Nina didn’t answer. He was right, but discovering that your father had been a paedophile and your mother had lied to you about him all your life – bad stuff didn’t get much mightier than that.
Alone again, she sat down with the address list and Sam’s laptop. Now to see if she could find a phone number for Paul or George Wright.
There were two Pauls and seven George Wrights in Bedfordshire, Hertfordshire, and Buckinghamshire. Okay, Paul was probably going to be easier to track down than his Dad.
Nina picked up her mobile, then stopped. Ten o’clock on Sunday morning was maybe too early to phone. Better wait an hour or so.
She used the time to call the police for an update in the investigation, only to be told that David Mallony was off that day but would be in touch with her early in the week. Depressed, Nina hung up. She didn’t expect them to get excited about John Moore himself, the man was dead, but there was still the anonymous letter writer and threatening phone-caller, not to mention all the possible victims, including herself. Oh well, it was Sunday.
She went upstairs and lured her daughter out of bed with the promise of warm croissants for breakfast, then when Naomi was under the shower she tried the first Paul Wright’s number. The voice in her ear sounded calm and awake, and Nina’s hopes soared.
‘I’m researching my family tree and I’ve found relations called George and Paul Wright,’ she said after giving her name. ‘My father was John Moore – he and George Wright were cousins.’
There was a long pause before the voice answered. ‘Well, I guess I’m your Paul Wright,’ he said. ‘So you’re little Nina who used to play with me on Sundays? Gosh, I – I don’t know what to say – I hadn’t quite forgotten about you, but… what a long time ago it was. I haven’t seen my father for years, we don’t get on. But – Uncle John – is he - ?’
Nina explained about John Moore’s death. It was impossible to tell what Paul Wright felt about her getting in touch like this. He was polite and interested in her story, but there was no ‘wow, how fantastic’ tone in his voice. He did ask several questions about his uncle and the house, which he was evidently familiar with. Nina hesitated for a second before suggesting a meeting, but Paul agreed immediately.
‘As a matter of fact I’ll be driving right past Bedford late this afternoon, on the way home from friends. Shall I stop by then?’
Nina agreed to a visit between five and six o’clock, and punched the air as she put the phone down. She had found another relation, and even if Paul didn’t get on with his father, he should be able to give her a phone number for George Wright. And according to Emily, they were all the family left. So she’d done it – she had found everyone who could possibly help her reconstruct the years she and Claire spent with John Moore. The feeling of relief surprised her in its intensity, and she went to splash cold water on her face. It was going to be all right. Her programme for the week now was to talk to the Wrights, especially George, who would remember more than Paul, visit Emily a couple of times, and see Sam when he returned, after which she’d be free at last to take Naomi back to Arran. Would it be ‘Goodbye Sam’ forever? Nina didn’t know any more.
She and Naomi spent the afternoon at a craft workshop near Biddenham where children could make their own candles from beeswax, something Naomi could do despite her sprained wrist. By quarter to five they were home again, and Naomi ran to email her friends with the candle-making news. Nina went through to the living room, rubbing her stomach, which was churning nervously. Wow, oh wow. Soon now she would meet another relative, the second in two days, and this one was her own generation. It was exciting, in spite of the bad stuff. Hope flared inside her – how amazing it would be if she liked Paul as much as she liked Emily.
She sat arranging the last of the black and white photos into ‘people’ and ‘no people’ piles while she waited. Hallelujah, that was the photos organised. Maybe Paul would be able to identify some of the family on these, and she would take a new selection to show Emily on Tuesday too.
A thought struck Nina and she frowned. With Naomi there, she wouldn’t be able to go into the paedophilia problem with Emily. But then – did Emily actually need to know? It was such a terrible thing… Why spoil the last years of an elderly lady’s life? Nina stared blindly at the last photo, remembering the yearning look on Emily’s kind, wrinkled face when they left. An old woman, watching her new-found family leave. A lump rose in Nina’s throat. She had found both a father she had no wish to have, and a great-aunt she would love. How very – surreal it felt.
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.