Page 317 of Troubled Blood

“Close it up first,” said Robin hastily, and she folded the wings of the jigsaw mat over the puzzle, containing all the pieces.

“Good job,” said Barclay, and he carried the jigsaw mat carefully out through the sitting-room door, followed by Deborah, who looked both anxious and alarmed, and by the self-important Samhain, who seemed proud to have had his plan adopted by this new man in the flat.

For a few seconds, Robin stood alone in the sitting room, looking down at the ottoman that was far too big for this small room. It had been covered with a cloth that Robin suspected dated from the sixties, being of thin, faded purple cotton, and carrying the design of a mandala. If a tall woman curled herself up, she might fit inside that ottoman, as long as she was thin, of course.

I don’t want to look, Robin thought suddenly, panic rising again. I don’t want to see…

But she had to look. She had to see. That was what she was there for.

Barclay returned, followed by both an interested-looking Samhain and a troubled Deborah.

“That doesn’t open,” said Deborah, pointing at the exposed ottoman. “You can’t open that. You leave that alone.”

“I had my toys in there,” said Samhain. “Didn’t I, Deborah? Once I did. But My-Dad-Gwilherm didn’t want me to keep them there no more.”

“You can’t open that,” repeated Deborah, now distressed. “Leave it, don’t touch that.”

“Deborah,” said Robin quietly, walking toward the older woman, “we’ve got to find out why the ceiling downstairs is cracking. You know how the man downstairs is always complaining, and saying he’d like you and Samhain to move out?”

“I don’t want to go,” said Deborah at once, and for a split-second her dark eyes almost met Robin’s, before darting back to the swirly carpet. “I don’t want to move. I’m going to ring Clare.”

“No,” said Robin, moving quickly around Deborah and blocking her way back to the kitchen, with its old wall-mounted phone beside the fridge. She hoped Deborah hadn’t heard her panic. “We’re here instead of Clare, you see? To help you with the man downstairs. But we think—Sam and I—”

“My-Dad-Gwilherm called me Sam,” said Samhain. “Didn’t he, Deborah?”

“That’s nice,” said Robin, and she pointed at Barclay. “This man’s called Sam, too.”

“Is his name Sam, is it?” said Samhain gleefully, and boldly he raised his eyes to Barclay’s face before looking away again, grinning. “Two Sams. Deborah! Two Sams!”

Robin addressed the perplexed Deborah, who was now shifting from foot to foot in a manner reminiscent of her son’s rolling walk.

“Sam and I want to sort this out, Deborah, so you don’t have any more trouble with the man downstairs.”

“Gwilherm didn’t want that opened,” said Deborah, reaching nervously for the end of her white plait. “He didn’t want that opened, he wanted that kept shut.”

“Gwilherm would want you and Samhain to be allowed to stay here, though, wouldn’t he?”

Deborah put the end of her plait in her mouth and sucked at it, as though it was an ice lolly. Her dark eyes wandered as though in search of help.

“I think,” said Robin gently, “it would be good if you and Samhain wait in his bedroom while we have a look at the ottoman.”

“Knotty man,” said Samhain, and he cackled again. “Sam! Hey—Sam! Knotty man!”

“Good one,” said Barclay, grinning.

“Come on,” said Robin, sliding an arm around Deborah. “You wait in the bedroom with Samhain. You haven’t done anything wrong, we know that. Everything’s going to be fine.”

As she led Deborah slowly across the landing, she heard Samhain say cheerily,

“I’m staying here, though.”

“No, mate,” Barclay replied, as Robin and Deborah entered Samhain’s tiny bedroom. Every inch of wall was covered in pictures of superheroes and gaming characters. Deborah’s gigantic jigsaw took up most of the bed. The floor around the PlayStation was littered with chocolate wrappers.

“Look after yer mam and, after, I’ll teach ye a magic trick,” Barclay was saying.

“My-Dad-Gwilherm could do magic!”

“Aye, I know, I heard. That make it easy fer you tae do magic, if yer dad could do it, eh?”

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