Paul leaned towards her, and she saw how his hands were shaking.
‘I wanted to kill him for a long time,’ he said, his voice trembling. ‘Both of them, Dad and Uncle John. When I was older I even bought a gun, but they were enemies by that time and I never got the two of them in the same place at the same time and that was what I wanted. I wanted to pull the trigger on your father and watch the fear in Dad’s eyes while I did it. And then I wanted to kill him too. But it didn’t work out.’
Nina grasped his hand and squeezed it. The anger was understandable; she felt it too. Maybe she always would.
‘You should get counselling, Paul,’ she said, feeling his hand shake in hers. ‘That’s what I’ll do, I think. We need help to get over this. Dear God. My own father.’ She had seen him in his coffin and she had never known. Shit, she had looked at him and felt pity.
There was nothing left to say that evening. Nina went to bed and dozed fitfully for a while, waking every time the house creaked or a car drove by outside. At three in the morning she found herself wide awake, and shivered. This was no good, she’d be dead on her feet in the morning if she didn’t get some proper sleep. She would make hot chocolate and take a headache pill, heaven knows her head felt the size of an over-ripe water-melon. She’d had too much wine and she’d lost the pizza.
There was silence in the little room beside the kitchen. Nina put a mug of milk into the microwave and when the drink was made she wandered through the dark hallway to the study and sat down at the desk.
More than anything else she wanted to have a heart-to-heart with Bethany, but she couldn’t possibly ring up at this time of night about something that happened when she was two years old. She would phone tomorrow. And she would phone Sam and – yes, she would go and stay with Cassie. There would be more interviews with the police now; she and Naomi wouldn’t get back to Scotland tomorrow. Nina sobbed silently for a few minutes, bent over shiny mahogany. Why, why had she come here? The legacy had brought her nothing but grief.
The headache slackened its hold, and Nina rose to her feet, only then noticing the blue plastic folder Sam had brought before he left. Heavens, she’d forgotten all about this. There might be something important in here.
She sat down again and switched on the desk light. There was a small family tree, rather like the one Emily had drawn, except this one had dates and full names. Paul’s mother had been seven years older than his father, she saw, unusual in those days. And beside George Wright’s name Sam had scribbled ‘last known residence 2011 in Thailand’.
Well. Abusing more children, perhaps. Disgusting old man. Nina paused. Paul had mentioned that his father spent time abroad, but of course it was possible that George Moore was back in the UK now. Was he on the sex offenders register? More questions for David Mallony.
Nina yawned as the warm milk and paracetamol took hold. Good, maybe she would get some sleep after all. Upstairs again, she curled up in the warmth of her bed, feeling her muscles relax. There wasn’t long to wait now. Another few hours and she’d be out of this house forever.
Chapter Nineteen
Claire’s story – The Isle of Arran
Claire pulled two lettuces from the farmhouse vegetable garden, but her thoughts were far away from the guests’ evening meal. It was time to write another letter to Robert, and this time she would send it. Lily’s death, six years after Bill’s, had forced her hand. If Claire was knocked over by a bus tomorrow, Robert was the one the authorities would get in touch with. The thought made her feel ill.
Claire pressed her lips together hard. Poor old Mum. Lily had never come to terms with being widowed; the loss of her husband somehow brought about the loss of her – gumption. Ever-worsening arthritis left her almost a prisoner in the house until eventually a stroke took her in her sleep. And how very alone and vulnerable Claire felt now. She knew how irrational it was, but the fear of death accompanied her through each and every day – the thought of Nina having to leave their island home to live with a bad-tempered father in England was horrifying. Nina loved Arran, and so did Claire. The farmhouse B&B was thriving, they had decorated and added new B&B rooms, and now that Nina was old enough to be a real help the place almost ran itself.
Tears stung in Claire’s eyes, and she brushed them away impatiently. She was being stupid – there was no reason to think she would die any time soon. But Nina was only thirteen, and the letter should be sent.
She checked directory enquiries to make sure Robert was still at the Bedford house. It wasn’t a hard letter to write because all she did was describe the situation. She was careful to say that money wasn’t a problem and she didn’t want anything else from him. But he should know. And oh, God, she really should tell Nina that Robert was alive. The poor girl ought to have the chance to forge some kind of bond with her father. But would Nina ever forgive her?
She would wait and see what Robert’s answer was before she did anything.
It wasn’t a long wait. Less than a week later a typewritten envelope with a Bedford postmark plopped through the front door. The letter inside was typewritten too, and very short. As far as Robert was concerned, the situation hadn’t changed. He had no interest in meeting Nina; he would, however, undertake to get in touch with her on Claire’s death, and she should take steps to make sure he would be contacted when this happened. The letter was signed R. Moore.
Claire stared at it blankly. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but it hadn’t been this. So that was that. Robert was refusing to meet his daughter until she, Claire, was dead, so there was absolutely no point in endangering her own relationship with Nina by telling her about Robert. It was as well, maybe – she knew she couldn’t trust Robert with her child. On the other hand, there was the rest of the family – Nina had aunts, an uncle, a cousin – and Emily and Paul at least were nice people.
‘Mum – there’s a disco down the Bay on Friday, can I go?’ Nina and Bethany stormed into the kitchen, and Claire managed a smile.
‘Dad’s collecting me, he’ll bring Nina home too,’ said Beth, her arm linked through Nina’s.
Claire nodded, struggling to get the words out. Imagine if Nina had to leave Beth on the island. Chalk and cheese, they were, and closer than most sisters. Dear God – another five years – if she lived that long Nina would be grown up in both Scottish and English law. Robert would be powerless then. You’re worrying about nothing, Claire, said the sensible part of her head. But her heart didn’t believe it.
‘Oh, on you go then. I suppose this is the start of the sleepless nights while you’re out gadding,’ she said to Nina, who rushed to hug her.
Claire hugged back hard. Forget the family in Bedford. Nina’s home was here, on the island, and she had a mum with enough love in her heart to last her daughter a lifetime. Of course she did.
Chapter Twenty
Tuesday 25th July
It was well after eight the next time Nina awoke. For a split second everything seemed normal, but then she saw Naomi’s empty bed, and the memory of what Paul had told her the night before catapulted into her mind. She curled up into a tight ball, the pain taking her breath away.
She had been abused. Worse still, her father had organised it. It was the ultimate betrayal, and the only thing in the world to be glad about was she hadn’t known him. She’d never loved him. If Claire had known about this, she’d definitely have gone to the police. Or – Nina rolled ever closer into her ball as the pain became torture, searing through her mind – maybe that wasn’t as definite as she needed to think. John Moore might have been violent towards Claire too; that sounded quite possible now. If little Nina wasn’t physically injured, her mother might have thought that ‘least said, soonest mended, cut the ties’ was the best approach to take once they were back in Edinburgh with Grandma Lily.