The Attic Room: A psychological thriller (24 page)

Too late.

‘Me hurt you? That’s a joke. You know, Nina, before your Mam
took you away, you came upstairs one day and found me crying after your Dad and
one of his filthy friends had been having it off with me while my Dad took the
photos. You started to cry too, because I was crying, and then your Mam came
home and found us and God help me, I couldn’t tell her what had happened. I
told her your Dad had hit us both. And paedophilia didn’t even cross her mind,
she was so horrified that you, her precious baby, were hurt, but you hadn’t
been hurt, Nina, it was me who’d been tortured and raped. And it was you who
was taken away, your Mam saved you, Nina, but nobody saved me because my Mam
was pissed out her mind on the sofa.’

The anger had gone and his voice was thick with tears. Nina
began to feel sick. What on earth could she say to him? Maybe he would never
get over what he had gone through. What wickedness there was in the world. That’s
what Emily had said, and it was true.

A faint sound came from below as the front door opened and
closed. The police, thank Christ. She had to keep talking now, keep Paul’s
attention on the conversation. He mustn’t realise someone else was here.

Nina opened her mouth, but before she could speak he started
to howl, a nerve-shattering high moaning sound, like an animal in pain. The
sounds of him scrambling to his feet and running round the attic came down the
stairs, and then she heard breaking china, the thump of something heavy and
solid hitting the floor, and a series of muffled thuds. Shit, shit, he was
kicking something – hell – was he kicking Sam?

Before she had time to think Nina was on her feet and
running up to the attic room. If Sam was unconscious and being kicked… he could
die here today, and she’d never get the chance to find out what they could have
together.

‘Sam!’

‘Nina! Come down here!’ It was David’s voice, along with
several pairs of heavy feet thudding up the stairs.

Nina stared across the attic. Sam was motionless on the
middle of the floor, face down. The policeman was nearer, eyes closed and blood
seeping into the floorboards from his left shoulder. Paul was crouched on the
floor by the window, howling. Nina took a few steps into the room – and then
she saw the gun in his hand. She froze.

When he spoke his voice was like an old man’s, weak and
shaking. ‘Nina, Nina. How stupid do you think I am? I know you’ve got police
there. And you know what? I’m going to make sure they can never touch me.’

Fear burned sour in Nina’s mouth. ‘Gunman goes on killing
spree in Bedford attic.’ It might be tomorrow’s headline. And Naomi – Oh God,
Naomi. How would she ever recover if Nina died here in a hail of bullets?

‘Paul, please. Let me help you.’

He was crying, pitifully, like a child in pain, and she was
crying too. A dim memory slid into Nina’s head and then came sharply into
focus. It was the day he’d talked about, the day Claire found them crying.

She was just a little kid, in her room, scared because Paul was
up here in the attic, howling like he was now. She’d gone up to see why Paul
was howling… She couldn’t open the door at first, but then she managed and she
sneaked into this room and Paul was pulling his trousers up and running towards
her, his face full of terror and disgust and loathing and pain… and she
screamed and screamed and they fled from the attic and Paul slammed the door
shut and he stood there and banged his head on the wooden T on the door, again
and again, bang bang and she couldn’t stop him… then she screamed again and
they stumbled back to her room together. Dear God, how could she have forgotten
that?

Shaking, Nina glanced behind her. David was there with two
other officers, and they were all armed. David jerked his head towards the stairway,
but Nina shook her head. She took a careful step towards Paul and he lifted his
head and gazed at her. His eyes were dark, and she had seen that expression
before, that day when he’d run across the attic towards her…

‘All I wanted was to make them suffer too,’ he whispered. ‘They
turned me into something I wasn’t, Nina. I never had a chance, I - ’ His voice
broke.

Nina dropped to her knees and edged towards him. ‘Paul. You
have a chance now. Come downstairs with me and I’ll help you. The police know you
were a victim first. I won’t press charges, Paul, I promise. You could come to
Arran, you could…’

His face was sheet-white and his eyes were unfathomable. ‘No.
I couldn’t. But you’re right you won’t press charges, Nina. You won’t get a
chance. I’m out of here.’

Before she could move he turned the muzzle towards his head
and pulled the trigger. Nina screamed as David Mallony grabbed her and pulled
her away. Paul was slumped on the floor under the window, a huge hole in his
forehead. Her ears ringing, Nina pulled away from David and scrambled across
the attic to Sam.

‘Sam? Sam, love!’ She dropped to her knees beside him and
cradled his head. Thank God, he was breathing. She patted his face, and his
eyelids flickered.

‘Sam, baby, hang on. David! Call an ambulance!’

‘Here already, they’re on their way up,’ said David,
squatting beside the young policeman. ‘Steve? Keep still, help’s on its way.’

Nina knelt beside Sam, her arms round his head. Sam was
hurt, Paul was dead, Naomi was God knows where, and she would never know
exactly why Claire had acted as she did, all those years ago – but that was no
longer important. Today was important… Sam had to be okay; she couldn’t lose
him too. Paul had his peace now, but she and Sam were only at the beginning of
their story. Please let them have a story.

Nina sobbed quietly as a green-clad paramedic bent over the
still form under the attic window and then rose again, shaking his head.

Paul’s mission was over.

Sunday 30st July

Heathrow was mobbed as usual. Feeling more depressed by the
minute, Nina glared round the crowds in the departures area.

‘Can I buy a magazine? Please? Except I don’t have any money
left.’

Naomi was hopping impatiently from one foot to the other,
and Nina made a face at her before handing over a ten pound note.

‘Here. But I want the change, okay?’

Naomi ran into the newsagent’s and began to investigate the
magazine rack. Nina followed, unable to let her daughter out of her sight. They
were travelling a day later than planned, but Nina couldn’t leave until she was
sure Sam would be none the worse after his ordeal. They’d kept him in hospital
till Saturday afternoon, and he’d had an almighty headache all day yesterday.

Nina shivered. They had still escaped lightly. Waiting at
the hospital on Friday while the doctors examined Sam had been terrible. Only
Glen and Cassie were allowed in with him, and Nina, unable to sit still, went
up to the neurosurgery department to visit Sabine. What she saw there was
horrifying; Sabine had wires and tubes connecting her to a life support system,
the same kind Claire had been wired up to, and the right side of the young
woman’s body was twisted and lame. David Mallony told her the doctors were
talking of permanent brain damage now.

It was an incredible relief to go back downstairs to A&E
and find Sam sitting up on his trolley talking to Glen and Cassie.

They spent Saturday quietly, visiting Sam in the morning and
Emily in the afternoon. The old woman was visibly saddened, and Nina thought
guiltily that Emily might well have been happier if they’d never met. But that
was impossible now, and at least she could do something for her elderly
relative. Cassie and Glen were going to visit regularly, and Nina knew that she
and Naomi would travel down several times a year. Emily deserved that much at
least. As for Paul – if George Wright agreed, she would have Paul’s ashes sent
to Arran. She and Naomi would scatter them on the beach and her cousin’s last
resting place would be a beautiful one.

Nina sat on the plane, eyes closed as they thundered along
the runway and lifted into the sky over London. She’d come here to find out
about her family, but questions still remained and something was telling her
they’d never know the answers. Claire had lied, and all this happened. Nina
remembered her mother’s blue eyes and the pride glowing on her face as she
watched Naomi collect her prize at the Easter gymkhana. How Claire had loved
being a Grandma… she was so much more relaxed after Naomi’s birth. A smile
tugged at Nina’s lips – in spite of the lie, Claire had done her best for their
little family. She believed that one hundred per cent.

When she opened her eyes the city was gone, and clouds and
more clouds were rushing past the window. A lump rose in Nina’s throat.
Somewhere down there was Sam, but in a few weeks’ time he’d be driving north,
the secretaire in the back of his car. And right this minute Beth would be on
the ferry approaching Ardrossan; she would drive up to Glasgow and the plane
would land and the three of them would hug like they’d never let go.

Then later this afternoon they would all be back on the same
ferry, the ‘Caledonian Isles’, heading for Arran.

Heading for home.

The End

If you enjoyed
The Attic Room
, you
might be interested to read this extract of
The Cold Cold
Sea
, Linda Huber’s second novel:

The Cold Cold Sea

Prologue

A glint in the sand caught her eye and she crouched down.
It was a beautiful pink shell, exactly like the one she’d found yesterday. She
eased it out from under a thick strand of brown seaweed and brushed it gently
with one finger. It was covered in sand and wasn’t nice to hold like the other
one. She looked round for someone to help, but her dad was right along the
beach with his back to her, staring at something up towards the hotel. She
hesitated for a moment. The sea was just nearby. She would wash the shell
herself and then she would take it home and give it to her Granny. She smiled
at the idea.

The sun was hot on her shoulders as she turned towards the
water. It was difficult to rush along the loose sand; coarse grains were
rubbing the skin between her toes. Nearer the ocean the beach firmed up and she
stopped to empty her sandals. It was the only thing she didn’t enjoy about the
beach, the way sand got everywhere.

What she liked best, of course, was the sea. It was like
magic, the way the colour changed all the time. Today it was shining blue in
the sunshine, sparkling like the jewels in her mother’s ring. She giggled as
her toes met the first of the baby waves fizzing up the beach.

The water was cold but it was silvery-clear, rushing up
round her ankles and pulling her in to play. She bent over and swirled the
shell in the sea. Immersed in her task she rubbed and rinsed and rubbed again,
oblivious to the cold water creeping up her legs. The shell was cleaning up
nicely. It would look so pretty on her Granny’s windowsill, lined up with all
the other shells they had collected last year.

Satisfied with her work, she stood up straight, jerking in
surprise when she saw that the water was up over her knees now. She could feel
the waves swirling round her legs, pulling her this way and that. It felt as if
she was wobbling on a trampoline. It would be easier if there was someone to
hold her hand. She looked back at the beach.

Both her parents were tiny figures in the distance now, much
too far away to hear her if she called. The sea was right here, teasing her.
She giggled again as the wash from a distant motorboat slapped and tickled
against her thighs. This was better, it was fun again now.

Further out the waves were white-tipped and rolling towards
her, and she remembered the picture book she and Daddy had read just before
coming here. A fairy tale princess had caught a beautiful white horse on a
wave, and rode away to the place where the sea joined up with the sky. If only
she could do that too. She stood on tiptoe and walked a few paces to see if
there were any white horses nearby.

Quite suddenly the water was deeper, and it was freezing
cold too; it was splashing right up over her tummy. A larger wave almost lifted
her off her feet and she cried out in panic, sobbing when she realised that she
had dropped Granny’s beautiful shell. Tears hot on her cheeks and teeth
chattering, she struggled to regain her balance then waded a few steps in the
direction of where the shell had vanished.

But the shell was nowhere to be seen. The water took hold of
her again, pulling at her and pulling and all at once it was right up to her
chin and there were no white horses at all, just cold cold water. It got in her
eyes and nose and in her mouth, too, when she tried to shout for help.

Salty water was burning in her nose and pulling her down;
the sea was filling her up and washing her away and she couldn’t stop it. The
whole world was getting smaller… it was so cold. She was floating in cold white
water now, just floating, and then suddenly everything was gone.

Part One

The Beach

Chapter One

August 22nd

Maggie stood in the doorway and stared into Olivia’s
bedroom. It was tiny, like all the rooms in the cottage, but this one was
still. Toys, games… everything in here had been motionless for a week now. Baby
dolls vied with Barbies on the shelf, an assortment of soft toys lay strewn
across the bed, and Olivia’s darling Old Bear was sitting on a wooden chair by
the window.

Maggie could hear the sea battering against the cliffs. High
tide. The beach would be covered in water now; surging, white-tipped waves
beneath a flawless blue sky. How beautiful Cornwall was, and how lucky they
were to have a holiday cottage here. That’s what they’d thought until last
week, anyway. If this had been a normal day they’d have been picnicking on the
clifftop, or shopping in Newquay. Or just relaxing around the cottage, laughing
and squabbling and eating too much. All the usual holiday stuff.

But nothing was normal any more, and Maggie knew that
tomorrow was going to be the worst day yet. The twenty-third of August.
Olivia’s birthday. Right now Maggie and her daughter should have been making
the cake Olivia had planned so happily, the raspberry jam sponge with pink
icing and four pink and white candles.

No need for any of that now. Maggie stepped into the room,
grabbed the pillow from the bed and buried her face in it, inhaling deeply,
searching for one final whiff of Olivia, one last particle of her child. But
the only smells left were those of an unused room: stale air and dust.

‘Livvy, come back to me, baby,’ she whispered, replacing the
pillow and cradling Old Bear instead, tears burning in her eyes as she
remembered holding Olivia like this, when Joe had whacked her with a plastic
golf club on the second day of their holiday. She’d had two children then. She
hadn’t known how lucky she was.

‘I didn’t mean it, I didn’t.’

Her voice cracked, and she fell forwards, her kneecaps
thudding painfully on the wooden floor. How could she live on, in a world without
Olivia?

‘I’m sorry, Livvy, I’m sorry!’

She had barely spoken aloud all week, and the words came out
in an unrecognisable high-pitched whimper. Bent over Old Bear on the floor,
Maggie began to weep. Her voice echoed round the empty cottage as she rocked
back and forth, crying out her distress.

But no-one was there to hear