He shook his head. ‘I’m due another visit. But tomorrow’s impossible, I’m afraid. Give her my love.’

Nina hesitated, uneasiness creeping over her. She couldn’t put a finger on it but her previous rapport with Paul had vanished, and something about what he’d just said didn’t ring true. According to Emily, Paul hadn’t visited her for years. Maybe he was too ashamed to admit it, but why would he cut all ties with his great-aunt? Confusion spread through Nina. There was something he wasn’t telling her here and it was important, she could see that. Looking at those photos had stirred something up in his head… oh dear God… was this something to do with John Moore and the nasty photos… oh fuck… had Paul been on any of those photos? Could that be? The crying in the attic memory crashed back into Nina’s brain. Screaming, she remembered the sound now, even – but had she screamed – or Paul? What had happened back then? But before she could say anything Paul flung his pen down on the table.

‘God! Emily was the only one of them who was nice to me,’ he burst out. ‘My grandparents were all ‘children should be seen and not heard’. But Emily was cool.’

‘What about your parents, and mine? Were they strict too?’ said Nina carefully.

He was in a strange mood now, looking at her with over-bright eyes and pouring them both a generous second glass of wine. Nina sipped, then put her glass on the table. She didn’t want to get plastered and she’d already had a big glass. Hopefully the pizza would mop it up.

Paul flung himself down on the sofa and buried his head in his hands. Nina’s heart began to race. What was he going to tell her?

‘Your mother had the right idea,’ he said at last, lifting his head and staring at her.

The brightness in his eyes was unshed tears, and she passed him a tissue without speaking.

He blew his nose and went on. ‘Your mam got you out. Mine disappeared into a bottle.’

‘What are you saying?’ whispered Nina. Her stomach started to heave. ‘Paul? What happened?’

He reached for another tissue and started ripping it into shreds. ‘They hired – us – out,’ he said, spitting the words at her. ‘What do you think?’

‘Hired – how?’ Nina’s voice came out in a croak and her hands holding the tissue packet began to shake. For a few seconds the world around her hummed and it was as if the colours in the drab living room were turning silver. Quickly, she put her head between her knees. When the faintness passed she leaned back again. Paul was staring at nothing and twirling his empty wine glass. He wouldn’t meet her eye.

‘Our fathers?’ said Nina.

He nodded, still not looking at her. Nina raised her hands to her face. Dear God, what the shit had she been through in this house?

‘Are you saying we were abused here in this house and our fathers collected money for it?’

Paul gave a loud moan and jumped to his feet, pacing up and down in front of the disused fireplace. ‘Oh yes. Money, that’s all we were worth. They took photos, too. My dad was great with a camera, you know.’ His voice broke on the last word.

Nina clapped her hands to her mouth, feeling her eyes widen in horror. Dear Christ in heaven, this was worse than anything she’d ever imagined. His eyes held hers, and she could see the horror and the loathing he had felt back then; she could see how it was affecting his life today, how he could never get away from it.

‘You mean we were – raped?’ It was difficult to get the words out.

Paul laughed mirthlessly. ‘I was. I don’t know if you were. Maybe not. You were so young, and there was the necessity to give you back to your mother more or less in one piece, you see. Mine was usually too smashed to notice. It was all so fucking sordid and it hurt, Nina, it hurt like hell.’

Nina leapt up and ran to the narrow downstairs toilet, her hands over her mouth. Her gut cramped tightly as she vomited pizza and red wine into the bowl. Dear God. Why, why, didn’t she remember any of this? How old had she been? Two, three?

And shit, shit – but Claire couldn’t have known about that. Quite definitely not.

Could she?

The spasm over, she rinsed her face and drank from her cupped hands. Paul was waiting in the passageway, his eyes dull. He hugged her, saying nothing, and Nina held on tightly, breathing deeply and feeling the tension in her gut slacken. She knew the worst now, and she would have to learn to cope with it. She would get over this, because if she didn’t, John Moore would have won. That wasn’t going to happen.

Back in the living room, she took a cautious sip of wine.

‘My mother can’t have known,’ she said, leaning back in the sofa.

Paul glared at the floor. ‘Mine did. I told her after you left. I don’t know if she did anything, but nothing changed over the next couple of years. Except it happened to me more often because you weren’t there anymore. And then there was all the stuff with the business going down the pan. Mam and me moved away and the abuse stopped. I’ve never told anyone else.’

Nina felt physically drained, as if she’d run a marathon. Her muscles hurt. The thought of what had happened to her made her feel soiled, wasted, but she knew this was the feeling she would have to change. She had been an innocent child, she had not been made dirty by these people. Tomorrow she would tell all this to the police and then she would start the rest of her life.

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’.