Текст книги "The Attic Room: A psychological thriller"
Автор книги: Linda Huber
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
Chapter Seven
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.
Chapter Eight
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…
Sam’s shoulders drooped and for a brief moment Nina felt guilty. But Naomi needed a cosy evening with Mum and lots of cuddles. And she was the luckiest woman in the world to be able to give her daughter just that.
