The Attic Room: A psychological thriller - Huber Linda. Страница 11

Nina stared out of the kitchen window. Rain was dripping from the ivy growing up the garden wall. ‘There’s no reason to think he’d harm me. All I want is to finish up here as soon as I can and then go home, Sam. Back to Arran.’

‘I’ll do everything I can to get you on the first possible plane north. Let’s wait and see what the police say when they get into John Moore’s computer. They might find an explanation there.’

Sam left soon after and Nina set her shoulders. She was going to get on with things here. First stop was the police station for her cheek swab, and then she would continue what she’d started yesterday, bagging John Moore’s stuff.

But how scary it was that John Moore, whether or not he was her father and whether or not he was a criminal – had known about her all the time. The thought made her feel invaded, as if he’d been snooping about in her life.

By evening she’d made good headway clearing John Moore’s possessions and organised with a charity shop in town to take some bits and pieces. It felt good, having a menial task to do, and it gave her time to think. Either John Moore was her father – and she was still hoping he wasn’t – or he was a more distant relation. He may have abused the letter-writer in the past, but it was also possible that the writer was nothing more than a mean chancer after the money. After all, a sick, single man might pay up simply to stop someone making a false allegation.

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.

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.