The Attic Room: A psychological thriller - Huber Linda - Страница 32
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Well. Abusing more children, perhaps. Disgusting old man. Nina paused. Paul had mentioned that his father spent time abroad, but of course it was possible that George Moore was back in the UK now. Was he on the sex offenders register? More questions for David Mallony.
Nina yawned as the warm milk and paracetamol took hold. Good, maybe she would get some sleep after all. Upstairs again, she curled up in the warmth of her bed, feeling her muscles relax. There wasn’t long to wait now. Another few hours and she’d be out of this house forever.
Chapter Nineteen
Claire’s story – The Isle of Arran
Claire pulled two lettuces from the farmhouse vegetable garden, but her thoughts were far away from the guests’ evening meal. It was time to write another letter to Robert, and this time she would send it. Lily’s death, six years after Bill’s, had forced her hand. If Claire was knocked over by a bus tomorrow, Robert was the one the authorities would get in touch with. The thought made her feel ill.
Claire pressed her lips together hard. Poor old Mum. Lily had never come to terms with being widowed; the loss of her husband somehow brought about the loss of her – gumption. Ever-worsening arthritis left her almost a prisoner in the house until eventually a stroke took her in her sleep. And how very alone and vulnerable Claire felt now. She knew how irrational it was, but the fear of death accompanied her through each and every day – the thought of Nina having to leave their island home to live with a bad-tempered father in England was horrifying. Nina loved Arran, and so did Claire. The farmhouse B&B was thriving, they had decorated and added new B&B rooms, and now that Nina was old enough to be a real help the place almost ran itself.
Tears stung in Claire’s eyes, and she brushed them away impatiently. She was being stupid – there was no reason to think she would die any time soon. But Nina was only thirteen, and the letter should be sent.
She checked directory enquiries to make sure Robert was still at the Bedford house. It wasn’t a hard letter to write because all she did was describe the situation. She was careful to say that money wasn’t a problem and she didn’t want anything else from him. But he should know. And oh, God, she really should tell Nina that Robert was alive. The poor girl ought to have the chance to forge some kind of bond with her father. But would Nina ever forgive her?
She would wait and see what Robert’s answer was before she did anything.
It wasn’t a long wait. Less than a week later a typewritten envelope with a Bedford postmark plopped through the front door. The letter inside was typewritten too, and very short. As far as Robert was concerned, the situation hadn’t changed. He had no interest in meeting Nina; he would, however, undertake to get in touch with her on Claire’s death, and she should take steps to make sure he would be contacted when this happened. The letter was signed R. Moore.
Claire stared at it blankly. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but it hadn’t been this. So that was that. Robert was refusing to meet his daughter until she, Claire, was dead, so there was absolutely no point in endangering her own relationship with Nina by telling her about Robert. It was as well, maybe – she knew she couldn’t trust Robert with her child. On the other hand, there was the rest of the family – Nina had aunts, an uncle, a cousin – and Emily and Paul at least were nice people.
‘Mum – there’s a disco down the Bay on Friday, can I go?’ Nina and Bethany stormed into the kitchen, and Claire managed a smile.
‘Dad’s collecting me, he’ll bring Nina home too,’ said Beth, her arm linked through Nina’s.
Claire nodded, struggling to get the words out. Imagine if Nina had to leave Beth on the island. Chalk and cheese, they were, and closer than most sisters. Dear God – another five years – if she lived that long Nina would be grown up in both Scottish and English law. Robert would be powerless then. You’re worrying about nothing, Claire, said the sensible part of her head. But her heart didn’t believe it.
‘Oh, on you go then. I suppose this is the start of the sleepless nights while you’re out gadding,’ she said to Nina, who rushed to hug her.
Claire hugged back hard. Forget the family in Bedford. Nina’s home was here, on the island, and she had a mum with enough love in her heart to last her daughter a lifetime. Of course she did.
Chapter Twenty
Tuesday 25th July
It was well after eight the next time Nina awoke. For a split second everything seemed normal, but then she saw Naomi’s empty bed, and the memory of what Paul had told her the night before catapulted into her mind. She curled up into a tight ball, the pain taking her breath away.
She had been abused. Worse still, her father had organised it. It was the ultimate betrayal, and the only thing in the world to be glad about was she hadn’t known him. She’d never loved him. If Claire had known about this, she’d definitely have gone to the police. Or – Nina rolled ever closer into her ball as the pain became torture, searing through her mind – maybe that wasn’t as definite as she needed to think. John Moore might have been violent towards Claire too; that sounded quite possible now. If little Nina wasn’t physically injured, her mother might have thought that ‘least said, soonest mended, cut the ties’ was the best approach to take once they were back in Edinburgh with Grandma Lily.
Nina sobbed aloud. There was a dreadful logic about it all, but the odds were she would never know the answers. If Claire hadn’t known about the paedophilia, there would be no reason for her not to demand the financial help that John Moore, who had all that money, by rights owed them. But she hadn’t asked him. And didn’t that mean that she must have known, and was protecting them both by keeping well away?
A wave of longing swept through Nina. How she wished she could turn back the clock, back to those days of carefree childhood, running wild on Arran, knowing she was loved, knowing she was safe. All she felt now was hurt.
Balling one hand to a fist, she thumped the duvet. She was Nina Moore and she was strong. This was not the time to throw a wobbly, she could do that later when everything was settled here. She would get up and phone Beth – moral support from her oldest friend would be the best possible start to this first day of the rest of her life. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and then in spite of her good resolutions she slumped, her head on her knees. In a macabre way this felt like the day Claire died. Nina had spent terrible moments sitting exactly like this in the hospital waiting room, cold coffee in front of her, while Claire’s poor ravaged body was cooling in the hospital mortuary. The world had changed that day too. And today it was different again.
Forcing her mind back to the present, Nina pushed herself to her feet. She’d wallowed in self-pity long enough. It was Superwoman time and the first three things on the agenda were a shower, breakfast, and a phone call to Beth.
Paul was up already; she could hear the radio blaring out an old Beatles song downstairs. The routine of having a shower brought some normality back to the day, and so did the smell of coffee that greeted her when she went into the kitchen. She would get through this. Paul’s face was pale and apprehensive. He didn’t look as if he’d slept much last night either.
‘Morning. Are you okay? I saw you were up in the night.’ He waved towards her chocolate mug in the sink.
Nina took a yoghurt from the fridge and sat down opposite him. ‘Took me ages to get to sleep, but I’m fine now.’ A lie if ever she’d told one, but this wasn’t the time to start another soul-searching session.
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