The Attic Room: A psychological thriller - Huber Linda - Страница 33

He rose to pour coffee for them both, then leaned against the sink. ‘I’m sorry about what I told you last night,’ he said, fiddling with a teaspoon and not looking at her. ‘I should have left it. You didn’t remember, you didn’t need to know.’

Nina waved her spoon at him. ‘Truth’s always better. But I can’t stay here any longer, Paul. I’ll go to Cassie’s tonight, and head back up north as soon as I can, after this. Thanks so much for all your help with the photos, and for staying here last night.’

He smiled, but his eyes didn’t quite meet her own. It was clear he was unhappy. ‘Right. Well, I’d better be off. Work waits for no man. I’ll give you a ring later and see how you’re doing.’

He was halfway out the kitchen door before he’d finished speaking. Nina listened as he packed his bag and rolled up his sleeping bag, clearly in a hurry to leave. Was it work pressure – what did he do, actually? – or guilt at what he’d told her? He hadn’t asked what she was going to do with the information that their fathers had allowed others to abuse them, but he must realise she would go to the police. He could have done that himself, years ago. After all, he could remember what happened. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it. Yet there was the story about the gun… but that could just have been bravado. He would hardly shoot his own father.

Thinking about George Wright reminded Nina of Sam’s file.

‘Paul!’ she called. ‘I found something yesterday that said your father spent some time in Thailand a couple of years ago, do you know about that?’

He stood in the hallway, bag in hand, unhappiness all over his face. ‘He used to go regularly, but he never stayed longer than a few months. I don’t know if he still goes. I imagine it was for the sex tourism. They’re a lot stricter about it now, thank God. I’ll talk to you later, Nina.’

Nina watched from the study as he flung his bag into his car and roared off towards the town centre. Poor Paul. She poured another coffee and took it through to the living room, comforted by its warmth in her left hand as she accessed Beth’s number on her mobile. This wouldn’t be an easy call.

Bethany was silent as Nina told her what had happened over the past few days. Nina could hear the wind in the trees; Beth must have taken her phone outside. She would be sitting in the farmhouse sun-trap, the old wooden bench with the view over the water to the mainland. Tears spilled from Nina’s eyes and she brushed them away impatiently. How soppy, getting teary over a flaky old garden bench. But like nothing else it brought home the contrast between this dingy, depressing house with its sad tales of abuse, and the island, where there was greenness and fresh sea breezes and people who loved her.

‘Dear God, Nina,’ said Beth in a low voice when Nina had finished her account. ‘Come home today, honey, there’s nothing to keep you there. I’ll come to Glasgow and meet you off the plane.’

Nina bit her lip. She wanted nothing more than to be back on the island – but if she went home today she would be running away from the new situation, instead of fighting it.

‘I’ll need to see the police again first,’ she said. ‘I’ll go and stay with Sam’s parents tonight, though. And there’s the great-aunt I’ve found – Emily Moore. She’s a real duck and I have to visit her again before we come home. But when I do get back I think I’ll never leave the island again.’

‘I wish I could help more.’ Nina could hear the misery in her friend’s voice. ‘Do you want me to come down, Nina? Tim would manage on his own for a day or two.’

Nina swithered. Beth’s presence would make things more bearable, but more complicated too. They couldn’t all stay with Cassie. And the B&B was more than one person’s job in the summer – Tim wouldn’t really manage on his own.

‘Don’t worry, Bethie. Cassie Harrison will take care of me as much as I let her.’

‘Nina – will I ask Mum if she knows anything?’ said Bethany. ‘Claire might have told her something about it, way back then.’

Nina considered. The two mothers had been good friends from the time of the family’s move to the island right up to Claire’s death. It was quite possible she’d confided in Morag James at some point. It would even be interesting to know if Claire hadn’t said anything to Morag.

‘Yes – but don’t say that I was abused,’ she said at last. ‘I’m not ready to tell people yet.’

Beth agreed, and Nina broke the connection feeling both comforted and bereft. But there was no time for tears; she had to phone Naomi now and sound like nothing was wrong, which was going to need all her acting skills. Naomi mustn’t know what was happening, not yet. For a moment Nina sat glaring at her phone. How the shit she was supposed to break all this to a ten-year-old she had no idea, but there must be people available who could advise her on that so she should see them first. Psychologists or something.

Ten minutes later she was congratulating herself on sounding upbeat and positive to both Naomi and Cassie, promising to join them late afternoon. That would give her time to close the house and talk to David Mallony about what – if anything – they could do about the abuse. ‘Alleged’ abuse, they would call it. Or even ‘historic alleged abuse’. It was depressing, this would come down to Paul’s word against his father’s, and most likely George Wright would deny everything. Paul would need a lot of inner strength to deal with it, and the fact that he hadn’t reported it himself was telling.

An odd thought spiralled into Nina’s head. Was it true? She thought of the anguish in Paul’s face last night, and the expression in his eyes when he’d talked about what had happened. Yes, she believed him. One hundred per cent, and the story was backed up by the paedophilia in John Moore’s computer too. With evidence like that the police would have to do something about George Wright. She would go now and talk to David Mallony face to face.

In the hallway she bent to lift the little pile of post lying behind the door. Most of it was advertisements, trite and happy little flyers contrasting starkly to her brave new world. There was a new Indian takeaway on the High Street, and the River Fitness Centre was having a half-price weekend at the end of the month, and – oh shit.

Hell. Her heart hammering behind her ribs, Nina stared at the envelope in her hand. Another anonymous letter. The same kind of envelope as the first one, the only difference being it was her name above John Moore’s address on the sticky label. And contrary to what David Mallony had supposed, this had been delivered by hand; it was under the pile of post – the letter-writer must have watched for the postman approaching then slipped his letter through the door first. Christ, what a ghastly thought. The scumbag had been right outside this door.

Nina dropped the letter onto the desk and used the paper knife and a pen to manoeuvre the single sheet of paper from the envelope and spread it out.

Her breath caught in her throat as she read.

‘Bring ?20,000 in a sports bag to the crazy golf hut in Wicks Park at 1 a.m. on Wednesday 26th July. Leave it in the doorway. No police if you know what’s good for your daughter. We know where she is. And we’re watching you both.’

‘Oh God,’ she whispered. Naomi – but Naomi was fine, they’d just discussed the Harrison’s garden fence on the phone. But the letter said ‘we’. Who was ‘we’? Hands shaking, Nina reached for her phone.

David Mallony was calm. ‘You’ve done the right thing in telling us. I’ll consult the Superintendent now and get back to you. Don’t leave the house.’

Nina buried her face in her hands. She should never have stayed on here. It was a ridiculous way to spend the summer even if she was about to inherit a fortune. And how unbearable it was to think that Naomi was being threatened too. Money was nothing compared to what she and Naomi had together; Nina knew she would give up the house and all the money in a heartbeat if it meant that her daughter would be safe.