The House on Candlewick Lane

by Amy M. Reade

  “I’ve missed you, too.”

  He picked up my hand and raised it to his lips. “I’m glad we’ve talked. So am I going to see much more of you and Ellie until you go back to the States?”

  “That would be nice.” My eyes were hot with tears, but I blinked them back and smiled at James. “I’m very happy.”

  “Me, too.”

  James walked me home after we left the pub. It felt right to be encircled in his arm, my head against his shoulder. The moon, full and round, lit our way back to the flat. He accompanied me into the living room, and Sylvie and Seamus looked up in surprise.

  “Hi, Mum! Hi, James!” Ellie cried, running over to hug me.

  “What’s this?” Seamus asked, rising from the floor where he had been playing dolls with Ellie. He walked over and pumped James’s hand several times.

  “We had a wee talk and decided the whole thing was silly,” James answered, smiling at me. “Why feel terrible now when we can postpone it and feel good?”

  “That’s what I would have done,” Sylvie said.

  “This calls for a celebration,” Seamus boomed. “Drams all around!” Then he looked down at Ellie. “Except for you, little bairn. You get ginger ale!”

  It was like we never skipped a beat, the five of us, sitting in the living room, talking and laughing and enjoying the company. We steered the talk away from any discussion of Neill or the police investigation surrounding his death so Ellie wouldn’t be upset. But as soon as I put her to bed, James began asking questions about what had happened since we had last spoken of Neill.

  “The police haven’t made much progress,” I said with a sigh. “Beatrice had no idea why Neill suggested we look for her after his death. And though they found paint supplies in the flat where Neill was staying, that hasn’t been much help. They don’t know who the supplies belong to, and they still don’t know who owns the flat. Ellie says a woman would come over to paint, but she doesn’t know the woman’s name. Or she can’t remember it, if she ever heard it. I suspect it was Neill’s new girlfriend.”

  James grimaced. “I’m torn. On the one hand, there must be something the police can do to hurry this up and bring Neill’s death to a conclusion. You and Ellie will both be safer. On the other hand, once it’s cleared up, you and Ellie leave to return to your lives in the States.”

  “I just don’t want the police to forget about it,” I said.

  “Have you told them what Ellie said about the woman who painted in the flat?”

  “No. I didn’t even think to do that. I’ll call them first thing in the morning and let them know. Maybe that information can help them in some way.”

  When James left later that evening, after Sylvie and Seamus had gone to bed, I walked him to the door and he gave me a long, lingering kiss. I felt goose bumps on my arms and legs, so happy to be back in his arms. He released me and held me away from him.

  “I don’t even want to think of what the future holds. I’m just grateful for what we have now.”

  I nodded, too happy to speak, and he left. I slept well that night, even though I was curled up in Ellie’s bed. It was probably time for me to start sleeping in my own room again and stop worrying about Ellie being spirited away in the night, but I wasn’t ready for that yet.

  Early the next morning, I called the police department in Bell’s Loch. When I told the constable that Ellie had remembered a woman coming to the flat to paint, she said it made sense.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Just yesterday we found evidence at the flat that a woman had likely been there.”

  “What kind of evidence?”

  “A piece of hair, quite long.”

  “How do you know it was a woman’s, not just a man with long hair?”

  “We don’t know, that’s why I said ‘had likely been there.’”

  “Do you think you can find out who the woman was?”

  “We can do a DNA test on the hair, but it will take some time. If Ellie could remember the name of the woman, that would be a big help.”

  “I’ll do what I can to encourage her memory, but I don’t want to put too much pressure on her. She’s more likely to remember if I’m not trying to force the issue.”

  “You’re right. Just do what you can on your end, and we’ll keep working on our end to figure out who we’re dealing with.”

  That day, I took Ellie to the Edinburgh Zoo. We wandered around the exhibits for hours, doubling back to see her favorite animals and enjoying lunch outdoors. Ellie seemed happy, her thoughts far away from Neill’s flat. I tried casually to bring up the subject of the unknown woman.

  “You know, it would be fun to have a painting of some of these animals, don’t you think? I wonder who we could ask to paint them for us.”

  “Hmmm. I don’t know,” Ellie replied.

  “How about that woman who painted those pictures in the flat where you used to stay?”

  “Yeah, I guess she could do it.”

  “If only we knew her name…”

  “I can’t remember her name. Just that she had kind of long hair.”

  So the hair the police found probably did belong to our mysterious painter.

  “If you think of her name, tell me and maybe we can find her.”

  “Okay. How about Seamus?’

  In the end Ellie thought it would be best if Seamus painted the animals for us, but at least I had wedged a thought into her head about the woman at Neill’s flat. Maybe Ellie would remember her name when she least expected it, as adults often did.

  That night after I had put Ellie to bed, I was sitting in the living room with Sylvie when the phone rang. Sylvie answered it and handed the phone to me.

  “Who is it?” I whispered.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Hello?”

  A voice growled on the other end. “I know where you live, and I’m coming after you and that kid of yours.”

  “Who is this?” I demanded. My heart skipped a beat.

  “You’re in this just as deep as the rest of us. You’re never out of my sight.”

  I hung up and leapt off the sofa. Rattling the front doorknob, I made sure it was locked. Sylvie looked at me in amazement. “What on earth’s goin’ on?”

  I told her about the phone call.

  “Where’s Seamus?” I asked, my voice tight and tense.

  “I don’t know. He went out for a walk, I guess.”

  “When’s he coming back?”

  “I don’t know,” Sylvie snapped. “I’m not his keeper, you know.”

  I ignored her sarcasm, well aware that she was as nervous as I was. I opened my bedroom door a crack to check on Ellie; she was fast asleep.

  When I returned to the living room, I rang up the police. Though I now dealt with two police departments—one in Edinburgh and one in the Lothians—I left a message for Officer Dunbar in the Edinburgh station, whom I was told was outside taking a break. When she called back a few moments later, I told her about the threatening phone call and asked her what I should do about it.

  She thought it was a prank, someone who had gotten my home number somehow and was trying to scare me. When I disagreed and suggested it was someone connected with Neill, she sighed and said she would ask someone to check it out and get back to me. I hung up thoroughly dissatisfied and, for the first time, dismayed at the lack of interest being shown by the police.

  Sylvie had rung up Seamus on her mobile phone. I could hear them talking, her voice urgent and tense. She hung up and turned to me. “He’ll be home soon. He ran into some old friends and they’re having a drink in some pub. I told him to hurry up.”

  We sat on the sofa, listening for every tiny sound. We must have looked timid and pathetic, but we were scared. I wished I hadn’t worried her by telling her about the phone call, but she had a right to know.

  As the minutes turned into an hour, I began to wonder where Seamus was. Why wasn’t
he home yet? Had the person who called me gotten to him? Was Seamus lying, hurt, on a sidewalk or in an alley somewhere? Had he met the same fate as Neill?

  Then something much worse occurred to me: What if Seamus had something to do with the phone call? What if he was behind it? What if all my suspicions about his recent behavior were justified? My mouth ran dry as I tried to swallow. I fidgeted with my hands until Sylvie, ashen and still, finally snapped, “Stop that!”

  “Stop what?”

  “Fiddling with your hands, that’s what!”

  “Sylvie, I can’t help it. That’s what I do when I’m nervous. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” she said, giving me a small smile as a peace offering. “I just can’t believe Seamus isn’t home yet. Where in the world is he?”

  She didn’t intend for me to answer, and I couldn’t hurt her by sharing my dark thoughts with her.

  We sat in silence for several more minutes, until we heard a scraping sound at the door. I shot up like a rocket, running to look through the peephole.

  It was Seamus. I unlocked the door and held it open. He stumbled over his feet on the way in.

  “Seamus, are you drunk?” Sylvie asked, her hands on her hips. I hadn’t seen her eyes blaze like that since we were teenagers.

  “I am, lassieeee,” he slurred.

  “You make me sick! And you reek of alcohol. Get out of those clothes and take a shower.”

  Seamus waggled his finger at her. “You can’t tell me what to do. We’re not married.”

  Sylvie stood facing him, her nostrils flaring, and pointed at their bedroom door. “Get out of my sight. We needed you here tonight, and what do you do? You get filthy drunk! I’m disgusted.” She threw up her hands and spun around on her heel. I followed her into the kitchen with a last glance at Seamus.

  “What do you think is wrong with him?”

  “He’s drunk!” she spat.

  “I know that. What I mean is, what made him go out and get drunk? That’s not like him.”

  She threw up her hands again. “I don’t know. He’s not been himself lately.” She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, looking down at the floor. “Maybe I’m too hard on him. Maybe he’s going through something he doesn’t want to talk about.” She looked up at me. “What do you think?”

  I didn’t know what to think. I had seen Seamus behaving strangely, but something had kept me from telling Sylvie about it. I didn’t want to burden her with it now. And I trusted him. I hated to think my trust may have been misplaced.

  “I don’t know what to think, Sylvie. Maybe you should have a talk with him.” I lowered my voice. “Does he know that I know about his time in prison?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head vigorously. “So don’t mention it to him.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You know, you might have something there. That time in his life is something I never really think about. But maybe he’s gotten back into that crowd. Maybe someone got in touch with him, and he didn’t have the willpower to say no. I’ll talk to him about it. Not now, though. He’s a mess.”

  I could hear Seamus singing in the shower as I checked and rechecked the front door lock and peeked in on Ellie. I was still shaken over the phone call, but Seamus’s drunken appearance had at least given me something else to focus on.

  My little girl was still sound asleep. I couldn’t stand the thought of anything happening to her again. I traced my finger across her cheek, then crawled into bed with her. I held her in my arms all night. She stayed asleep, but I laid awake, going over the phone call a thousand times and wondering who was behind it. I didn’t believe for a single second that it had been a prank.

  I woke up the next morning with a headache and a sour feeling in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t stop worrying about the phone call and whatever was causing Seamus to act so unlike the happy, grounded man I knew. As I was pouring my tea in the early dawn, Seamus walked into the kitchen and sat down heavily at the table.

  “You okay, Seamus?”

  “Och, I’m in trouble. Sylvie’s fair ragin’ at me. And my head’s killin’ me. Got any more tea, Greer?”

  I poured him a cup and sat down across from him. “Want some unsolicited advice? Leave Sylvie alone for the day. Go somewhere and paint. She won’t be as angry as time goes by, but the more she sees you today, the more she’ll think about last night and get mad all over again.”

  He looked at me, his eyes bloodshot and his hair standing up in all directions. He looked like a hawthorn bush.

  “I’ve learned that about her. I wanted to sleep this off, but I think you’re right—maybe she’ll be in a better mood if I disappear for the day.” He stood to go.

  “Wait, Seamus. Just one thing. Did Sylvie tell you about the phone call I got last night?”

  His eyes narrowed, and he scratched his beard as he shook his head slowly. I searched his face for any sign that he knew what I was talking about and was trying to stall for time. I didn’t see anything.

  “If she did, I honestly don’t remember it. I’m sorry, Greer. What phone call are you talking about?”

  I told him. His eyes grew wide and his moustache twitched. “I’m such an eejit. I never should have gone out last night.”

  “You couldn’t have known what would happen, Seamus.” I hoped I was right, and that he hadn’t been behind that phone call. “You’re entitled to go out once in a while and blow off some steam.”

  He shook his head and left the room, returning a few moments later, his painting supplies tucked under his arm and a bag slung over his shoulder.

  “I’m goin’ out. I’ll be back in time to fix dinner.” He left with a dejected look, his gait slow and his shoulders drooping.

  I was still sipping my tea when Sylvie came in. She grabbed the small pitcher of milk and slammed the refrigerator door shut.

  “Have you seen Seamus this morning? I wanted to talk to him.”

  “He just left.”

  “Where’d he go? He knows I wanted to talk to him.”

  “You wanted to talk at him. I sent him out for the day to paint. You two can talk tonight, after you’ve had a chance to calm down and think this through. Besides, all this drama isn’t good for you while you’re still recovering from a concussion.”

  “I didn’t ask for this drama,” she said, raising her eyebrows and nodding in my direction. Meaning, of course, that it was my fault.

  “You’re right. I take full blame. Or, at the very least, I share the blame with Neill. I’m sorry about that, but I didn’t ask for this, either. If I hadn’t gotten that phone call last night, you wouldn’t have been quite so angry at Seamus for going out and coming home drunk. You were just scared because he wasn’t here. So was I. I’m still scared.”

  * * *

  “I didn’t mean those things I said,” Sylvie mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

  Sylvie, Ellie, and I spent the day at home. It was a beautiful day, and I knew Ellie longed to play in the park nearby, but I wasn’t comfortable with the idea. I suggested that we spend some time in the garden behind the flat instead. She was delighted. She brought a doll and a stuffed sheep James had given her and played with them while I sat on one of the uncomfortable wrought-iron chairs and watched her. I kept a constant eye on the walls around the garden—I didn’t want anyone surprising us out there. Only one person came by—James. He had called the phone in the flat. Sylvie told him about the call the night before, and he stopped over to see if we were all right.

  While Ellie sang to her doll and sheep, James and I sat at the table, talking quietly about the phone call. He, too, thought it was probably someone connected with Neill, probably trying to get more money from me.

  “I’m worried about your safety. And Ellie’s, too. I don’t think you should be going anywhere alone. Make sure Seamus or I am always with you.”

  “What do you think of Seamus?”

  “What?!”

&
nbsp; “Shhh. What do you think of Seamus?” I repeated, lowering my voice so Ellie wouldn’t hear us. “I mean, we really don’t know him very well, do we? What if he’s behind the phone call? What if he’s behind some of the other things that happened, like the attack on Sylvie? He acted strangely after that.”

  “I’m so surprised to hear you say all this. I had no idea you suspected Seamus of anything. You think he had something to do with the phone call? Or Sylvie’s assault?”

  “I don’t know. I hate suspecting him, but he hasn’t been acting normally lately.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He came home stinking drunk last night, a full hour after Sylvie called him in a panic and asked him to come home. It was like he didn’t realize she was upset. And I can’t help but go back over the day Sylvie was hurt and Seamus met us at the hospital. He kept asking her questions, even after the doctor told us she had to stay calm, about what she may have seen at the flat before she was hit.”

  James leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know that those actions rise to the level of being a suspect in this whole affair. Maybe he was just out with friends, having a drink, and time and good sense got away from him. Maybe the day Sylvie was hurt, he was just concerned about her and wanted to find out if she had any more information that could help catch the person who did it. Have you mentioned these things to the police?”

  “No. I don’t know if I should. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m seeing things that aren’t there. But I do know that I’ll be keeping a closer eye on him now.” I wondered if James would feel differently if he knew more about Seamus’s past. But I couldn’t tell him. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t betray Sylvie’s trust.

  James left, but Ellie and I stayed in the garden. It wasn’t long before my fear began to get to me, and I told her it was time to go inside. She didn’t want to, but I promised her we could watch a movie.

  Sylvie was still annoyed at lunchtime, but she seemed to have mellowed a bit. At least she wasn’t slamming doors and swearing under her breath. I hoped she could lose the last of her anger before Seamus came home for dinner. And though it was against her doctor’s orders, she sat on the sofa with Ellie and me and watched movies all afternoon.