Nina sobbed aloud. There was a dreadful logic about it all, but the odds were she would never know the answers. If Claire hadn’t known about the paedophilia, there would be no reason for her not to demand the financial help that John Moore, who had all that money, by rights owed them. But she hadn’t asked him. And didn’t that mean that she must have known, and was protecting them both by keeping well away?
A wave of longing swept through Nina. How she wished she could turn back the clock, back to those days of carefree childhood, running wild on Arran, knowing she was loved, knowing she was safe. All she felt now was hurt.
Balling one hand to a fist, she thumped the duvet. She was Nina Moore and she was strong. This was not the time to throw a wobbly, she could do that later when everything was settled here. She would get up and phone Beth – moral support from her oldest friend would be the best possible start to this first day of the rest of her life. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and then in spite of her good resolutions she slumped, her head on her knees. In a macabre way this felt like the day Claire died. Nina had spent terrible moments sitting exactly like this in the hospital waiting room, cold coffee in front of her, while Claire’s poor ravaged body was cooling in the hospital mortuary. The world had changed that day too. And today it was different again.
Forcing her mind back to the present, Nina pushed herself to her feet. She’d wallowed in self-pity long enough. It was Superwoman time and the first three things on the agenda were a shower, breakfast, and a phone call to Beth.
Paul was up already; she could hear the radio blaring out an old Beatles song downstairs. The routine of having a shower brought some normality back to the day, and so did the smell of coffee that greeted her when she went into the kitchen. She would get through this. Paul’s face was pale and apprehensive. He didn’t look as if he’d slept much last night either.
‘Morning. Are you okay? I saw you were up in the night.’ He waved towards her chocolate mug in the sink.
Nina took a yoghurt from the fridge and sat down opposite him. ‘Took me ages to get to sleep, but I’m fine now.’ A lie if ever she’d told one, but this wasn’t the time to start another soul-searching session.
He rose to pour coffee for them both, then leaned against the sink. ‘I’m sorry about what I told you last night,’ he said, fiddling with a teaspoon and not looking at her. ‘I should have left it. You didn’t remember, you didn’t need to know.’
Nina waved her spoon at him. ‘Truth’s always better. But I can’t stay here any longer, Paul. I’ll go to Cassie’s tonight, and head back up north as soon as I can, after this. Thanks so much for all your help with the photos, and for staying here last night.’
He smiled, but his eyes didn’t quite meet her own. It was clear he was unhappy. ‘Right. Well, I’d better be off. Work waits for no man. I’ll give you a ring later and see how you’re doing.’
He was halfway out the kitchen door before he’d finished speaking. Nina listened as he packed his bag and rolled up his sleeping bag, clearly in a hurry to leave. Was it work pressure – what did he do, actually? – or guilt at what he’d told her? He hadn’t asked what she was going to do with the information that their fathers had allowed others to abuse them, but he must realise she would go to the police. He could have done that himself, years ago. After all, he could remember what happened. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it. Yet there was the story about the gun… but that could just have been bravado. He would hardly shoot his own father.
Thinking about George Wright reminded Nina of Sam’s file.
‘Paul!’ she called. ‘I found something yesterday that said your father spent some time in Thailand a couple of years ago, do you know about that?’
He stood in the hallway, bag in hand, unhappiness all over his face. ‘He used to go regularly, but he never stayed longer than a few months. I don’t know if he still goes. I imagine it was for the sex tourism. They’re a lot stricter about it now, thank God. I’ll talk to you later, Nina.’
Nina watched from the study as he flung his bag into his car and roared off towards the town centre. Poor Paul. She poured another coffee and took it through to the living room, comforted by its warmth in her left hand as she accessed Beth’s number on her mobile. This wouldn’t be an easy call.
Bethany was silent as Nina told her what had happened over the past few days. Nina could hear the wind in the trees; Beth must have taken her phone outside. She would be sitting in the farmhouse sun-trap, the old wooden bench with the view over the water to the mainland. Tears spilled from Nina’s eyes and she brushed them away impatiently. How soppy, getting teary over a flaky old garden bench. But like nothing else it brought home the contrast between this dingy, depressing house with its sad tales of abuse, and the island, where there was greenness and fresh sea breezes and people who loved her.
‘Dear God, Nina,’ said Beth in a low voice when Nina had finished her account. ‘Come home today, honey, there’s nothing to keep you there. I’ll come to Glasgow and meet you off the plane.’
Nina bit her lip. She wanted nothing more than to be back on the island – but if she went home today she would be running away from the new situation, instead of fighting it.
‘I’ll need to see the police again first,’ she said. ‘I’ll go and stay with Sam’s parents tonight, though. And there’s the great-aunt I’ve found – Emily Moore. She’s a real duck and I have to visit her again before we come home. But when I do get back I think I’ll never leave the island again.’
‘I wish I could help more.’ Nina could hear the misery in her friend’s voice. ‘Do you want me to come down, Nina? Tim would manage on his own for a day or two.’
Nina swithered. Beth’s presence would make things more bearable, but more complicated too. They couldn’t all stay with Cassie. And the B&B was more than one person’s job in the summer – Tim wouldn’t really manage on his own.
‘Don’t worry, Bethie. Cassie Harrison will take care of me as much as I let her.’
‘Nina – will I ask Mum if she knows anything?’ said Bethany. ‘Claire might have told her something about it, way back then.’
Nina considered. The two mothers had been good friends from the time of the family’s move to the island right up to Claire’s death. It was quite possible she’d confided in Morag James at some point. It would even be interesting to know if Claire hadn’t said anything to Morag.
‘Yes – but don’t say that I was abused,’ she said at last. ‘I’m not ready to tell people yet.’
Beth agreed, and Nina broke the connection feeling both comforted and bereft. But there was no time for tears; she had to phone Naomi now and sound like nothing was wrong, which was going to need all her acting skills. Naomi mustn’t know what was happening, not yet. For a moment Nina sat glaring at her phone. How the shit she was supposed to break all this to a ten-year-old she had no idea, but there must be people available who could advise her on that so she should see them first. Psychologists or something.
Ten minutes later she was congratulating herself on sounding upbeat and positive to both Naomi and Cassie, promising to join them late afternoon. That would give her time to close the house and talk to David Mallony about what – if anything – they could do about the abuse. ‘Alleged’ abuse, they would call it. Or even ‘historic alleged abuse’. It was depressing, this would come down to Paul’s word against his father’s, and most likely George Wright would deny everything. Paul would need a lot of inner strength to deal with it, and the fact that he hadn’t reported it himself was telling.