Текст книги "The Attic Room: A psychological thriller"
Автор книги: Linda Huber
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
Chapter Eleven
Wednesday 19th – Thursday 20th July
The police arrived as they were leaving to go to the ‘Riverside’ event in the country park further down the river. David Mallony stood in the hallway as five other officers clumped past and went straight through to the study.
‘Nina, here’s the warrant to search this house. I’m not sure how long we’ll need, but we’ll leave everything tidy for you.’
‘That’s fine,’ said Nina, aware that Naomi’s eyes were growing rounder by the second at the sight of the police calmly taking possession of the place. ‘Naomi and I each have a caseful of clothes in the front bedroom upstairs, and you’ll see I’ve bagged most of John Moore’s clothes and bedding. Help yourselves to whatever you need. Shall I give you a key to lock up when you’re done?’
She glanced round. Sam had taken Naomi outside to the car.
‘You will include the boxes in the attic?’ she said. ‘I’d hate to come across pornographic photos but I do want to look through them in case there’s anything family-related up there. Oh, and the cleaning service told me they removed a load of shredded paper before I arrived. Heaven knows what was there and please, if you do find anything disgusting, take it right away from here. The thought that I’m related to that man is – stomach-turning.’
‘Don’t worry. We’ll check everything,’ said David Mallony. He gave her a brief salute and turned into the study.
‘What did he say? And why did he –’ Naomi was hunched in the passenger seat of Sam’s car, an aggrieved expression on her face. ‘– not let me stay to hear for myself what the police said? I’m not a baby!’ She glared at Sam.
Still shaken, Nina got in the back and for a moment had to concentrate on remaining calm. She would never understand how Claire had managed to keep such an awful secret all these years. Nina shuddered. John Moore must have been blackmailing Claire in some way. It was the only explanation; her mother would hardly have chosen to act like that. What a swine the man had been. Claire had probably – no, she had definitely acted against the law in saying nothing. Imagine if she was still alive – she could have ended up facing charges. Child pornography was a bit different to stealing petty cash or cooking the books.
And – dear God in heaven – had any child suffered abuse because Claire hadn’t reported John Moore? That was something they would know by the end of the investigation and the answer was going to be ‘yes’. And Claire must have known that. Bile rose in Nina’s throat and she swallowed, feeling it burn all the way to her stomach. How terrible… Claire’s silence had condemned who knows how many kids to vile abuse. And her mother had lived with this knowledge…
Naomi turned from the front seat and pouted at her. ‘Mum! I wanted to – ’
‘They’re looking for evidence of the illegal business, Naomi.’ Nina gave herself a mental shake. She couldn’t think about the ramifications of Claire’s silence now, with Naomi upset and waiting for an answer. The truth and nothing but the truth, but not quite the whole truth, that was what she needed here. ‘And of course anything that would lead them to the blackmailer. We don’t know who that could be. And Sam was right to take you to the car. Things like this aren’t suitable for children to hear about.’
Naomi scowled at Sam, then turned back to Nina. ‘I bet I can understand. What kind of illegal business is it?’
Nina struggled for words. Not the whole truth indeed. ‘I don’t know exactly, Naomi, and I don’t really want to know either. I’m afraid John Moore wasn’t a very nice person.’
Naomi was silent, and Nina slumped in her seat. How much did Naomi know about paedophilia? ‘Stranger danger’ had been a theme in their lives, of course, but Nina had never seriously considered they would come into contact with a paedophile. No one did. But the day when she would have to explain more about John Moore’s ‘illegal activities’ was coming, nothing was more sure than that. She should start getting her ideas together about how best to phrase things so that a ten-year-old would understand without losing her faith in the entire human race. Not an easy task.
The Riverside Water Party, set up by a trio of small lakes in the country park, was lively and crowded, with competitions for children and displays of aquatic sports and other activities. Naomi was fascinated by the water rescue dogs, several of which were enormous Newfoundlanders, and for a long time refused to be tempted away from their stand by the lakeside. Nina and Sam left her to it and settled down under a tree a short distance away where they could keep an eye on her.
‘I hope I didn’t stand too hard on the poor kid’s toes back there,’ said Sam, passing Nina a smoked salmon sandwich. ‘She was none too chuffed when I insisted on leaving you alone to talk to the police.’
‘I’m glad you did,’ said Nina fervently. ‘I have no idea how best to explain all this to her. Don’t worry, Sam, she’ll come round. She hasn’t got over her Grandma’s death yet, and losing part of her trekking holiday isn’t helping.’
To her dismay, however, Nina saw that her daughter was still very miffed with poor Sam. Naomi came back for something to eat with a sullen expression on her face.
‘Mum, can I go and buy an ice cream? I don’t like fish,’ she said, turning her nose up at Sam’s cool box. ‘Or chocolate yoghurt.’
Nina pulled out her purse, refraining from pointing out that both appeared regularly on the table at home and Naomi had yet to voice an objection. If only peace of mind was as easily purchased as ice cream. She would part with any amount of John Moore’s fortune if she could buy something to help Naomi through what had turned into the worst summer of both their lives.
She watched unhappily as the girl trailed over to the ice cream van and back, demonstratively giving Sam a wide berth. As soon as she’d handed over the change she was off again back to the dogs.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Sam, as they packed up the picnic. ‘I know it’s not personal.’
He was right, thought Nina. But she could have done without yet another complication. Sam was the closest thing she had to a friend down here, and now Naomi had taken a scunner to him, as Grandma Lily would have said.
The party continued with music and dancing, and it was after ten when Sam pulled up outside John Moore’s house, Naomi half-drowsing in the back. Nina undid her seat belt. Had the police found anything? Heavens, she had butterflies in her tummy about it – they might have come across something that would change the whole situation. Oh, if only…
She turned to Sam. ‘Want to come in and see what the police have been up to?’
‘You bet,’ he said, pulling the key from the ignition.
Naomi bounded up in the back seat. ‘The police! Are they still here?’
The police were gone and the house was tidy, though Nina saw signs everywhere that things had been disturbed, moved, rummaged through. The smell of old books in the study was almost choking, and Nina wrinkled her nose. They must have flicked through John Moore’s entire collection. It was unnerving, even though this wasn’t her home. Her house, but not her home. And what had all those policemen found in her house?
‘Mum! They’ve left some boxes from the attic in the living room!’ said Naomi, who was wide awake again, running from room to room.
Nina went to look. There was a note from David Mallony on the uppermost of three cardboard boxes on the coffee table.
‘All the ‘good’ photos are here. We’re taking two further boxes to the station for investigation. Those still in the attic contain clothes and china.’
Nina breathed in deeply. It sounded as if the ‘further boxes’ contained pornography. Thank Christ she hadn’t left Naomi to explore the attic by herself the other day.
Sam patted her shoulder. ‘I’ll make coffee, shall I?’ he said. ‘You’ll want to have a look at these.’
Nina opened the smallest box. It was almost full; there were dozens of small, black and white photos, the kind that would be pre-1960.
‘Bo – ring!’ said Naomi theatrically.
‘‘Fraid so,’ said Nina, glad that the girl wasn’t itching to look through the photos. ‘I can sort them out, and show you any that are interesting later, okay? Look, it’s late. Why don’t you scoot off and have a nice bath before you go to bed? You can use my new body lotion.’
To her relief Naomi took the bait and disappeared upstairs. Nina stared round the room, looking for somewhere to lay the photos out to sort through them. The table under the window with its two drop leaves seemed the best bet. She moved the ugly crystal bowl from the table top, and soon created a good-sized surface to work on.
‘I don’t think those black and white ones’ll show anything very interesting,’ she said, putting the small box to one side and accepting a mug of coffee from Sam. ‘My father would be a child in these. What I’d really like to find are photos of my parents together, maybe some of me as well. And anything else with people, too.’
Sam opened the second box. ‘Hm. None of these seem to have a date on them,’ he said, stirring the photos with his index finger. ‘They’re all colour, though, so they’ll be more recent. Why don’t I sort them into those with and without people, and you can arrange the people ones?’
Twenty minutes work was enough to convince Nina she had a mammoth task on her hands. Surely most families didn’t have half as many snaps as this; one of her relations must have been an enthusiastic amateur photographer. She found several photos of John Moore, but none of her mother or herself, though there were several dozen with strangers. Some included the woman and the little boy who were on the photos Sam had found in the desk, but there was no way to tell who anyone was. Not one of the photos had names or dates on them, and there must be dozens still in the box. Who on earth had taken them all?
‘This is hopeless,’ said Nina at last. ‘Or at least it’s a long job and I’m tired. Let’s call it a day. How about a glass of wine to finish up with? If you open it I’ll check on Naomi.’
Naomi was reading in bed, her eyelids drooping, and Nina’s heart melted. Poor kiddy, she must be thoroughly upset by everything that had happened, and none of it was her fault. Time for some TLC.
‘Night, lovey,’ she said softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. ‘And don’t worry, things’ll get back to normal soon. Have a think about what you want to do tomorrow. You can choose.’
Naomi’s lip trembled. ‘I wish I could be at home with my Gran.’
Nina hugged her. ‘Sweetheart, your Gran will always be a part of you, and of me too,’ she whispered. ‘We’ll always miss her, and you wouldn’t want not to, would you? But you know she’d want us both to be happy and live our lives well. So let’s do that. For her.’
Naomi smiled sleepily and snuggled into her pillow. Nina tucked the duvet round the little girl and kissed the sun-browned face. What a good feeling it was that she could comfort her child with the sheer force of her words. She should make the most of this phase while it lasted; in a couple of years Naomi wouldn’t be hanging so trustingly on everything her mother said. And how wonderful to have a daughter and to know that they loved each other.
Downstairs, Sam had opened a bottle of Merlot. ‘Well? Are the troops settled down?’
He handed over a ruby-filled glass, and Nina sipped. With Naomi beside her and Sam to help, she was going to get through this.
‘Almost asleep. Thank you, Sam. I had a great time, and Naomi did too, though you might find that more difficult to believe.’
‘Don’t worry. I can see she’s a great girl.’
They sat there talking about children and parents and photos and houses, and Nina was startled when she looked at the clock and saw that it was after midnight. Sam left, squeezing her hand and promising to be in touch the next day. Nina watched him go, feeling the awkward silence of the old house envelope her when the sound of his car had gone. Oh, how tired she was. Creeping into the bedroom, she saw that Naomi was sleeping on her front, one hand under her cheek and the other trailing on the floor. Nina tucked her in again and slid into her own bed. It had been an interesting evening in more ways than one.
Buttered toast in one hand and coffee steaming aromatically by her side, Nina pored over the photos she and Sam had organised last night. Naomi was still asleep, so she could take the chance to do some more sorting. She poked about in the box of colour snaps they’d started on last night. Bloody hell, there were dozens of them. And really, what good would it do, searching through boxes of John Moore’s ancient pics? She wasn’t even sure what was she looking for. The photos might tell her something about her father’s life, but she already knew he’d been the biggest scumbag in creation. He himself had deemed the snaps fascinating enough to keep in the attic, so she was unlikely to find them any more interesting.
Discouraged, Nina opened the third box. More of the same. Oh! There was something else, too, under the photos.
She extracted a folded piece of paper and smoothed it out on the table. Well. Now this was interesting. Names, addresses and phone numbers, about twenty in all. There were two Moores here, they might be the distant cousins Sam had mentioned. Had the police seen this? Nina reached for her phone.
‘Yes, we photographed it yesterday,’ said David Mallony. ‘We’ll be investigating these people, but it was in that box of normal photos so I shouldn’t think it’s anything more than an old address list.’
‘Okay,’ said Nina. ‘Um – is there any word about the paternity test?’
She knew she was being naïve, hoping it could still come back negative, but you never knew. People won at the lottery every week, didn’t they?
She could hear the sympathy in David Mallony’s voice.
‘You’ll be the first to know when it comes. But Nina, don’t get your hopes up.’
Nina turned back to the photos. It was difficult not to hope. Nobody wanted a monster for their father.
With no great enthusiasm she lifted a handful of photos and started to divide them into ‘with’ and ‘without’ people piles. There were such a lot of landscapes here, country pictures with farm buildings, why on earth would anyone photograph bare fields with the odd stumpy tree, and – shit!
It was her, her and Mum and John Moore, sitting on a bench, in fact it looked like one of the benches on the other side of the road here, by the river. Hell, yes, that was Claire, her hair dark and curly and a strangely subdued little smile on her face. It wasn’t an expression Nina could remember seeing before. Claire was holding little Nina, a blonde child with solemn features and a doll clutched in her arms. She couldn’t have been more than about two, here.
Hot tears burned in Nina’s eyes. She didn’t need the test result now. This photo was telling her loud and clear that those old records she hadn’t wanted to believe were telling the truth all along; John Moore was her father. She could even remember that doll – Susie, its name was, she’d taken it to Edinburgh and then to Arran, played with it for years.
She scrabbled wildly in the box and soon had a row of family photos in front of her. Her and Mum, her and the boy she’d already seen in a couple of pictures, her and… her father…
Nina stared at the three photos where she and John Moore were pictured. A solemn child, a smiling, strutting man. Did the child in those photos really look afraid and unhappy, or was she projecting that because she knew about the paedophilia? Nausea welled up, almost choking her; she had to breathe through her mouth for a few moments. She still didn’t know if he’d been an active paedophile or had ‘merely’ collected vile pictures. And – if he had abused other children, he could have abused her too. It was the blackest thought of all. There was no evidence of it and she had no memories, but… she’d been crying on the top floor… On the other hand, according to David, the images on John Moore’s computer were of young boys, and paedophiles were attracted to either girls or boys but not both – weren’t they? She didn’t know enough about it, that was the problem. But it wasn’t impossible that she’d been abused. Dear God, it wasn’t impossible.
Forcing herself to remain calm, Nina went to fetch more coffee. It’s better to find out the truth, she told herself. If she knew the worst then she could deal with it and get on with her life. But how could she possibly find out what had happened all those years ago? The hazy memory of her crying in the attic room wasn’t enough.
She went back and stood in front of the ‘family’ photos. If she hadn’t known about the paedophilia the thought wouldn’t have entered her head. There were a couple of wedding snaps she hadn’t seen before, Claire and John Moore, and oh, Grandma Lily and Grandpa Bill. A lump grew in Nina’s throat as she saw how slim Claire was in those days before motherhood, and how happy she looked, like a little girl playing at weddings – and… what was making her uneasy about these photos? Other people were there too, a young woman with a toddler and another man, as well as several older people in various combinations. Two of them might be her other grandparents. Nina stared at the photos, then shrugged and laid them down. Hopefully she could get in touch with those distant cousins Sam had turned up; they might be able to help. Or would they turn out to be as horrible as John Moore?
Her phone rang and she grabbed it. Sam’s voice brought normality back into what had already become a bad day. She told him about the photos and the list of names.
‘Well, I certainly think it’s worth trying to find them,’ he said. ‘The ones called Moore must be relatives. And Nina, remember – your mother was looking out for you.’
Nina blinked unhappily. It was true, but the fact remained that Claire’s silence had allowed John Moore to abuse heaven knows how many kids after the two of them left. It was very, very difficult to get her head round that, and it didn’t sound like Claire, either. Something monumental must have happened to make her behave like that. Nina put the thought to the side for the moment and arranged with Sam to have lunch together the following day.
Ending the call, she switched her phone right off. She would waken Naomi and take her down to London for the day. They would do some sights, go shopping, maybe go to a show if anything was available. Life had been depressing for long enough; a day out with her daughter was exactly what they both needed.
And what a pity it was that the whole bloody mess would still be here when they got back.
Chapter Twelve
Friday 21st July
Nina took one look at the cheap envelope lying face down on the mat and ran to the kitchen for a knife. Shit, oh shit, this was going to be another horrible letter. Crouching behind the front door and praying Naomi wouldn’t choose today to get up early, she flipped the envelope over.
Oh. Her own name and this address were clearly handwritten, and unlike Monday’s letter, this one had come by post. Maybe it wasn’t anonymous. She wiped away the sweat that had broken out on her brow.
Still squatting by the door mat, she considered whether or not to open the letter. There was no one she could think of who would be writing to her here. It wasn’t Beth’s or Tim’s handwriting, and apart from Alan in South Africa, no one else who might conceivably write to her knew she was here. Nina rose to her feet and trotted into the kitchen for her phone. A quick call to the police might be best.
Sabine Jameson was dubious. ‘Hm. It doesn’t sound like an anonymous letter. Hold the envelope by one corner, and open it with a knife. Then use the knife to open out the letter,’ she said. ‘Call me back when you’ve read it.’
Nina sat down at the photos table to open the letter, keeping an ear open for Naomi. No way did she want her child any more involved in anonymous letters and paedophilia than she was already. Fortunately, Naomi was sleeping the sleep of the exhausted tourist. They’d had a great day out yesterday, with lunch in a crêperie, a visit to Greenwich and then a boat trip back to the centre. To round off the day they went to an outdoor ‘oldies’ cinema and watched ‘E.T.’ for the zillionth time, with the added attraction that they were out there under real stars themselves.
As always, the end of the film brought tears to Nina’s eyes. A lost little creature going home. It brought back to her how very much she wanted to be back home, even though without Claire, home was a different place. They would have to deal with the change in the old farmhouse, remember the past with love and move on with joy, as Claire would have wished. A lot of reorganising lay ahead on the Isle of Arran, and John Moore’s hard cash would undoubtedly make things easier.
Nina blinked unhappily. ‘We’ll go back early next week.’ She spoke aloud, using the paper knife from the desk to assist the kitchen knife. Sam would be able to carry on here without her physical presence.
It wasn’t easy to get the single sheet of paper from the envelope without touching it, but at last she managed to ease it out. The same handwriting was on the letter, and Nina spread the sheet with the knives, her heart sinking as she read.
Dear Nina Moore,
Please forgive me for writing to you like this, but I know you recently inherited a large fortune. Please consider that there are people less fortunate than you. My husband was in an accident in May, and he no longer earns a living wage. £500 would mean nothing to you and everything to us. After all, it’s not your money, is it, you did nothing to earn it. Please, Nina, be generous and help a family in need.
Yours sincerely…
The signature was illegible, though the address wasn’t, Nina noticed wryly. Did this person imagine she was going to stick £500 in an envelope and send it off just like that? No way. And who the hell could it be from? No one knew about John Moore dying and leaving her a fortune… but no… that wasn’t quite true. The staff at the hospice and the crematorium would know he was rich, and anyone could have seen the death announcement in the paper. It might even be from someone who’d visited the hospice, or delivered something… Nina sniffed, then looked at the letter again.
In a way it was true, what the letter writer said. She could easily spare £500 now. But there would be more begging letters; she couldn’t give money to everyone who asked for it and she didn’t want to, either. Nina folded the letter, thinking.
Maybe she should make one big donation, to a children’s charity, for instance. That way she would be doing good and also showing Naomi that helping people was the natural thing to do. They could choose a charity together – Naomi would enjoy doing some research on the internet. Or they could look into one of those sponsorship arrangements, maybe support a child in India. Yes, good idea. But now she’d better phone Sabine Jameson and tell her it was just a begging letter. The first, but probably not the last.
She was making the connection when her fingers slowed and a frown came over her face. There was something vaguely familiar about the language on that letter…
‘After all, it’s not your money, is it, you did nothing to earn it.’
Wasn’t that very similar to what the anonymous caller said on the phone?
Sabine Jameson listened to her fears. ‘I’ll tell the boss when he gets in, but there isn’t much to go on there. We’ll have a look at it later. Oh – Nina – your test result’s back. Ready for it?’
Nina gripped her phone. ‘Positive, isn’t it?’
‘I’m sorry. I know you were hoping for a negative result.’
Nina broke the connection and stood fighting disappointment. The last vestige of hope was gone; John Moore was her father. Well, there was nothing she could do about that. She wasn’t responsible for his crimes. What she needed to do now was find out enough about the past to give herself peace of mind, and the best way to do that was to sort through these wretched photos.
‘Mum! I’ve had cornflakes, can I email Jay?’
Nina jumped, then went to hug Naomi. ‘Heavens, you got up quietly! Yes, of course. You can have an hour online, shoot bubbles or something after your email, and by that time I’ll be finished with the photos and we’ll think of something fun to do when Sam arrives.’
Naomi raced upstairs to clean her teeth, and Nina went back to work. By half past eleven she had another row of ‘people’ on the table. As well as the family with the little boy she found four photos of the same little boy with some older people. On two of them he was sitting on a middle-aged women’s knee, looking much happier than on the other photos. The woman was smiling too; maybe she was his grandmother. Which could well make her Nina’s grandmother too, or an aunt. Was this woman one of the people on the list? Abandoning the photos, Nina pulled out the address list and scanned it again. She should see if she could find any current phone numbers for these Moores.
‘Anything interesting?’
Nina jumped for the second time that morning. Sam had come into the room without her hearing. This must be her day for being crept up on; she should watch her back. She grinned at Sam. ‘Hello! How did you get in?’
‘I arrived at the front door as Naomi was coming downstairs and she saw me through the glass,’ he said, joining her at the table. ‘And guess what, she’s speaking to me today. She said, ‘Mum’s miles deep in those boring old photos again’ and went into the study. What have you found?’
Nina showed him the letter and pointed out the similarity to the threatening phone call. He grimaced, tapping his fingers on the table.
‘Oh Nina, I don’t like it. Even if this is a coincidence, it means that every begging letter you’ll be wondering about a possible connection.’
‘I know. I want to get away from here asap, Sam. All this hassle isn’t worth it; I need to get on with my life. And the paternity test result was positive, by the way.’
He grimaced again. ‘I’m sorry. I have all the paperwork ready for you to sign so there’s nothing to stop you going home. We can continue with the business stuff by e-mail and phone. And unfortunately I’m away myself for a few days at the beginning of the week; I have to see a client in Devon. It was arranged three weeks ago and I can’t get out of it.’
Nina stood straighter. ‘That settles it. We’ll leave on Monday.’
Happier now that the decision had been made, she showed Sam the ‘people’ photos.
‘Wow. You’re incredibly like your mother, aren’t you?’ he said, picking up a photo showing a young-looking Claire with her new husband.
Nina went to look over his shoulder. A very young-looking Claire… The thought that had hovered over her brain the other day came sharply and horribly into focus.
‘Shit,’ she said. ‘Mum looks about thirteen here. Do you think – oh Christ.’
The thought was appalling. A paedophile would enjoy having a wife who looked so much younger than she was. Dear God no.
Sam put the photos down. ‘Nina, don’t go there,’ he said in a low voice. ‘They’re both dead, it’s over. We only have to sort out what’s relevant to you.’
He opened his briefcase and pulled out a magnifying glass.
‘I borrowed this from our secretary. A vital piece of secretarial equipment when you have to work with old documents. She has two so you can hang on to it for a few days.’
He was right, Nina knew. John Moore’s actions were nothing to do with her. She pored over the photos with the glass, but although it made the facial expressions clearer, it didn’t help identify the people. Definitely, it was time to leave the winding up of her father’s estate to the lawyers, and go home and enjoy the rest of the summer on beautiful Arran.
‘Nina, look.’ Sam had lifted the list of names. He pointed to one about halfway down. ‘Emily Moore. And the address is in Biddenham, that’s a village a couple of miles outside Bedford. Maybe she still lives there.’
Nina stared at the list. Emily Moore, 15 Long Meadow Lane, Biddenham.
‘Wow. I hadn’t realised that. Let’s try the phone number.’
The number was unobtainable, though, and Emily Moore didn’t figure in the phone book either.
‘We could drive by and have a look,’ suggested Nina. ‘Even if Emily’s not there anymore, one of the neighbours might know something.’
Sam pulled out his car key. ‘Good idea. Let’s go.’
‘This is boring. You said we would do something fun,’ said Naomi as Sam drove along the main road towards Biddenham.
Nina thought swiftly. Compared to the day before, an outing to find someone they didn’t know must be boring to a ten-year-old, but she wasn’t prepared to let Naomi stay all alone in John Moore’s house when there were unknown weirdos at large writing revolting letters and making funny phone calls. Nina twisted round in her seat and made a face at her daughter.
‘I know, sweetie, but look at it this way. You can count your blood relations on the fingers of one hand. I can count my blood relations with my left thumb. Emily Moore might be another one. It would be sort of worth it if we could find her, wouldn’t it?’
Naomi sniffed. ‘You said John Moore wasn’t a very nice person so Emily might not be either. You could find her yourself and if she was nice I could go and see her too. All this driving about looking for her is so incredibly mega-dull.’
‘I know,’ said Nina helplessly. ‘I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’
‘That doesn’t help now.’ Naomi turned away theatrically and retreated into her ipod, staring out of the side window.
Nina glanced at Sam and hid a smile at the apprehensive expression on his face. He obviously wasn’t used to sharing car-space with sparring mothers and daughters. Not that she often sparred with Naomi… Mind you, puberty wasn’t a million miles away and they would know all about theatricals then. Sam raised his eyebrows at her when they stopped at traffic lights and she winked the eye Naomi couldn’t see.
Long Meadow Lane was a quiet, leafy little place, with tall trees and bushes bordering the lane on both sides. Nina sat looking from right to left as they crept along in search of number fifteen. The houses were large and almost hidden behind the greenery; it seemed rather an affluent little area. Nina sighed. Her own branch of the Moore family lived in less well-to-do accommodation. Claire left the riches behind when she left John Moore all those years ago…
