The Attic Room: A psychological thriller (6 page)

Nina shook her head. It sounded logical enough when you
thought it through like that, but somehow her gut instinct was jumping up and
down again, telling her that a piece of the puzzle was still missing. The best
thing would be to stay here a few more days and get things sorted out before
she headed north again. Slowly, she walked through the house, trying to
remember being here as a child. But nothing came to mind. You couldn’t force
memories, she knew that; they had to come by themselves.

At five o’clock the doorbell rang. Sam stood there,
clutching a laptop, his face a mixture of exasperation and apology.

‘Nina, I’m sorry. I wanted to keep you company this evening
but I’m in court first thing and something new has come up – so I’ve got masses
of reading to do on the case before morning. I’ve brought you this; I thought
it might be useful now the police have taken John Moore’s laptop.’

Nina was touched. ‘Thanks, Sam, that’s kind of you. And don’t
worry. I have a gourmet microwave meal for one waiting in the fridge. I’ve decided
to stay on for a day or two anyway, till we know more.’

His face lit up. ‘Excellent. I’ll make us pizza tomorrow
night, shall I? I do a real mean pizza.’

Nina accepted, wondering if she was doing the right thing.
But you could have too much of your own company, and with all these vague
feelings and uncomfortable memories welling up it was better not to be alone
too much.

Claire’s story – Bedford

Nina’s third birthday was a big family event. Lily and Bill
came down from Edinburgh for a few days, so all four grandparents were there,
plus Robert’s Aunt Emily and the Wright cousins. Claire congratulated herself
on getting the whole family together for the first time since her wedding. That
was what families did, wasn’t it – they gathered under one roof and celebrated
the grandkids’ birthdays. And as Robert went out of his way to demonstrate to
the older generation what a brilliant father he was, the birthday party had
gone off rather well.

‘I see you’re making a go of it,’ said Lily, approval in her
voice.

They were washing up after the party. A dishwasher was high
on Claire’s wish list, especially as the Wrights spent more time in her home
than they did in their own. But Robert held the purse strings and as yet he
hadn’t considered it. Claire shivered, in spite of the hot dishwater. Robert
should open a joint account; it really bugged her that she had to ask for every
single thing. She was doing her best – she had lost weight and was genuinely
trying to take an interest in Rob’s hobbies and his work. Mind you, his only
hobby was going out with George Wright and heaven knows what the two of them
got up to. Robert barked at her every time she opened her mouth, too. It felt
as if she was the only one trying to save the marriage. Of course there could
be another reason for his crabbiness – maybe his property business was going
through a bad patch. That didn’t excuse the churlish behaviour, but it might be
a reason for it. People did let off steam on their nearest and dearest.

‘I’m doing my best, but it’s not easy, Mum,’ she said at
last. ‘Rob spends more time with George than he does with me. Sometimes I
wonder why he married me.’

‘That’s men for you,’ said Lily, hanging up her dish towel. ‘Maybe
if you made the place a bit more… modern? Welcoming?’

Frustration fizzed up inside Claire. ‘I’d like nothing
better but he won’t cough up for new stuff. All the furniture apart from what’s
here in the kitchen came from his Mum and Dad’s old place. I had nothing to say
about buying the house and now I have nothing to say about the furnishings. I
feel like a servant most of the time.’

‘Oh, don’t be so melodramatic,’ said Lily. ‘It’s good
quality stuff. Maybe you can replace it little by little.’

Claire shrugged. Her mother had always been good at whistling
in the dark.

As soon as his in-laws returned home Robert reverted to his
old insulting manner, and Claire found herself avoiding him and beginning to
hate him, too. Her suggestion that they talk things through with a marriage
guidance counsellor met with ridicule, and he started calling her ‘fat cow’,
even in front of other people. The constant jibes about her weight hurt – she
was a size twelve now and anyway, had he only married her for her matchstick
figure? It was beginning to look like it. She couldn’t even remember the last
time they’d had sex.

But the most disturbing thing of all was he’d started to
push her around a bit. Oh, nothing you could call violent, but he’d chivvied
her out of the way a couple of times, and recently he’d taken to brushing past
her a shade too closely, forcing her to move aside. Claire knew it was the kind
of thing that people said would only get worse. She couldn’t go on like this;
she’d done her best but the marriage was dead. She should leave. The thing was
– what would she use for money? She had no training, no prospects, and a
three-year-old daughter. Could she swallow her pride enough to ask her parents
for help? That wasn’t a decision to be taken lightly.

Things came to a head one Saturday afternoon a few weeks later.
Claire had an emergency dental appointment – she’d lost a filling and it was
giving her gyp – which meant leaving Nina at home. The Wrights were there too;
George and Robert were up in the attic as usual, along with several bottles of
beer, and loud laughter wafted down at regular intervals. George had taken up
photography; his camera was permanently round his neck and he’d set up a dark
room at home. Whatever photos he took caused a lot of hilarity whenever he and
Robert got together but he never showed them to the women. Claire had to fight
to keep a pleasant expression on her face when George was around, but if she
didn’t the jibes were worse.

Fortunately Jane had come too that afternoon and was doing a
jigsaw with Paul and Nina, glass in hand as usual. Claire hesitated in the
living room doorway; hell, that was Jane’s second G&T, she’d be pie-eyed by
tea time if she went on like that. It might be better to take Nina with her.
But watching her mother have a tooth filled would put Nina off dentists for
life…

‘Hey, leave some for me,’ she said lightly, shifting the gin
bottle back to the sideboard. Jane smiled, and Claire decided to risk it. Nina
adored Paul, anyway, look how she was hanging on the six-year-old’s every word.
Removing her now would only cause a scene, and Claire didn’t have time for
that.

She arrived home late afternoon to find Jane asleep on the
sofa and no sign of the children. Shaking the other woman, Claire saw it wasn’t
as much sleep as a drunken stupor that was afflicting Jane. The men were out,
if the absence of jackets in the hallway was anything to go by. Hell, she
should never have left Nina – and what was Robert thinking, leaving his
daughter with a drunk woman?

‘Nina! Paul!’ she called, running upstairs.

Nina’s bedroom door banged opened and the little girl
stumbled out and ran towards Clare, arms outstretched. There were tear-stains
on the child’s face, and Claire scooped her up and held her tightly, horrified
to feel the little body tremble in her arms. What on earth was going on here?

‘Sweetheart? What’s the matter?’

‘Paul’s crying. Daddy said he was bad,’ said Nina, squeezing
Claire’s arm in a painful grip and pushing her other thumb into her mouth.
Claire stroked damp curls into place and kissed the hot little head.

‘Why? Did Paul hurt you?’

She knew that Paul’s exuberance was sometimes difficult for
Nina to keep up with. Nina shook her head and removed her thumb long enough to
reply. ‘No. Daddy was cross. He was in the attic… he hurted Paul and then he - ’
She sobbed into Claire’s neck.

Claire carried Nina into the bedroom. So Robert had been in
a temper with the children – nothing new, but as far as Claire was aware he’d
never struck them before. But then maybe she didn’t know everything.

Paul was sitting on the floor, his face blotchy and a wild
expression on his eyes. There was an enormous red lump on his forehead and his
small frame was shaking with every breath. Aghast, Claire crouched beside him,
Nina in her arms.

‘What happened, Paul?’ she asked, stretching a hand out to
him. ‘Did you bang your head?’

He slid away from her. ‘He – Uncle Robert said… ‘ The words
seemed to stick in his throat and he stared at Claire, his eyes wide, then
giggled nervously.

‘Where is he, darling? What did he say?’

Claire reached out again but Paul pressed himself against
the bed.

‘He – he said I – we – were bad. He said we’re always bad
and he – he – he hit – us. I ran away and I banged my head on the attic door
and Uncle Robert shouted and Nina – Nina was scared.’

Claire’s arms closed round her own child. Right. She had
come to the end of her tether. No matter how loud and disruptive the children
had been, there was no excuse for violence. And there was every reason to leave
a man who would strike his own daughter.

Nina had fallen asleep in her arms, and Claire laid her on
the bed, noticing grimly how exhausted the child was. As soon as Nina awoke she
would examine every inch of her skin and check for bruises. And then…

And then they would leave. Anger was fuelling her
determination now and her hands were shaking almost as much as Paul’s. That was
it. She was finished here and finished with Robert too.

Tomorrow, she and Nina would ‘go for a walk’ and they would
take a train up north. She wasn’t helpless; she would find a job in Edinburgh,
and Mum and Dad would help her. Outrage filled her mind as she considered this
might not be the first time the children had suffered under Robert’s hand. Paul
obviously wasn’t lying; the child was distraught.

‘Come on, Paul lovey,’ she said, tucking the duvet round
Nina. ‘Let’s put some magic cream your head and then we’ll phone for a taxi to
take you and Mummy home, will we? You can be all safe and warm again there.’

The child was looking at her with a closed expression on his
face, but he allowed Claire to take his hand. She sighed. Paul didn’t have a
regular home life, but his mother loved him when she was sober, and he had
stability at school. And she certainly couldn’t take him to Edinburgh. But she
could take Nina – and she would.

A lump came into Claire’s throat as she led Paul downstairs.
How much in love she – they – had been, what high hopes she’d had at the
beginning of her marriage. She’d known Robert for – what? – just over four
years. Four years which had made her life a million times better, because now
she had Nina. And Nina was more important than anyone – or anything – else.

Her mouth tight, Claire rinsed a washcloth under the tap in
the downstairs toilet and wiped Jane’s face with it. She had done this many
times before, but today would be the last time. This time tomorrow, both Jane
and Bedford would be out of her life forever.

Tuesday 18th July

The doorbell rang when Nina was swallowing her last bite of
toast on Tuesday morning and surfing the news sites on Sam’s laptop. She
glanced up to see a police car parked outside and hurried to the door.
Hopefully they’d found out something that would set her mind at rest about John
Moore. Hearing that the anonymous letter was from a vicious conman trying to
trick a sick man out of his money would be the best possible start to the day.
You heard about things like that all the time and John Moore would have been an
easy target, in his condition.

DI Mallony was standing on the doorstep, staring at the
ivy-covered walls.

‘No real news yet, but I thought I’d stop by anyway and tell
you how things are progressing,’ he said, following her into the kitchen and
accepting a mug of coffee.

‘All I want to know is who I am in relation to John Moore.
And it would be great to hear that the blackmail letter is a pack of lies,’
said Nina frankly.

‘I can imagine, but all I can tell you is that John Moore
has no criminal record and he isn’t on the sex offenders register. And apart
from your own, there are no fingerprints on the anonymous letter. If you come
across another, call us straightaway. That letter wasn’t the first.’

‘Okay,’ said Nina, remembering the bags of shredded papers
the cleaner had told her about. She wasn’t likely to find the letter’s
predecessors. He hadn’t been kidding when he said ‘no real news’, she thought
glumly. But no news was good news, wasn’t it?

She cupped her hands round the comforting warmth of her mug.
‘So what else is there to do?’

‘John Moore’s laptop’s being investigated; we should have
more information about that later today,’ said David Mallony, draining his mug.
‘I’ll be in touch. Oh, and I’ve marked your paternity test ‘urgent’.’

Nina closed her eyes in relief. Thank God for technology.
Old records might fail her, but the test would remove all uncertainty. And
surely Claire hadn’t lied all these years…

‘I’ll be here all day,’ she said, accompanying him to the
door. Things were moving along, not exactly a mile a minute, true, but they
were moving. And in an odd way, the very fact that the police weren’t treating
it as super-urgent was reassuring too.

And at least John Moore didn’t have a police record as long
as Brighton pier. Nina grimaced. She could still hope he was a nice innocent
reclusive forty-second cousin. It was frustrating being stuck in limbo like
this, but on the other hand it was giving her the chance to get the house
cleared. Look on the bright side, Nina. She would get those bundles for the
charity shop finished now.

The doorbell rang again while she was looking for the
string, which had disappeared completely since the previous day. Nina jogged up
the hallway to the front door. This was turning into quite an ‘at home’ day,
and she couldn’t think who this caller could be. Sam was expecting to be in
court till lunchtime at least.

A worried-looking middle-aged woman was standing on the
doorstep. Frowning, she peered short-sightedly into Nina’s face and then beyond
her into the darkness.

‘Hello, dear, is everything all right? I live next door, we
only got back last night but when I saw the police car this morning I had to
come and see…’

Aha, thought Nina. This would either be a nosy busybody or a
genuinely concerned neighbour, and either might be able to provide her with
some useful information.

‘Come in and have a coffee,’ she suggested, holding the door
open.

The woman, whose name was Pat Cox, didn’t need a second
invitation. Nina made fresh coffee, reflecting she’d be hyper for the rest of
the day at this rate. Pat listened to her account of the past week with a
horrified expression, though Nina didn’t mention the anonymous letter. She didn’t
want the sordid little story to be all over Bedford by lunchtime.

Pat rubbed her face. ‘Oh my goodness. I’d no idea. I knew he
wasn’t well but we didn’t think for a minute… He always kept himself to
himself, Mr Moore, a nice quiet gentleman. And this past fortnight we’ve been
away on holiday, Florence and Rome and then a week at Rimini, such a busy
resort, dear, you should see the crowds on that beach. Oh dear. Nigel’ll be
right sorry to hear this.’

A concerned neighbour, decided Nina. Good.

‘Do you know anything about John’s friends?’ she asked.

Pat looked thoughtful. ‘Like I said he kept himself to
himself, your uncle. I can’t say we knew him but he was a good neighbour. He
was away a lot of the time – the house was often dark in the evenings. Being
next door of course we noticed that.’

Nina was silent. She had introduced herself as Nina Moore,
saying that John Moore had left her the house. Pat had put two and two together
and come up with what was probably the most likely solution to an outsider.
There didn’t seem to be anything Nina could say without telling Pat way more
than she wanted to. But it couldn’t do any harm to press for as much as the
other woman knew about John Moore.

‘My mother had no contact with John for as long as I can
remember,’ she said, topping up Pat’s mug. ‘Do you know if he had any other
family, or good friends, even, in the area – people who came round to visit,
maybe?’

Pat shook her head. ‘A young man visited quite a lot a while
back. I always assumed he was a nephew or something. We noticed him because he
always parked in front of our place. We haven’t seen him for a while, though.
And sometimes there would be older men, too, friends, I suppose. But nothing
much, like I said... Oh dear. When’s the funeral?’

‘He didn’t want one. I’m here to clear the house as much as
I can this week and then it’ll be going on the market.’

Pat stood up. ‘Well, I won’t keep you. What this place needs
is a team of decorators, and then a big family living in it. It would make a
lovely family home and being so close to London you’ll sell it no bother.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ said Nina. ‘Thanks for coming by,
Pat. It’s good to know that John had nice neighbours.’

How hypocritical, she thought, closing the door behind the
woman. But the picture of John Moore was becoming stranger with every person
she spoke to. Few visitors to the house, a cleaning lady he’d exchanged a mere
handful of words with in five years, neighbours who barely knew him. The man
seemed to have been a positive recluse, and really, it was hard to imagine
Claire marrying someone like that. Claire had been a real people person, she’d
loved having friends and family around her. But then again, if opposites did
attract… Nina shrugged. There was no way to know what had happened back then.
She would just have to wait for the test results. And hallelujah, here was the
string.

She was bringing bundles of bedware down to the study, which
had turned into a kind of half-way house for goods on their way to the charity
shop, when her mobile rang. Goodness, it was Beth, what an odd time... Hell,
was Naomi - ?

Nina’s heart thundered into top gear and she spoke before
Beth had the chance to say hello. ‘Is Naomi all right?’

Beth’s voice was calm. ‘She’s fine, lovey, but she fell off
her pony this morning and sprained her wrist, so it’s no more riding for her
this week. She wants to come and join you, Nina. What will I tell her?’

Nina gripped the phone. Her baby was hurt and she was stuck
at the other end of the country. Shit, why the hell had she ever come here? ‘Oh
God. Has she seen a doctor? Let me speak to her?’

‘Yes, I took her to Lamlash for an X-Ray and she honestly is
fine, Nina. Tim’s taken her to help him buy more canoeing stuff, but she’s
upset about losing the rest of the trekking course and she wants to be with her
mum. Any sign of your business finishing?’

Homesickness rattled through Nina – she wanted nothing more
than to be with Naomi. If she was on Arran they could go long walks along the
beach and she could help Naomi get over the hurt wrist and the disappointment.
As it was…

Nina thought swiftly. She could hardly expect Beth to take
care of a bored, frustrated ten-year-old and run the B&B at the same time. ‘Of
course she can come here. Do you want me to find out about flights?’

‘No, I’ll do that. We’ll get her on one today, I promise.
Speak soon.’

Nina broke the connection and stood still. Naomi was coming
here to this dingy, depressing house, to be right in the middle of a police
investigation for blackmail and possible paedophilia, and Nina couldn’t even
tell her daughter what relation John Moore was to them. And yet –

I am really pleased, thought Nina, standing there grinning
at the piles of sheets on the floor. Naomi was coming; that would brighten
things up and give them both something fresh to think about. Should they stay
here or go to the hotel? Which would Naomi prefer?

Stay here, she realised after just two seconds’ thought.
Naomi would want to explore the house and help get everything packed up. Okay.
They couldn’t both sleep in the downstairs bedroom, so…

She was arranging a pair of single beds in one of the
upstairs rooms when Sam arrived with tuna sandwiches and two large chunks of
Black Forest Gateau. Over their meal Nina told him about the morning’s events
and he listened, sandwich in hand.

‘Wow, you’ve been busy. And as the police have pinched my
job finding out about John’s family I’ve taken the rest of the day off. I can
take you to meet Naomi if you want. I’m afraid we might be looking at a trip to
Heathrow.’

He was right. Nina left Sam in a coffee bar to give herself
some time alone with Naomi, and hurried through the arrivals area in Terminal
2. Thank heavens it was midweek. At least the airport was less busy than at the
weekend. Which meant it was mobbed without being completely chaotic, she
thought, skirting a group of irate people who appeared to have lost their
relative. Bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, Nina checked the board
– the plane was down. Not long now till she could hug her girl and oh, how
brilliant was that?

‘Mum!’ Naomi flew towards her and flung herself into Nina’s
arms. ‘Oh Mum, Mrs Anderson wouldn’t let me finish the ride though I told her
my arm was okay and the doctor said it was only a sprain too.’

Nina hugged back gently, fighting back the desire to laugh
at Naomi’s aggrieved expression. She took hold of the bandaged wrist and
examined it.

‘Oh sweetheart. Doesn’t it hurt?’

‘Not much. They gave me pills at the hospital. It’s not
fair. I was getting on so well.’

She put one arm round Nina’s waist as they walked towards
the exit, cuddling up, and Nina squeezed back gently. This was a time for one
hundred per cent sympathy.

‘It’s such bad luck, but I promise when your wrist’s better
we’ll get you on another trek. You’ve got all summer on Arran this year so we’re
bound to manage something.’

Naomi nodded, her expression still glum. Nina kissed the
honey-coloured hair and hugged Naomi closer, feeling the tension in the child’s
body. This wasn’t all to do with a sprained wrist and the loss of a couple of
days trekking. Naomi had the death of her grandmother to contend with as well,
not to mention having contact with her father reduced to Skype conversations.
And a mother who’d deserted her…

The little girl sniffed disconsolately. ‘Are we going back
to Bedford now?’

‘Yes. The lawyer’s driving us back. Sam Harrison. He’s
helping us this afternoon because the police have taken over some of his work
to find out how we’re related to John Moore.’

‘The
police
? Why?’

The news at least had the effect of distracting Naomi from
her misery. Nina hugged the girl again. She had already concluded that there
was no point trying to hide what was going on from Naomi, so the explanation
would give her daughter still more food for thought, even though Nina was going
to keep schtum about the paedophilia part for the moment.

‘Because a letter arrived for John Moore yesterday, trying
to blackmail him – that means threaten him to make him do something, and that’s
illegal. So I called the police. Look, here’s the coffee shop where we’re
meeting Sam.’

Naomi was quiet on the drive back to Bedford. They were a
mile or two south of Luton when her mobile rang, and she had an animated
conversation with her father in Cape Town. Nina listened, holding Naomi’s hand.
They were both in the back seat, which made poor Sam look like a chauffeur.

Eventually Naomi clicked off her mobile and blinked up at
Nina. ‘Dad says he sprained his wrist when he was about my age too, when he
fell downstairs. He said it was better in a week or two. Oh, Mummy, I wish it
had never happened. The others’ll be out there riding right now. And we were
going to gallop on the beach at Kildonan tomorrow, and take the ponies into the
sea. It’s not fair.’

Naomi subsided, nestling up close again, and Nina’s heart
sank. Naomi had way too much to cope with at the moment, that was what wasn’t
fair. She wasn’t usually a clingy, cuddly child. It was time to be supermum for
a while, make sure that their dead relation’s non-presence in their lives didn’t
worry Naomi any more than she was worried already.

‘Ladies. What do you want to do about food?’

Nina glanced out of the window. They were approaching the
exit for Bedford. She and Sam had discussed possible dinner plans on the way to
Heathrow, but Nina wanted to see how Naomi was before making any decisions.
Originally of course she’d been supposed to go to Sam’s flat for pizza. Nina
sighed. She could tell Naomi wasn’t in the mood for fun evenings out.

‘I think we’ll go straight back to the house, Sam,’ she
said. ‘Naomi’s tired – and of course I want to show her everything, too.’ This
last was added on quickly as Naomi stirred indignantly. Silly me, thought Nina,
grinning in spite of herself. Ten-year-olds didn’t get tired, they were almost
grown-up already, not babies…