The Attic Room: A psychological thriller - Huber Linda - Страница 26

Nina explained about John Moore’s death. It was impossible to tell what Paul Wright felt about her getting in touch like this. He was polite and interested in her story, but there was no ‘wow, how fantastic’ tone in his voice. He did ask several questions about his uncle and the house, which he was evidently familiar with. Nina hesitated for a second before suggesting a meeting, but Paul agreed immediately.

‘As a matter of fact I’ll be driving right past Bedford late this afternoon, on the way home from friends. Shall I stop by then?’

Nina agreed to a visit between five and six o’clock, and punched the air as she put the phone down. She had found another relation, and even if Paul didn’t get on with his father, he should be able to give her a phone number for George Wright. And according to Emily, they were all the family left. So she’d done it – she had found everyone who could possibly help her reconstruct the years she and Claire spent with John Moore. The feeling of relief surprised her in its intensity, and she went to splash cold water on her face. It was going to be all right. Her programme for the week now was to talk to the Wrights, especially George, who would remember more than Paul, visit Emily a couple of times, and see Sam when he returned, after which she’d be free at last to take Naomi back to Arran. Would it be ‘Goodbye Sam’ forever? Nina didn’t know any more.

She and Naomi spent the afternoon at a craft workshop near Biddenham where children could make their own candles from beeswax, something Naomi could do despite her sprained wrist. By quarter to five they were home again, and Naomi ran to email her friends with the candle-making news. Nina went through to the living room, rubbing her stomach, which was churning nervously. Wow, oh wow. Soon now she would meet another relative, the second in two days, and this one was her own generation. It was exciting, in spite of the bad stuff. Hope flared inside her – how amazing it would be if she liked Paul as much as she liked Emily.

She sat arranging the last of the black and white photos into ‘people’ and ‘no people’ piles while she waited. Hallelujah, that was the photos organised. Maybe Paul would be able to identify some of the family on these, and she would take a new selection to show Emily on Tuesday too.

A thought struck Nina and she frowned. With Naomi there, she wouldn’t be able to go into the paedophilia problem with Emily. But then – did Emily actually need to know? It was such a terrible thing… Why spoil the last years of an elderly lady’s life? Nina stared blindly at the last photo, remembering the yearning look on Emily’s kind, wrinkled face when they left. An old woman, watching her new-found family leave. A lump rose in Nina’s throat. She had found both a father she had no wish to have, and a great-aunt she would love. How very – surreal it felt.

The doorbell rang at ten past five, and Nina hurried along the hallway. The man on the doorstep was oddly like the little boy on the photographs. Paul Wright was slightly built and only a few centimetres taller than she was, with deep brown eyes and a shock of jet-black hair falling over his forehead. His smile was shy and appealing.

‘Nina. How amazing after all these years. You used to steal my jelly babies, you know.’

Nina smiled and shook hands. ‘Well, you’re one up on me if you remember. I have no recollection of you at all, but I’m really glad to see you now. It’s such an odd feeling, finding relatives I didn’t even know existed.’

He followed her into the hallway, staring round with a wistful expression on his face.

‘This place hasn’t changed much,’ he said. ‘We used to visit at weekends, Sunday lunch and all that. I was gutted when you and your mum left. I remember crying into my pillow, and having a tantrum one Sunday because there was no Nina to play with after lunch.’

‘Oh – I’m sorry.’ Nina was touched.

He patted her arm. ‘It was hardly your fault.’

Nina led him into the living room, and he wandered round the periphery of the room, stopping to look out of both windows before settling down on the sofa and looking at her.

‘I can understand why your mum left, you know. I was scared of Uncle John. He used to shout at me when I dropped my peas on his floor. Peas are hard to keep on your fork when you’re little, and somehow it always was peas back then. My own dad was no better. He used to clout me around the ears if I made a mess at the table.’

He pulled a face at her, grinning, and Nina managed to grin back, but really, it wasn’t funny, was it?

‘I don’t know what to say,’ she said. The more she heard about John Moore the more she despised him. But thank God, she could feel a rapport with Paul. It was the same feeling she’d had with Emily, but this time she’d be able to ask what – if – he knew about John Moore’s paedophilic activity.

‘It was a long time ago. We can congratulate ourselves on being much nicer people than our fathers,’ he said.

Nina nodded. Other than accept it, there was nothing they could do about the past. ‘You’re right,’ she said, realising the pun too late.

He rolled his eyes and she laughed.

‘Sorry. What I’m trying to do here is find out about the family I didn’t know I had. There are loads of photos, can I ask you to have a look at a few? In return I’ll bring you a glass of wine – or a coffee, if you’d prefer that.’

‘Sounds good. I’ll have a glass of wine and we can toast each other,’ he said, sitting down at the table and reaching for a pile of ‘people’ photos.

Nina went through to the kitchen and opened a bottle of white wine. She was shaking crisps into a bowl when Naomi appeared from the study.

‘Come and meet your second cousin, once removed,’ said Nina, as Naomi took a coke from the fridge. ‘We’re going through some of the old photos and I want to ask him about some family stuff, too, but if there’s anything on TV you want to watch we’ll go through to the study.’ She deliberately made things sound as boring as she could.

‘Can I shoot bubbles?’ said Naomi.

Nina agreed, glad they had Sam’s laptop. Naomi would sit in front of it till she was prised away. She introduced her daughter to Paul, who didn’t really know how to converse with ten-year-old girls, then helped Naomi log into her game. Oh – here were the two photos they’d found first, the woman with the small boy – Paul – and the one with the cat in front of the shabby house.

‘Mum and me and – oh! That’s Mitzi!’ he said, smiling broadly when she showed him the second photo. ‘She loved sunning herself on the wall there. Mum used to get mad because I let her sleep in my bed; it was like cuddling a real live teddy bear. Can I have this one?’

‘Sure,’ said Nina. ‘Was that where you lived?’

‘We moved there when I was about nine,’ said Paul. ‘It was a pretty crappy building as you see. My dad’s business went bust; he used to buy and sell cars but he was a real swindler and it caught up with him eventually and he had to sell the house. He was arrested for fraud but they couldn’t prove anything so there were no charges. Then he turned his talents to any kind of dodgy business he could find, and Mum and I broke right off with him. He’s twisted, somehow; he manipulates people to get what he wants. But it never works out. He’s never made his fortune again and he’s very bitter about it. Or he was, last time I saw him. That was about two years ago. He spends quite a lot of time abroad nowadays.’

Nina pulled a face, disappointment heavy in her gut. George Wright sounded almost as forgettable as John Moore. No way did she want to contact a man like that, so maybe meeting new relatives was going to end right here with Paul. But at least he was a normal human being, and she had Emily too.

Keeping her voice low, Nina told him about the paedophilia on John Moore’s computer, the threatening phone call and the letters.