My heart contracts. I wish Artie would confide in me. I desperately want us to be close, but I’m so worried she’ll absorb all the mistakes I’ve made that I’m more distant than I mean to be. It’s easier with Xander; I never worry I’m infecting him with my insecurity.

‘Are you sure?’ I try again. I wish there was something I could do to help her. I wasn’t always like this. Before I went to university, I was a problem-solver, a go-getter. Now the only problems I solve tend to be laundry related. Not quite the illustrious law career I dreamed of. I clench my fists. That’s why I need to go back. To reclaim the person I was – and the person I would have been. If it wasn’t for them.

‘Emily, are you ready to go?’ My husband’s voice drifts up the stairs.

I survey the child prostrate in front of me. She’s had a lot to deal with over the last few months. I wonder if I’m doing the right thing in leaving her, even though I know Nick would never consider staying behind. Why is it men who put themselves first are considered dynamic and driven, whereas when mothers do it we’re made to feel selfish?

‘You’re not having second thoughts about it, are you?’ Nick bounds into the master bedroom, his face already lit up by the prospect of the weekend ahead. His smile slips when he sees Artie spreadeagled at my feet.

‘What’s going on, my love?’ He drops into a crouch and strokes Artie’s hair away from her face. When she doesn’t respond, he raises an eyebrow at me.

‘Doesn’t want us to go,’ I mouth. I can’t allow myself to be sucked into staying home. I remind myself that no matter how much I think I don’t, I do want to go to this reunion. I need to do this. It’s been fifteen years. The shame I’ve worn like a cloak since I left Cambridge doesn’t feel so red raw any more, though the nagging guilt hasn’t faded. Neither has the sense of injustice. It’s time I evened the score.

‘Nonna’s going to be here any minute.’ Nick scratches at his shirt sleeve, trying to glance at the Rolex beneath it without Artie noticing. I know he’s keen to beat the traffic. He asked me to be ready to leave as soon as he got back from the gym.

‘Is there something you want to talk to Daddy about?’ He chucks her under the chin, tickling her to make her smile. ‘Is it Tamara and the girls at school again?’

Artie nods. I feel a wash of remorse. If I weren’t so distracted by my plans for this reunion, I’d have realised straight away it was the cold-shouldering Artie’s been experiencing from her friends that’s upsetting her. It’s triggering for me. Normally I’m all about letting the children fight their own battles (not to mention I’m terrible at confrontation) but Tamara’s such a piece of work and the way she’s treating Artie is so reminiscent of the way Lyla was with me at university that I could quite happily take Tamara and the rest of her cronies and drop them all from the nearest tall building. I step forwards to scoop Artie into a hug, but Nick holds up his hand to indicate he’s got it.

‘You know you can tell me anything, Art. I’m always on your side.’

I watch her shuffle her head towards Nick. Some of her long dark hair splays across the carpet. If I’d had a dad like him, it might have made me better equipped to deal with things. But if anything, it was my older sister Helen who parented me. My dad was too busy ‘earning a crust’ as he put it, then spending what he made down the pub. He left when I was eight and, if I’m honest, I scarcely noticed the difference. With Mum working two jobs to keep all the plates spinning, it was Helen who fought my corner. I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth to keep my expression neutral. Now’s not the time for me to give in to self-pity.

‘You know I had some trouble with my friends when I was younger, too,’ Nick says. ‘I expect they’re just jealous of you. It happens to everyone.’

‘Did it happen to Mummy?’ Artie’s voice is muffled by the hair in her mouth.

I tense. The million-dollar question. Of course, Nick doesn’t know how to respond. He thinks I was on my own, just the victim of one glass too many, the night it all happened. He has no idea what my ‘friends’ did. He pauses.

‘Mummy was different,’ he says carefully. ‘When we were at university, Mummy was the girl that all the boys wanted to go out with, and the girls wanted to be. She wouldn’t have even considered dating someone like Daddy.’

‘Why not?’ Artie sits up and stares at me, earlier upset wiped out by natural curiosity.

‘Because sometimes we don’t know what’s good for us.’ Nick shrugs good-naturedly. ‘Besides, Daddy was far too busy cracking the books so he could get a good job and live in a nice house. It’s important always to work hard and do your homework, isn’t it?’ He winks at me. ‘Here endeth the lesson.’

I manage the smile he’s expecting. He’s got it all wrong. It wasn’t that I wouldn’t have considered someone like Nick, it’s that I didn’t even see him. I was too busy being dazzled by Henry, and Will and Lyla alongside him.

‘She also happens to be eavesdropping on us right now when she should be getting ready,’ Nick chides. ‘Don’t you think Mummy needs to finish packing? We want her to look and feel her best for tonight.’

‘I can help.’ Artie leaps to her feet, worries forgotten. Oh, to be ten again. ‘I can choose what you should wear for the dinner.’

‘No, that’s fine.’ I start backing towards the walk-in wardrobe. Artie’s tastes run spanglier than mine. ‘I’m already packed.’

Actually, I’ve been packed for days. I’ve checked my suitcase so many times it’s like I’ve developed some sort of nervous tic. If I’m going to do what I’m planning, there’s stuff I can’t forget. A combination of fear and anticipation is driving me on, like when you’re applying for a job you want so badly you’re too scared to go to the interview. Or when you like a guy too much actually to talk to him. Funnily enough, I felt like that around Henry before we started dating. Will I was instantly at ease with, ironically, given what happened, but Henry made me stumble over my words and get flustered right up until he asked me out. Then I saw how sweet and caring he could be. Or at least I thought I did.

‘Well let’s give Mummy a minute, anyway.’ Nick puts his hands on Artie’s shoulders to shepherd her out of the room. ‘You can go and see what your brother’s up to.’

‘Xander’s on his switch. Again.’ Artie rolls her eyes. ‘He’s been on it all morning.’

‘Didn’t school set you some work to do?’ Nick frowns. ‘Given that it’s technically a school day.’

‘It’s an inset day, Dad.’ Artie’s eyes tilt skywards again. ‘Hardly the same.’

‘Ridiculous. An inset day when you’ve only—’

‘Why don’t you go and get some of the baking things out, then?’ I file yet another memory away and keep my voice even to head off Nick’s speech about how they’ve only just gone back to school after the summer holidays and the teachers are already getting a day off. I don’t disagree. I could have used a morning to steady my nerves instead of refereeing between two ten-year-olds. ‘I know Nonna was planning to make a cake with you this afternoon.’

‘That sounds like Nonna.’ Nick shoos Artie away.

I keep the smile pasted on my face. Nick’s mum is barely even Italian so insisting we all call her ‘Nonna’ is overkill, though I know better than to raise this with Nick. He’s very protective of her, even more so since his dad died. They say it’s a cliché to resent your mother-in-law but anyone who thinks that hasn’t met mine. Besides, the acrimony goes both ways. She doesn’t think I’m good enough for Nick. She’s probably right.

I wish it were Helen babysitting. Last time she took them into the newsroom she used to work in so they could watch all the journalists pounding the phones and writing up stories. Xander talked about it for weeks. Even my friend Tiff, who laughingly refers to the twins as ‘the vermin’, would be better than Nick’s mother. All Luci does is bake or watch TV. I force myself to remember I wouldn’t be able to go to this reunion if she hadn’t jumped in. It’s ironic that regaining my sense of self-worth depends on a woman who thinks I have very little value.

‘It better be chocolate.’ Artie’s already at the bedroom door, hollering up the stairs to the next floor where their bedrooms and the playroom are. ‘Xander, we’re making a cake when Nonna gets here. And it’s gonna be chocolate.’

The whole house rattles as she thunders down the stairs, Xander hot on her heels.

‘Well done, team.’ Nick smiles at me.

I smile back, then start fidgeting. Although part of me doesn’t want to go to this reunion, I’m also dying to get going. I want to see what’s become of them, the three architects of my downfall. Will they wear their crimes on their faces, be shifty around me and unable to meet my eye? I bet they won’t. When it comes to keeping up, I’ve compulsively read anything I could find, but I’m not on Facebook so, other than the odd picture in the college magazine or the press, I haven’t seen them for fifteen years. From those snapshots and the trappings of wealth like expensive watches and nice cars, I can tell they’re all making millions. I can also see Lyla’s had her teeth capped, Will’s experimented with Botox around his eyes and Henry still plucks his chest hair. But not in a single shot do any of them look remorseful. Then again, each of the three could afford an attic full of Dorian Grays; I’m sure what they did to me won’t even have touched them. Especially given what they’ve gone on to do. I know a few things about them that haven’t made the press. I run my hands through my hair, reminding myself they can’t touch me now. I’m strong. ‘What time is Luci getting here?’

‘As soon as bridge finishes.’ Nick checks his watch again. ‘Good God, is that the time?’ His eyes bulge. ‘We really need to get moving.’

I run my hands down the front of my White Company cashmere jumper, smoothing away any pilling and wondering whether the ribbon of tension that’s been underscoring everything I do is rubbing off on him. ‘I’m ready when you are.’

Nick strides over to the walk-in and starts rifling through the drawers on his side of it. ‘Did you manage to—’

‘Yes, I packed for you.’

‘Did you put in my coll—’

‘I put in your college colours – socks, bow tie, the lot. You name it: you’ve got college stripes on it.’

‘You know me too well.’ Nick crosses back over and folds me into his arms. ‘I know you’re nervous about going back after all this time, but you’ll do great. Did you pack that satin dress you bought?’

‘I did.’

‘You’re going to smash it, then.’

I rest my face against him. The top of my head fits perfectly under his chin but even though he’s only a shade taller than me, he’s broad and strong. He tightens his arms around me, shutting the rest of the world out. I could stay in this moment for ever. I only wish he knew me as well as he thinks he does. He has no idea why I’m really so nervous.

‘We can skip it,’ Nick says. ‘If you really want…’

He leaves the sentence hanging and I feel a stab of guilt. Nick doesn’t know how much psychological trauma I still feel about what happened. We had a single conversation about that night, right when we first started dating, but I played it down. Like everyone else, he knows the surface details, that I was on the quad that morning, but he doesn’t know how I got there. As things got more serious – our relationship was uncharacteristically whirlwind for both of us – I kept it to myself because I didn’t want his opinion of me to change. Then it simply got too late to tell him. Even if, as every women’s magazine shouts from its cover, secrets aren’t good for a marriage. I nestle closer to him, taking comfort in his gym-honed biceps. I’ll make it up to him when it’s all over. The doorbell chimes. I try to hold on to him for one second longer, but he detaches himself gently.

‘That’ll be Mum.’ He kisses me on the top of the head and starts leading me towards the door, leaving me no choice but to follow. ‘Let’s hit the road.’

Two

Now 16.00

8 hours to go

I can’t bring myself to cross the threshold. Nick’s already three strides ahead, scaling the steps to the porters’ lodge on the left and yanking the door open to announce his arrival. He’s one of our Cambridge college’s most active alumni – he took the day off work for this and he comes back all the time. I never join him. Cambridge feels like a club I’m not a member of, even though I put in my three years here. Even now, I’m dawdling, picking moss off the head of one of the stone lions that squat on either side of the wrought-iron gates and eyeing up the Pizza Express a few doors down. You’d think being sandwiched between a popular chain restaurant and a chemist would make this place less intimidating but the sandstone buildings and cobbled walkways behind the gates make my gut twist. Despite how hard I’ve worked not to feel like a victim since I left, the sight of it makes me feel instantly smaller.

I’d forgotten how self-important everyone looks here. Mobile phones might have changed – getting smaller, then bigger (my current model is about the size of a small paperback) – but the clutch of students scurrying across the grounds still hold them up and scour the screens like they’re researching the cure for cancer. They’re probably all on Snapchat or TikTok but they’ve perfected the harried, rushed look that means you would never dare to ask. I can’t believe I ever looked like that.

I should have been bricking it when I stepped on to the polished cobbles as a freshly minted first year eighteen years ago. Neither of my parents had finished their A levels and more kids in my year at school were going to prison than university. But I’d been dreaming of these historic ivy-covered buildings and the ‘quad’ of perennially green grass stretched between them since Helen had been accepted five years before. It felt like stepping through the pages of a novel or on to a film set when Mum and I drove her past the ornate steeples of King’s College Chapel and the university’s other domes and spires in our battered old Vauxhall Corsa. I remember watching Helen in the front seat, her dark spiky head bent over her detailed ‘to-do’ list, no fear on her face. She looked so focused that I vowed one day that I’d come too.

I memorised everything Helen said about college life, from the strange vernacular she took on – ‘sets’ for the bedrooms they were balloted into, ‘bedders’ for the cleaners who helped keep them tidy, ‘bops’ for parties and ‘slops’ for the canteen food. By the time I marched down the stony central avenu...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Dedication
• Prologue
• Chapter One
• Chapter Two
• Chapter Three
• Chapter Four
• Chapter Five
• Chapter Six
• Chapter Seven
• Chapter Eight
• Chapter Nine
• Chapter Ten
• Chapter Eleven
• Chapter Twelve
• Chapter Thirteen
• Chapter Fourteen
• Chapter Fifteen
• Chapter Sixteen
• Chapter Seventeen
• Chapter Eighteen
• Chapter Nineteen
• Chapter Twenty
• Chapter Twenty-One
• Chapter Twenty-Two
• Chapter Twenty-Three
• Chapter Twenty-Four
• Chapter Twenty-Five
• Chapter Twenty-Six
• Chapter Twenty-Seven
• Chapter Twenty-Eight
• Chapter Twenty-Nine
• Chapter Thirty
• Chapter Thirty-One
• Chapter Thirty-Two
• Chapter Thirty-Three
• Chapter Thirty-Four
• Chapter Thirty-Five
• Chapter Thirty-Six
• Acknowledgements
• About the Author
• Copyright