The Attic Room: A psychological thriller (15 page)

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.

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.

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.

Her mobile rang and she grabbed it. That had been a quick
consultation with the Superintendent.

But it was Bethany. ‘Nina, I spoke to Mum. She said Claire
told her your father was a ‘big bully’ – those were her words – and that he’d
been hitting you both around. I didn’t ask more till I’d checked with you but I’m
sure there was no thought of sexual abuse in Mum’s head.’

‘And she didn’t say anything about Paul, my father’s cousin?’
Nina forced her mind away from the anonymous letter and back to the other end
of the problem.

‘No. I could mention you meeting up with him and see what
she says.’

Nina thought swiftly. There was no point in hiding things,
least of all from Morag, who’d known her since she was five. The police were
involved and unless she was very lucky it would soon be all over the tabloid
press.

‘Tell her Paul remembers being abused and ask if Mum ever
said anything. Thanks, Beth. I have to ring off, I’m expecting a call from the
police – there’s been another anonymous letter.’

‘Oh shit. Nina, take care, honey. Speak to you soon.’

When her phone rang ten minutes later it was David Mallony.

‘Plan of action. It isn’t likely that this is more than one
person, but it’s quite possible he’s watching you, so he mustn’t see that you’ve
involved us. I want you to leave the house in fifteen minutes and walk to the
supermarket on the corner. If the blackmailer’s watching he’ll follow you, but
don’t worry, one of our men will be trailing you too. Try to act naturally, do
some shopping. Leave the back door unlocked and we’ll go in via the street
behind and wait for you. Okay?’

Nina gripped the phone. ‘Okay. Oh, and Paul Wright remembers
us both being sexually abused as children. Apparently our fathers hired us out.’

There was a split second’s silence before he spoke again.

‘I’ll get someone onto it now.’

It was horrible, walking up the road knowing that the
letter-writer could be observing her every move. Having police protection wasn’t
much consolation; it was difficult not to look over her shoulder all the time.
Nina arrived at the supermarket and wandered round, blindly filling a basket
with a variety of miscellaneous items. Sensible shopping was the last thing on
her mind. Walking back was even worse; her steps quickened as she approached
the house, and shit, her heart was thudding away in her chest – supposing she
passed out on the pavement? No, no, look, she was nearly home – oh God, it had
never been home – but the police would be inside by this time and she would be
safe, and oh, how she needed to feel safe.