Samhain now came ambling into the room, eating his second foil-wrapped biscuit.

“D’you want a hot chocolate, or not?” he asked, looking at Robin’s knees.

“Um… no, thank you,” said Robin, smiling at him.

“Does he want a hot chocolate, or not?”

“No thanks, mate,” said Barclay. “Can we move this jigsaw? Need tae have a look beneath it.”

“Deborah don’t like her jigsaw touched,” said Samhain sternly.

“We need to prove the man downstairs is lying, though,” said Robin. “About his ceiling cracking.”

“Deborah,” called Samhain. “They want to move your jigsaw.”

He walked out of the room with his rocking gait, and his mother took his place at the door, eyeing Robin’s shoes as she said,

“You can’t move my unicorns.”

“We need to have a little look underneath it,” said Robin. “I promise we’ll take very good care of it, and not break it. We could move it…”

She looked around, but there was no stretch of floor big enough to accommodate it.

“In my bedroom, you can put it,” said Samhain, bobbing back into sight. “On my bed, they can put it, Deborah.”

“Excellent idea,” said Barclay heartily, bending to pick it up.

“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?”

“We won’t be long,” Robin told Samhain’s frightened mother. “Just stay in here for now, all right? Please, Deborah?”

Deborah simply blinked at her. Robin was particularly afraid of the woman trying to reach the phone on the kitchen wall, because she didn’t want to have to physically restrain her. Returning to the sitting room, she found Barclay still bargaining with Samhain.

“Do it now,” Samhain was saying, grinning, looking from Barclay’s hands to his chin to his ear. “Go on, show me now.”

“Sam can only do magic after we’ve done our job,” said Robin. “Samhain, will you wait in the bedroom with your mum, please?”

“Go on, mate,” said Barclay. “Just fer a bit. Then I’ll teach ye the trick.”

The smile faded off Samhain’s face.

“Silly woman,” he said sulkily to Robin. “Stupid woman.”

He walked out of the room, but instead of going into his bedroom, he made for the kitchen.

“Shit,” Robin muttered, “don’t do anything yet, Sam—”

Samhain reappeared, holding the tin of chocolate biscuits, walked into his bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

“Now,” said Robin.

“Stay by the door,” said Sam, “keep an eye on them.”

Robin closed the sitting-room door, leaving a tiny crack through which she could spy on Samhain’s bedroom, and gave Barclay the thumbs up.

He pulled the mandala covering off the ottoman, bent down, gripped the edge of the lid and heaved. The lid wouldn’t budge. He put all his strength into it, but still it didn’t shift. From Samhain’s room came the sound of raised voices. Deborah was telling Samhain not to eat any more chocolate biscuits.