The Attic Room: A psychological thriller

by Linda Huber

  The doorbell rang at ten past five, and Nina hurried along the hallway. The man on the doorstep was oddly like the little boy on the photographs. Paul Wright was slightly built and only a few centimetres taller than she was, with deep brown eyes and a shock of jet-black hair falling over his forehead. His smile was shy and appealing.

  ‘Nina. How amazing after all these years. You used to steal my jelly babies, you know.’

  Nina smiled and shook hands. ‘Well, you’re one up on me if you remember. I have no recollection of you at all, but I’m really glad to see you now. It’s such an odd feeling, finding relatives I didn’t even know existed.’

  He followed her into the hallway, staring round with a wistful expression on his face.

  ‘This place hasn’t changed much,’ he said. ‘We used to visit at weekends, Sunday lunch and all that. I was gutted when you and your mum left. I remember crying into my pillow, and having a tantrum one Sunday because there was no Nina to play with after lunch.’

  ‘Oh – I’m sorry.’ Nina was touched.

  He patted her arm. ‘It was hardly your fault.’

  Nina led him into the living room, and he wandered round the periphery of the room, stopping to look out of both windows before settling down on the sofa and looking at her.

  ‘I can understand why your mum left, you know. I was scared of Uncle John. He used to shout at me when I dropped my peas on his floor. Peas are hard to keep on your fork when you’re little, and somehow it always was peas back then. My own dad was no better. He used to clout me around the ears if I made a mess at the table.’

  He pulled a face at her, grinning, and Nina managed to grin back, but really, it wasn’t funny, was it?

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ she said. The more she heard about John Moore the more she despised him. But thank God, she could feel a rapport with Paul. It was the same feeling she’d had with Emily, but this time she’d be able to ask what – if – he knew about John Moore’s paedophilic activity.

  ‘It was a long time ago. We can congratulate ourselves on being much nicer people than our fathers,’ he said.

  Nina nodded. Other than accept it, there was nothing they could do about the past. ‘You’re right,’ she said, realising the pun too late.

  He rolled his eyes and she laughed.

  ‘Sorry. What I’m trying to do here is find out about the family I didn’t know I had. There are loads of photos, can I ask you to have a look at a few? In return I’ll bring you a glass of wine – or a coffee, if you’d prefer that.’

  ‘Sounds good. I’ll have a glass of wine and we can toast each other,’ he said, sitting down at the table and reaching for a pile of ‘people’ photos.

  Nina went through to the kitchen and opened a bottle of white wine. She was shaking crisps into a bowl when Naomi appeared from the study.

  ‘Come and meet your second cousin, once removed,’ said Nina, as Naomi took a coke from the fridge. ‘We’re going through some of the old photos and I want to ask him about some family stuff, too, but if there’s anything on TV you want to watch we’ll go through to the study.’ She deliberately made things sound as boring as she could.

  ‘Can I shoot bubbles?’ said Naomi.

  Nina agreed, glad they had Sam’s laptop. Naomi would sit in front of it till she was prised away. She introduced her daughter to Paul, who didn’t really know how to converse with ten-year-old girls, then helped Naomi log into her game. Oh – here were the two photos they’d found first, the woman with the small boy – Paul – and the one with the cat in front of the shabby house.

  ‘Mum and me and – oh! That’s Mitzi!’ he said, smiling broadly when she showed him the second photo. ‘She loved sunning herself on the wall there. Mum used to get mad because I let her sleep in my bed; it was like cuddling a real live teddy bear. Can I have this one?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Nina. ‘Was that where you lived?’

  ‘We moved there when I was about nine,’ said Paul. ‘It was a pretty crappy building as you see. My dad’s business went bust; he used to buy and sell cars but he was a real swindler and it caught up with him eventually and he had to sell the house. He was arrested for fraud but they couldn’t prove anything so there were no charges. Then he turned his talents to any kind of dodgy business he could find, and Mum and I broke right off with him. He’s twisted, somehow; he manipulates people to get what he wants. But it never works out. He’s never made his fortune again and he’s very bitter about it. Or he was, last time I saw him. That was about two years ago. He spends quite a lot of time abroad nowadays.’

  Nina pulled a face, disappointment heavy in her gut. George Wright sounded almost as forgettable as John Moore. No way did she want to contact a man like that, so maybe meeting new relatives was going to end right here with Paul. But at least he was a normal human being, and she had Emily too.

  Keeping her voice low, Nina told him about the paedophilia on John Moore’s computer, the threatening phone call and the letters.

  Paul’s face was appalled. ‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry,’ he whispered, leaning towards her on the sofa. ‘Mum always called Uncle John a dirty old man, and I know my dad collects porn too. You must be gutted.’

  Tears shot into Nina’s eyes. At last, at last, here was someone who really could understand what she was going through. ‘I think the worst part is feeling so alone with it all,’ she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. ‘I’m so glad to have found you and Emily, though I haven’t told her about the pornography, or the blackmail.’

  Paul was frowning. ‘You know blackmail’s the kind of thing my Dad would do,’ he said, his face grim. ‘Threatening people is right up his street; he wouldn’t care that you’re his own flesh and blood. And after he lost the money he really had it in for Uncle John. You should be careful, Nina. He’s dangerous because he has no feeling for right and wrong.’

  Nina felt her cheeks blanch. ‘I should tell that to the police,’ she said. How horrible, her father’s own cousin could be the blackmailer.

  ‘Don’t worry, they know all about him. And you said he was on your address list too? I should think the police are already checking him out. The problem is, nothing ever happens to people like him and Uncle John, does it? They’re much too good at hiding their tracks and they get way with stuff time and again.’ His voice couldn’t have been more bitter.

  Nina sipped her wine, thinking. It was true that criminals like her father and his cousin weren’t always prosecuted successfully, but there was something wrong with Paul’s reasoning.

  ‘But Paul, whoever wrote the blackmail letter talked about screaming his head off and suffering; it was from one of John Moore’s victims. Your father is about the same age as mine, isn’t he? So George couldn’t have been a victim.’

  ‘Oh, my Dad’s clever,’ said Paul dryly. ‘Pretending to be some unfortunate ex-victim in order to get money out of John would be all in a day’s work to him.’

  Good point, thought Nina, they had no idea how accurate the letter was. Paul sat there looking as if he was going to say more, and Nina waited. In the end, though, he changed the subject.

  ‘Let’s have a look at the newest photos.’

  Nina showed him the pile of colour photos, and he sat down to examine them, refusing her offer of something more substantial to eat, saying he had to get back to his girlfriend in Newport Pagnell. He was able to identify both his parents and grandparents in some of the photos before he had to leave, and promised to have a think about the past and get back in touch in a day or two.

  At the door he hugged her briefly. ‘Nina. It makes me sick to think you’re going through all this and it might be my dad behind it. If you need anything, or if you just want to talk, give me a call. You’re not alone anymore.’

  Nina hugged back, closing her eyes tightly. Emily was a gem, and now she had Paul, who wasn’t exactly your strongman protector type, but he was nearby and he understood, and that was enough to help her deal with the knowledge that her father
and his cousin were criminals. Low-life. Not the kind of people you could be proud of.

  She waved goodbye as Paul drove off, then turned back inside, a picture of the farmhouse, the B&B sign waving in the wind, sliding into her head. She could be proud of what Claire and Grandma Lily and Grandpa Bill had achieved, and she would make damn well sure that her own daughter could look back one day and be proud of her too.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Claire’s Story – Bedford

  ‘What the fuck are you doing here, Claire?’

  The voice came from behind and Claire swung round on her bench by the river, dismay obliterating her brief moment of peace. Robert was standing there, hands stuffed in his pockets, glaring.

  Claire swallowed panic. Dear Lord, coming here had been a huge mistake. She’d found herself with an unexpected day to fill, as the London friend she was visiting this week had been obliged to go into work to deal with a staffing emergency instead of hitting Oxford Street with Claire. A shopping trip alone, especially when you were only window-shopping, had limited appeal, and quite spontaneously Claire hopped on a train to Bedford. She walked through town and along by the river to see her old home. How odd it felt, wandering along the pleasant river pathway, looking at the expensive houses on the other side of the road. For a long moment she stood staring at her old home, resentment flooding through her. According to the phone book Robert still lived there, so he must be doing well for himself, even after giving her all that money. It was so bittersweet – she would never regret her marriage, because of Nina, but the thought that he was financially so much better off than she was made her blood boil. She sat down on the bench to recover, not thinking for a minute that Robert might be at home at two o’clock on a Thursday to notice her, but here he was. And what in the world was she supposed to say now?

  She stared at him, eyebrows raised and a carefully polite expression on her face. It wasn’t easy, but she managed to sound calm. ‘I’m not here to see you, don’t worry. I’m visiting Carol this week, and I thought I’d have a look round Bedford again while I have the chance. I’ll be gone before you know it.’

  He snorted, then to her dismay he lowered himself into the far corner of her bench. ‘Come to see the house you could have lived in, huh? Bad decision, Claire. As usual.’

  He was as unbearable as ever. Thank God she hadn’t tried to re-establish contact between him and Nina. Claire stood up. ‘It was. And I’m not staying here for you to hurl insults at me.’

  He accompanied her across the grass towards the pavement and the quickest way back to town, and Claire’s stomach churned in spite of her brave words. But there were people about; she needn’t feel threatened. She would walk away from him and go for a coffee before catching her train back to London.

  ‘How’s Nina?’ His voice was neutral, and she replied in the same tone.

  ‘She’s fine. At Brownie camp in Dunbar this week.’

  ‘Good.’ They reached the road and Claire was turning away when a thought struck her.

  ‘I left a lot of stuff here, Robert. I suppose you still have it?’

  He snorted. ‘That junk. It’s all in a couple of boxes in the attic. If you want it, come in and get it.’

  Claire thought quickly, unwilling to prolong the meeting. She’d left things like shoes and clothes that didn’t matter now, but there were some ornaments and trinkets as well. Would it be stupid of her to go inside with him? She glanced at the front room windows. One was wide open, and people would hear her if she screamed.

  ‘I will, thank you,’ she said, managing to sound calm. ‘You can bring them down to the study, please.’

  Rather to her surprise he said nothing, and she followed him inside and waited while he ran upstairs. The study hadn’t changed since the day and hour she left this place; how very depressing it was. His Dad’s old desk and bookshelves. And the secretaire Emily had given her when she downsized to Biddenham. Claire gazed round in distaste. This house had never felt like home and her ties with Bedford had been broken long ago. Thank God.

  Robert returned with two large boxes which he dumped on the floor, forcing her to crouch down, and Claire was glad she was wearing trousers. Ignoring the way he was standing there watching her, arms folded, she rummaged through the non-clothes box and found a fair-sized collection of memorabilia of her marriage. The blue vases she’d found in Portobello Road Market, goodness, she’d forgotten about them. And she’d take the Capo di Monte rose, it matched Lily’s – and Nina would love the costume jewellery. Beads and bangles were important nowadays; at ten, Nina was discovering the world of fashion.

  ‘You can throw out the clothes, but I’ll take the rest with me, except the blue vases,’ she said at last. ‘They’re too big. I’m going on to the theatre tonight.’

  Quickly, she packed her possessions into the fold-up shopping bag she kept in her handbag. ‘I’ll come back sometime for the vases, Robert, don’t throw them away. And the secretaire’s mine too, strictly speaking. I’ll let you know. How is Emily – and Jane and Paul?’ She stared at the secretaire. It was a pity she’d lost contact with Emily. But contact with Emily might have led to contact with Robert, and Claire hadn’t wanted that back then and neither had he. Ah well. No point stirring things up now.

  He followed her to the front door. ‘They’re all fine. Send for the rest if you want it. Don’t bother coming back, Claire.’

  Claire shot him one more look as he stood at the door, arms still crossed in front of him, staring after her. She strode off into the afternoon, hands shaking, forcing herself not to turn round. What a fool she’d been, coming here, but at least she’d got some things back. And she had stood up to Robert – that alone was enough to make her feel stronger. Almost. A cup of coffee settled her nerves, and she sat in the café looking through her long-lost treasures. Maybe she would go back in person for the vases someday, just to spite Robert.

  Smiling at the thought, Claire checked her watch. It was time to start back to the station.

  Goodbye, Bedford, she thought as her train sped south. I wonder if I’ll ever see you again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Monday 24th July

  The second weirdo phone call came the following morning.

  Nina was stepping out of the shower when the old-fashioned ring tone trilled upstairs from the study. Cursing, she pulled one of John Moore’s scrubby bath towels round her and ran, almost tripping down the stairs in her rush to get to the phone. It would be a wonder if she made it and a double wonder if Naomi didn’t waken with all this crashing about, but there was something very insistent about the brr-brr sounds emanating from John Moore’s shiny blue eighties telephone. It was impossible to ignore.

  ‘Hello?’ She perched on the edge of the desk, thankful for the net curtains at the window. Clad in an ancient orange bath towel with her hair pinned roughly on top of her head, she wasn’t quite ready to face the world.

  There was an odd little snigger at the other end, and a sick, churning feeling wormed through Nina’s gut. For a second she considered hanging up but remembered in time that the phone was bugged now and the police would be listening in. She wasn’t alone here, she wasn’t alone. All she had to do was keep him on the line.

  The same sing-song, high-pitched voice muttered into her ear.

  ‘Nina, Nina. You pay for my pain or your daughter will suffer. Get your money organised. You’ll hear from me again.’

  The line went dead, and Nina slammed the receiver down before crouching on the floor, panting. She had never felt so outraged, so helpless. This disgusting person had threatened Naomi. Dear God, what should she do?

  Get the first plane north. Home, home. The thought ran over and over in her head as she ran to make sure the front door was locked, then rushed round checking the ground floor windows and the back door were secure too. There was nothing for her here in Bedford. The business stuff could be finished from Scotland; she could easily keep in touch with Paul by email and phone, and Emily… ye
s, there was Emily. But even finding an absolute jewel of an aunt had no significance in comparison to Naomi’s safety. This caller – was it George Wright? – had made a definite threat now.

  Loneliness crept through Nina as she realised there was no one she could call for moral support. Cruel to phone Beth, who would be in the middle of preparing heaven knows how many different breakfasts. Sam was miles away and couldn’t help with this anyway. She would have to let Paul know that the blackmailer and anonymous caller, who might well be his own father, had struck again, but – dear God, would Paul really want to know? He would only be hurt and ashamed. Hot tears stung Nina’s eyes and she rubbed her face impatiently. This was no time to go soft. Phone the police, woman, see what they have to say.

  David Mallony was terse on the phone. ‘It’s as if he knew the phone was bugged. The call was from a landline but that’s all we know. Nina, I think you ought to go to a hotel. You and Naomi shouldn’t be alone in that house after such a direct threat.’

  Miserably, Nina agreed. All she wanted was to sit on the bench outside the farmhouse and watch the waves shiver up the beach below, but she needed at least another day here. She had to talk properly to the police, and she wanted to see Paul again and ask him more about their families in the days when she and Claire lived here. He might know something that would explain why Claire had spread the myth about her husband’s death. And there must be something – a huge, enormous something – that they didn’t know yet, because Claire wouldn’t have told that lie lightly.

  Nina stood in the study, tapping her fingers on the desktop. What on earth was she supposed to do with Naomi while she was talking to David Mallony and Paul? Her daughter would be one large question mark if she realised there was more going on than she knew about.