It was the intricate scrollwork that caught Lily’s attention. Shaped in the style of two interconnecting hearts, an amethyst in the centre, the morning sunlight reflected off the complicated knotwork as though the piece blazed with an inner fire. Mid-stride, Lily took a double-take and halted, turning to gaze at the necklace in the shop window. Nestled on a red cloth in its wooden box, it was stunning. Then again, it would have to be for her to notice it.
Never one to act on impulse - it took two months of deliberation to buy her apartment, for heaven’s sake - she knew she must have it. The feeling caught her by surprise, and she almost walked on. But the lure of the necklace was strong, calling to her in a voice both seductive and enticing. Barely aware of having moved toward the entrance, the bell above the door to Allom’s tinkled as she pushed it open. The girl behind the counter looked up, and smiled in recognition.
“Hi Lily, how’s the new apartment?”
Lily paused inside the threshold and gave a wry grin.
“Fine thanks. Be better still when I finish the decorating. I’m just off to Felton’s for yet more paint.” She looked down and tugged at the chest of her paint-stained coveralls to emphasise the point.
Zoe laughed, and folded closed the paper she had been reading. “So you thought you’d pop in for a chat on the way?” Although the question was leading, the half-smile on Zoe’s face indicated she had long given up on Lily ever buying anything from the shop.
Lily winced. “Not exactly.”
Brow arched, Zoe said, “You don’t mean you’re actually going to buy something?”
Although spoken in jest, the question caused Lily to redden. Raising a hand, she brushed aside a stray lock of black hair that had escaped her ponytail, and looked to the floor.
With a roll of her eyes, Zoe moved from behind the counter and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Grinning, she said, “Come now girl, don’t go getting all self-conscious on me. It’s just that, you buying jewellery is something... unexpected. A shovel, some nails, or a set of spanners, yes.” She gave Lily’s shoulder a squeeze. “Jewellery, no. Now, which piece is it you’re interested in?”
The heat of embarrassment faded, and Lily grinned.
“It’s a necklace.” She glanced to the window display to the left of the door. “In the shape of two interlocking hearts.”
With a last squeeze of encouragement, Zoe released her grip and walked over to the display to peer into the window.
Joining her, Lily’s heart beat faster, and her breathing quickened. Raising a hand, she pointed to the box containing the necklace. “That’s the one.”
Zoe reached in and grasped the wooden box. Raising it, her eyes narrowed. “I don’t remember buying this in. It’s beautiful. I can see why it caught your eye. But it looks more like an antique, and we only deal with new stuff. Usually.”
She examined the box more closely, lifting it to gaze at the base. “Even the box looks old.” She sighed. Turning to Lily, she gave a wry smile. “And there’s no price on it. I bet Dad bought it when we went across sourcing new stock.” Making her way to the counter, she said, “I’d better ring him to find out how much it is.”
Without realising, Lily found herself half a pace behind, peering over Zoe’s shoulder as they walked. Now that she had found her ‘impulse’ buy she was reluctant to let it out of her sight.
When Zoe halted to open the gate leading to the till area, she and Lily almost collided.
Zoe laughed. “I’m not going to run off with it you know.” Handing her the box, she said, “Here. Have a closer look while I speak to Dad. That’s if I can get hold of him. You know what he’s like for disappearing right when you need him.”
Lily’s hands trembled as she took the proffered box, her eyes drawn to the amethyst surrounded by its golden web. With unaccustomed reverence, she reached in and raised the heart. A warm glow permeated her being as soon as she touched the gold, filling her with a sense of love and belonging. The feeling was so intense she almost gasped aloud in pleasure. Instead, she closed her eyes, calmed herself and savoured the moment. Never in her twenty-three years had she felt so... so... feminine. As Zoe had said, hammers, spanners, lawnmowers and spades were more her line of purchases, not frivolous decoration.
In her heart, she knew that this was not a frivolous decoration. It was something that called to her; that belonged to her; that needed her as much as she now needed it. The feeling was both alien and exhilarating.
A curse from Zoe intruded, and Lily opened her eyes to stare once again at the necklace and box. An indentation in the red fabric beneath where the necklace had lain indicated it had rested in that position for some time. Also, the red of the cloth was a much deeper shade in the hollow.
“He’s not in and he’s not answering his mobile,” said Zoe. “Typical!”
Lily placed the necklace in its indentation and tugged at a small slip of card she’d spotted to the side. On reading it, she looked up, handed it to Zoe, and said, “Two-hundred-and-forty-six pounds?”
With practised ease, Zoe rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Men!”
It was at that moment Lily realised she hadn’t got enough cash with her, and probably insufficient funds in her account to cover the purchase until she received payment from the last gardening job she’d done. Although loathe to do so, she pulled clear a plastic card from her purse and waggled it in the air.
“Visa?”
***
The smell of the sea was in Will’s blood, as it had been in his father’s and his father before him. Standing on the sand at South Beach, breathing deeply of the salt air, he closed his eyes and inhaled, the cry of gulls and lap of waves helping to soothe away the excesses of the previous evening. There was nothing like the clear, crisp, sharp smell that came with living on an island to clear the mind – and the head. Why would anyone want to give this up for a life spent in the smog and fumes of the mainland?
Work, was the honest answer. If it were not for the fact he had work aplenty on old Billy Teare’s farm, he may well have joined John and left the Isle of Man for good.
Will took another deep breath. His head was starting to clear.
“What’s the matter with yer, boy?” A deep, booming voice yelled. “Can’t handle yer ale, or something?” The question was followed by a deep, rich laugh.
The gulls appeared to shriek louder at the intrusion. Will winced; the pain in his head exacerbated by the raucous din. Turning, he risked one eye to peer back to the roadway, and spotted Henry Gale leaning against the door jamb to his cottage across the road. Henry was a big brute of a man, all wild hair and matted beard, but the best fishing skipper to run out of Ramsey. And one of the least law-abiding with it. It was not always fish that filled the hold of Henry’s boat, according to local gossip.
“Offer’s still open, young ’un, if yer fancy it,” said Henry, his baritone easily heard over the din the gulls insisted on making.
Will shook his head, and then wished he hadn’t. It felt like the gulls had landed and were in the process of pecking their way into his skull.
Henry shrugged. “Well, if yer get fed-up shovelling shit give me a call. There’s more money in fish than farming, don’t yer know. Especially fer the likes of a good un’ like you. From good stock, you are, lad.”
Managing a weak smile, Will raised a hand, and then turned his attention back to the sea. Eyes closed, back straight, breathing deeply, he ignored the amused chuckle from behind.
He knew he could make more working for Henry, but he preferred the smell of animals to that of fish. Ever since his father had gone missing at sea, along with his boat and crew, Will had turned his back on the ocean. Not that he was scared of the water; he actually quite liked sailing, he just found it hard to forgive the sea for taking away his only living relative.
With his concentration broken, Will decided to head home and risk some breakfast. Maybe some food would settle him down for the day. His stomach roiled at the thought, giving lie to the intention. Sighing, he decided to risk it anyway. The last thing he needed was to spend his one day off lying in his bed feeling sorry for himself.
Will’s home was the smallest cottage in Bark Lane. It was just up from the tannery and, although sparsely furnished, was his own piece of the island, left to him after his father had drowned.
Although it was early summer, the fire in the hearth glowed brightly and the pot Will had left suspended over the flames steamed. His nose wrinkled. The smell of burned oatmeal filled the air of the small room. Cursing, he ran across the earth floor, grabbed a rag from beside the wash basin and made an attempt to rescue his breakfast, but he needn’t have bothered. It was ruined.
In spite of the rag, the heat from the handle penetrated. Will’s fingers started to burn. The pot dropped to the floor with a dull clang, and his fingers rose to his mouth. He could feel blisters beginning to form, and cursed.
In sympathy, his stomach ceased to roil, and settled for rumbling instead.
***
The key slid into the lock and Lily pushed the door open with her shoulder before picking up the two cans of paint and the bag containing a roller and tray. Heeling the door closed behind her, she made her way along the short hallway to the lounge. Her nose wrinkled as she walked.
There was a strange smell in the apartment, like burning porridge. But she hadn’t left anything on the stove, and she didn’t even like porridge. She’d never noticed a smell about the place before, so assumed it must be entering from one of the neighbouring apartments. King’s Court appeared well-built but, as her father used to say, ‘They don’t build them like they used to. Throw them up now, they do.’
The door to the lounge was open, the room devoid of any furniture in preparation for decorating. The thought made her snort. As if she had any furniture to put in it. Her last place was a furnished let, furnished being a lose description for the moth-eaten specimens that the landlord considered ‘fine furnishings’, so she had little, if anything, to bring with her.
After placing her purchases on the floor she put her hands on her hips and gazed around the room. She had filled all the cracks, sanded the walls and prepared them for painting. A couple of coats should do it and then she could go visit charity shops, of which Ramsey had many, to see what bargains she could pick up.
Her thoughts turned to the necklace she’d bought, and she fumbled in the pocket of her coveralls for the package containing the box. After what seemed like an age, her fingers feeling like sausages in her haste to extract the necklace, she pulled the small paper bag free. In very short time the bag was on the floor and the old, time-worn wooden box was in her hands. She studied it, amazed to see that the sides had been dove-tailed. It had been made by a craftsman. For some reason that made her purchase even more special.
Clasped in two hands, she used her thumbs to ease up the lid, her eyes widening as the necklace came into view. In the back of her mind she had half expected it to be a cheap copy made to look old, but seeing it again she knew it was indeed an antique.
With the box still clasped in her hands she settled, cross-legged on the floor, and placed it on the tiled surface before her. After a moment’s pause to settle her nerves, she reached in and pulled the necklace clear.
As she did so, a dull thud sounded beside her and she flinched. The wooden box clattered to the floor. Heart racing, the necklace clasped in one hand, the other clutching her chest, Lily’s eyes flicked around the room. The smell of burned porridge grew stronger, and her grasp on the necklace tightened. A sharp edge dug into her palm, breaking flesh, and the smell disappeared.
Shaken, Lily scrambled to her feet. Then, feeling a pain in her palm, she looked down. A drop of scarlet nestled on the flesh beneath where the pendant lay. With one last glance around the room, she made her way down the hallway to the bathroom, there to wash away the blood and clean the puncture.
Detached by the movement, the small card Zoe had attached to the gold chain of the necklace fell to the floor. It landed plain side down. Staring up at the freshly prepared ceiling were a series of marks. If Lily had still been there she would have read £2 4s 6d, before the characters faded and the card disappeared.
***
Weary beyond belief, Will opened the door to his cottage and stumbled inside, heeling the door closed behind him. He shivered, dropped his bag of dirty clothes on the floor and wrapped his arms around his chest. Whether it was the coldness of a stone cottage that had not been heated for days or the after effects of a week spent lambing in foul weather, Will was not sure, but he suddenly felt dog-tired and in need of warmth. Even though it was summer, the nights were cold, and the stone of the cottage demanded to be heated, which was why he’d left the makings of a fire in the hearth before leaving.
Within minutes, Will had the carefully prepared kindling ablaze and was squatting in front of the fire, hands held out to make the most of the heat. With the fire banked, he made his way up to the bedroom, there to sleep the sleep of the exhausted.
The sun was high in the sky by the time he eventually roused and tossed aside the blankets. Bleary-eyed, he made his way to the wash bowl in the corner of the room and filled it with water from the pitcher. Leaning over, he reached into the bowl with cupped hands and scooped cold water over his face before repeating the exercise and soaking his hair. The shock drove away the last vestiges of sleep, and any thoughts of climbing back into bed. Water ran in rivulets down his bare back to spot the unadorned floorboards as he made his way across the room and down the stairs. With any luck the fire would still be smouldering.
It did not take Will long to rekindle the embers. After a couple of minutes kneeling in front of the hearth, gently nursing the glowing coals and adding more kindling, the fire blazed, and Will rose to his feet, groaning as his knees creaked at the movement. He grimaced. Twenty-five and already falling apart.
What he needed was a good women to look after him. His lips curled into a wry grin. With Billy’s growing infirmity and lack of kids to share the workload, he spent more time at the farm than in the cottage. What chance had he of meeting anyone, let alone finding time for a relationship? But most of the other lads he knew had managed, so perhaps it was time to get himself sorted. There must be some lonely girl in Ramsey who was looking for a good catch. The thought had him chuckling. Well, at least he had his own house, a full set of teeth and was the right side of good-looking to not be classed as ugly, which was a good start, in his opinion.
Still chuckling, he scanned the room for his canvas bag. His dirty clothing would be mouldering in the bottom by now. Not spotting it, he frowned. He could not remember taking it upstairs, but perhaps in his tiredness he had.
His bedroom proved to be devoid of anything resembling his bag. Confused, he made his way back down the stairs. He remembered dropping it on the floor before lighting the fire, so where had it gone?
The front door opened as Will reached the bottom of the stairs and the wild tangle of hair that was Henry Gale’s head popped into view.
“Yer decent, lad?”
Will halted, the light of understanding shining brightly, and folded his arms across his chest. He had not put the catch on the door the previous evening. Meeting Henry’s twinkling gaze, he said, “All right. What’ve you done with it?”
Henry’s brows pulled into a frown, and his beard bristled. “Done with what, lad?”
***
Lilly woke with a start to the sound of DOA by the Foo Fighters, and reached out of the duvet to fumble for the snooze button. Seven am was far too early to rise, even during July when the sun rose well before she did. Snuggling back beneath the duvet, she drifted into a light doze, only to be woken by the strains of Mandy by Barry Manilow some ten-minutes later. She groaned, and fumbled for the snooze button again, only to knock the offending radio-alarm on to the floor. Unfortunately, the battering was not sufficient to shut down the racket, so she tossed the duvet aside and rose. Judging by the way curtain-filtered sunlight permeated the room, the day promised to be fine, which was just as well seeing as she had Mrs Clague’s garden to run the mower over, and a couple more small jobs she needed to catch up on.
Once out of bed she righted the radio and thumbed the off button, cutting Barry off in his prime. Nodding in satisfaction, she wandered through to the bathroom to prepare for the day. Within twenty minutes she was showered, had her hair pulled back into a ponytail and was dressed for work in tee-shirt and green overalls, her necklace – a permanent adornment since she’d bought it – nestled safely beneath the tee-shirt, the kettle was boiling and the smell of grilled bacon hung heavy in the kitchen. For once, it looked as though she would start the day ahead of schedule and actually have chance to enjoy an hour’s relaxation before setting out to earn the month’s mortgage.
With a mug of coffee in one hand and a bacon sandwich in the other, Lily made her way down the hallway to her newly decorated lounge. Although it had no furniture yet and the carpet was not due to be fitted for a week, she loved the room, and had set an upturned crate on the floor to sit on while she watched TV on the second-hand set Mister Watterson had been about to throw away. Until she suggested she dispose of it for him, that is. All right, the picture wasn’t great and she could only get Border TV, but at least she had something to watch during the evening.
Humming the latest Leona Lewis song to herself, she balanced the plate containing her sandwich on top of the steaming mug whilst using her free hand to open the door. Once inside the lounge she walked over to the crate to place the plate and the mug on top before moving toward the TV.
She never made it.
An old canvas bag she had never seen before sat on the floor mid-way between the crate and the TV, halting her in her tracks. Her eyes widened. How had it got there? The windows were closed and she remembered locking the front door the previous evening. So where had it come from? She stepped closer, and her nose twitched. There was a strange, fusty smell coming from the bag, as though something had died and been dumped in it.
Lily felt the colour drain from her face, and fled the room. Once in the perceived safety of her kitchen she grabbed her mobile from the side and thumbed the number for Ramsey’s police station. Her call was answered in moments, and within a further five minutes a patrol car pulled up outside her apartment, tyres screeching, sirens wailing, blue lights blazing and headlights on. A police officer jumped out and ran to the door.
In the short time it took Lily to get to the door a crowd had begun to gather outside. Never one to enjoy being the centre of attention, her face burned with embarrassment as she opened it, despite her fear at what the bag in her lounge may contain. In an attempt to hide herself from view, she used the door as a shield when ushering the policeman inside.
“Did you really have to come in all guns blazing?” she snapped, as Juan Cubbon halted on the threshold.
Juan grinned, and took off his helmet. “Dead bodies in bags? What did you expect?”
Lily growled, deep in her throat, and shook her head. Juan had always been the same, even at school. He could make a drama out of any situation, and the more show in dealing with it the better. She noticed the three stripes on the arm of his jacket, and rolled her eyes.
“Didn’t know, hey?” Juan grinned and patted the stripes. “Last week.” He winked. “And not before time, if you ask me. Right! Now where’s this body bag?” He glanced up and down the hall, and rubbed his hands together, as though in expectation.
The arrival of Juan settled Lily’s nerves and she was pleased to note her arm didn’t shake when she raised it to point toward the lounge.
“In there. In the middle of the floor.”
Juan glanced down the hallway. “And you’ve never seen it before?”
Lily shook her head, and stole a glance around the door. A sizeable crowd had gathered in the parking bays opposite her apartment. The murmur of voices drifted on the breeze and more than a few faces stared her way. To her dismay, she realised she knew most of them, and groaned.
“Were all your windows and doors locked last night?”
Grabbing Juan’s sleeve, she yanked him further into the apartment before shoving him toward the lounge. Then, she slammed the door closed and leaned back against it, eyes closed.
The sound of a throat being cleared grabbed her attention, and she looked up.
“Assault is a criminal offence, you know?”
Lily shook her head and pushed away from the door, rubbing at her temple, which had started to pound. She could feel a migraine coming on. “Just, just, just go and see what it is. Please?”
Juan shrugged. “Just doing my job, Lily. That’s all.”
Lily hoped the weak smile that formed on her face did not come out more like a grimace.
With a nod of acknowledgement, Juan straightened his lapels and then turned to enter the lounge. By the time Lily edged to the doorway Juan was already at the bag. He was stooped over it and had begun to open the ties that held the top flap in place. “Looks like a kit bag to me,” he murmured, easing the ties open.
Gently, he raised the flap and peered inside. The smell grew stronger, and Juan quickly leaned away, his nose wrinkling as he groaned in disgust. “That’s putrid,” he murmured, clamping the end of his nose between a thumb and forefinger.
“Wh – wh – what is it?” asked Lily.
Juan looked over. “Some toe-rags dirty kit, is what it is. Farmer, by the smell of things.” He met her querying gaze. “Are you sure you locked up last night?”
Lily nodded.
“Well, heaven knows how it ended up in here.”
Leaning forward, one hand still clamping his nose, Juan began to pull out dirty socks, leggings, shirts and underwear, to pile them in a mouldering heap on the floor. When most of the bag had been emptied he grunted in satisfaction and looked toward Lily.
“Know anyone called Will Taubman?”
Lily shook her head.
“Well, that’s whose bag it is.” He shook his head. “Bloody toe-rag. Wait till I get hold of him.” Standing, Juan asked, “Have you got a bin bag?” He glanced at the pile of clothing on the floor. “Or two?”
Juan had been gone for over an hour and still Lily hadn’t moved from her apartment. Leaning against the work surface in her kitchen, she was on her third mug of coffee. She knew she should make her way to Mrs Clague’s, heaven knew her bank account needed the funds, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave her apartment – not just yet. There were still a number of neighbours hanging around, no doubt wanting to know the ‘skeet’, and her thoughts kept returning to the kit bag. How had it got there? Who was Will Taubman? How had he got into her apartment?
He had a key!
Lily heaved a heavy sigh, and shook her head. Mrs Clague would have to wait. Today, she had locks to change.
As it turned out, the locks did not take her long. She managed to get to Mrs Clague’s, albeit six hours late, and still had time to do a shop before daylight faded. She was part way through putting the grocery’s away when there was a sharp knock to the front door. Lily sighed. Just what she needed, when all she wanted to do was have a quick snack, take a shower and then roll into bed. Hoping it was not one of the neighbours catching up on the gossip, she made her way to the door and pulled it open. On the doorstep stood Juan Cubbon, all smiles, dressed in jeans and sweatshirt.
A wry grin formed on Lily’s face, as she eyed his attire. “Social call?”
“Sort of.” He leaned forward and tried to peer down the hallway. “You going to invite me in, or are you busy?”
Laughing, Lily opened the door wider. “I was about to make a coffee. I’m guessing you won’t say no.”
Juan’s smile widened, and he stepped through the doorway. “Never one to refuse a pretty lady.”
Lily chuckled. Pretty was one thing she had never been called, except by her father, who was long since departed. The heat of embarrassment coloured her face as she made her way to the kitchen. She hoped it would fade by the time she had to face Juan. Keeping her back to him, just in case, she fussed with the kettle and the makings for the coffee, and asked the question she felt sure Juan had called round to answer.
“Did you find out who this Will Taubman is, then?”
Juan cleared his throat before answering. “Not really. The only one with that name in Ramsey is a five-year-old kid. And I hardly think he’s going to break in and leave you a pile of dirty clothing. But we did find something in the bag.”
Brows arched, Lily tuned and handed Juan his coffee.
“This.”
Grabbing his coffee with one hand, he proffered a dirty, dog-eared slip of paper with the other.
Eyes screwed up, Lily leaned forward to gaze at the paper. It had writing on it. Untidy writing, but clearly legible. Reaching out, she grasped the slip and held it to the light.
‘Will Taubman’, she read. ‘7 Bark Lane, Ramsey’.
She looked up.
Juan shrugged. “Bark Lane disappeared years ago when they developed South Ramsey. I’m guessing that whoever dumped the stuff used a bag they picked up in one of the charity shops. Along with the clothes.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Bloody old-fashioned things, they were. I wouldn’t fancy wearing them, that’s for sure.”
Lily heard the words, but took little notice. She stared at the name and the address. Unconsciously, her hand moved to the heart-shaped pendant nestled against her chest. It was warm to the touch.
“Are you listening to me?”
Lily looked up, met Juan’s querying gaze and gave a hesitant smile. “Sorry. I was miles away.” Pushing away from the worktop, she said, “Care to move to the lounge?” Then in her best mock upper-class voice, added, “I may even let you have the crate, where you can relax in comfort.”
Laughing, she led the way down the hallway, opened the door, and gestured for Juan to precede her. He had no sooner stepped over the threshold than he stopped. Lily heard him sigh, and frowned.
“What is it?”
Moving aside, Juan nodded to the middle of the floor.
The smash of a coffee cup shattered the silence.
Unaware of their impact, a battered pair of mud-splattered boots stood centre-stage, laces pulled, tongues lolling, as though mocking her fear.
***
“For the last time, I ain’t been theivin’ yer stuff! What makes yer think it’s me, anyway? I’ve enough rubbish of me own without theivin’ yours!”
Arms folded across his barrel-chest, Henry’s beard bristled in righteous indignation as he glared at Will. They were stood outside Henry’s cottage in Chatsworth Terrace, Henry on the recently scrubbed quarry-tile step and Will on the roadway. A stiff breeze attempted to make more of a mess of Henry’s wild tangle of hair than it already was, and his face burned with anger.
Will stepped back a pace, out of arm’s reach. He was not going to back down until Henry owned up, but did not fancy taking a beating from those brawny arms. He had seen what damage Henry could do when riled.
“Well, who’s taking it then?”
The heat of anger faded from Henry’s face. His chest heaved in a sigh. Rubbing at his eyes, he shook his head, as though to clear it, then folded his arms over his chest again. “I’ve no idea, lad. But it ain’t me. As I already said, I’ve enough rubbish of me own without taking yours. It makes no sense, lad.”
Honesty shone from Henry’s eyes, and Will sagged. He had been sure it was Henry. That would have explained everything. Now, with his denial, Will had no idea who was stealing his gear. The lack of a suspect was worrying. Not that he had anything worth stealing, it was the fact that someone he didn’t know had entered his property and interfered with his belongings.
“I got an idea, lad. Yer can write, can’t yer?”
Will nodded.
“Right, this is what we’ll do.”
***
It had been two weeks since the appearance of the boots and Lily felt relaxed in her apartment for what felt like the first time since the bag incident. She had changed the locks yet again the day following the appearance of the boots, and that seemed to have done the trick. Even so, Juan had become a regular visitor, both when on duty and when off, and she found herself looking forward to his visits. This morning, though, he had left for a course across, and would not be back for a week, and she knew she would miss him.
Nursing a mug of coffee, she made her way from the kitchen to the lounge, there to watch Border TV on Mister Watterson’s decrepit TV, still to be replaced when she had the money to do so, before she left for work. As she entered the room, the fresh, clean smell of newly-laid carpet and paint struck her, causing her to smile, as did the soft, warm feel of the pile on bare feet as she crossed the floor to flick on the TV. At last the place was starting to feel like hers.
A fuzzy, snow-speckled picture sprang to life on the TV and she made her way to the settee to settle down for half-an-hour before leaving for the day. Freshly cleaned, you could not tell it was second-hand. Along with the armchair she had picked up from the Hospice shop on Waterloo Road, it had been her best buy so far.
Only half-aware of what the newsreader was saying, Lily sipped at her coffee and contemplated the day ahead. It looked like rain, and she did not want to spend the day getting soaked doing outside work.
A piece of paper lay on the floor to the side of the TV and she found her eyes drawn to it. She did not remember dropping it. A thought crossed her mind and she smiled.
Juan!
He must have left her a note before leaving the previous night.
Taking care not to slop her drink, she placed the mug on the small table she had also purchased from Hospice, and rose to grab the paper. Taking it to the window, there to read by better light, she stared at the child-like handwriting, and her eyes narrowed.
Juan had smooth, flowing script, not stilted scrawl that looked like it had been written by a five-year-old. Her frown deepened as she read the words, and her heart faltered.
‘Stop taking my stuff.
Will Taubman.’
Lily felt faint. Her head swam, and she leaned against the window sill for support. The paper floated to the floor as she clutched at her chest.
Will Taubman again. Who was he? Where did he come from? How had he got in? So many questions and so few answers. Stooping, she picked up the spilled paper and ran to the kitchen.
Juan picked up the call after three rings.
“Hello? Whoa! Slow down, Lily. I can’t understand what you’re saying.”
In her fear, and her haste to tell him what had happened, Lily spoke rapidly, her words coming out jumbled and manic. Although she knew it, she could do nothing about it; her need to tell Juan that Will Taubman was back too great.
Eventually, Juan’s calming tones worked their magic and Lily, taking deep breaths, managed to tell her tale in a calmer manner. When she finished, Juan said, “You have to leave the apartment, Lily. At least until I get back. This Will guy may be a lunatic and” - he paused – “now I’ve found you, I don’t want to lose you. You understand?”
Shocked by his words, Lily said nothing. She stared out of the kitchen window, but saw nothing. Had he just admitted feelings for her?
“Lily. Lily! Are you there?”
“Umm? Oh, sorry. I was miles away.”
“As you should be,” Juan responded. The serious tone to his voice did not go unnoticed. “Listen. I have to go now; they’re calling us through. I’ll call you later. Ok?”
Lily stared at the message on the paper in her hand for a good twenty minutes after Juan had rung off, her mind filled with thoughts of Will Taubman.
Instead of running on fear and emotion, she decided to turn to the part of her that dealt with problems best, and the practical side took control.
Who was he? Well, that was obvious. He was Will Taubman. But who was he? What did they know about him?
They knew he lived, claimed to live, at 7 Bark Lane, a lane that no longer existed. That he was a manual worker, judging by the state of the clothing and boots he had deposited in her lounge, and that he thought she was stealing his gear.
What did it mean? Was it someone playing a joke, or something more sinister?
The splatter of raindrops, fat and heavy, on the window broke into her ruminations, and she reached a decision. It was too wet to do her gardening jobs, so she would go to the library and see if she could dig anything up on Bark Lane, and see if a certain Will Taubman used to live there. They were bound to have information on South Ramsey at the library.
The smell of books and polish greeted her as she stepped into the library. Water ran off her boots and coat on to the polished floor as she paused by the entrance, wondering where to start her search. She noticed the puddles beneath her feet, and grimaced an apology at the librarian behind her counter, who returned her gaze with amused understanding.
“Can I help you?”
Lily’s boots squeaked as she walked toward the counter, loud and discordant in the quiet. “I’d like to know about old Ramsey,” she said, keeping her voice low.
“You’ll need our ‘local’ section,” said the librarian. She pointed over Lily’s shoulder. “End of the aisle turn left, and the local books are on the right.”
Nodding her thanks, Lily made her way, as directed, and settled in for some research.
Time passed by without her being aware of it passing. Having commandeered a desk, she had maps of old Ramsey spread out in front of her and also those of modern Ramsey. By photocopying the maps in the Library’s machine and placing one over the other, taking into account the differing scales, she had come to the conclusion that her apartment block had been built over the site of where Bark Lane used to be. By further correlation, it was also possible that number seven used to be located right where her apartment now stood.
The discovery sent shivers through her body. The prospect of her apartment being haunted was terrifying. Never one to believe in ghosts and things that go bump in the night, she decided to prove that Will Taubman was, indeed, a modern-day lunatic rather than a blast from the past intent on haunting her.
Acquiring copies of census papers for the population of Ramsey for the period when Bark Lane stood proved to be more difficult and time consuming than searching for the maps, but eventually she had them in front of her. Commencing her search in the eighteen-hundreds, her forefinger traced the list of people that resided in Ramsey, looking for the name Taubman. Fortunately, the names being in alphabetical order, the search took less time than it did for her to find the census papers.
When looking down the list for 1852, the name Will Taubman glared out of the page at her. Age - twenty-five. Occupation – farmhand. It all fitted with the items that had been left in her apartment.
Lily felt her throat go dry, her eyes glued to the page that held the name Will Taubman. She suddenly felt very warm, and a film of sweat slicked her skin beneath her clothing. Her breathing quickened and she felt faint. She had to get out of the library.
Unaware of the clatter of her chair hitting the floor as she rose, she grabbed her raincoat from where she had placed it on the chair beside her when looking at the maps, and fled into the rain-soaked street. The cries of an angry librarian went unheeded.
By the time Lily got home she was soaked. Too hurried to put on her rain-coat, it had flopped around on her arm as she sped along the mostly deserted Parliament Street before cutting through Saint Paul’s Square to her apartment. Once inside, she leaned back against her front door for a moment or two to catch her breath, water soaking into the door mat at her feet.
Once her breathing had steadied itself, she pushed herself away from the door and headed to the kitchen. She needed a coffee. Will’s message was still on the side where she had left it, her mobile phone lying beside it. Reluctant to go near the paper, she hung her wet coat on the peg to the back of the door before preparing her drink.
The same thought kept going through her head as she waited for the kettle to boil. Her apartment was haunted! It had to be. No-one in their right mind would go to the effort of taking on the mantel of a long-dead person just to scare her, would they?
She would have to sell, of course. How could she live in a place where the old occupier refused to leave? What if he turned out to be a poltergeist? She could be hurt, even killed if he decided to turn nasty. Mouldy old clothing and messages were one thing, but injury or death were another.
The kettle clicked off and she filled her mug before moving to the fridge to grab some milk. The fridge was immediately beneath where she had left the message, and her eyes were drawn to it. The child-like writing glared up at her.
‘Stop taking my stuff
Will Taubman’
A thought struck her. If a ghost, if indeed it was a ghost, could write to her, could she not write to it? Tell it to stop bothering her? But what would she say? Keep away, ghost, or my boyfriend will come looking for you?
Unexpectedly, a chuckle escaped her lips, and her eyes flicked to her mobile. She had missed six calls while she was out, and she knew Juan would be at least one of them. She was wrong. All six were from him. His phone was turned off when she tried to call back, so she texted him that she would speak to him later.
Cold from her wet clothing crept into her flesh and Lily decided to wait for the coffee. Moving to the bathroom, she shed her gear and took a shower. The heat from the water succeeded in banishing the cold, and served to calm her nerves. Also, she did her best thinking when in the shower.
She realised that up to now Will Taubman had settled for dumping stuff in her lounge. There had been no attempt to hurt her, and no attempt to cause damage. What if she simply left him a message asking him to stop leaving stuff? Would that work? If he were a ghost, would he take notice? And if he were someone of this time breaking in, would he actually take notice? Of the two, she began to hope that Will Taubman was of the spectral variety rather than some loony trying to scare her.
Both options were scary, but she needed to know what was happening. She could not leave the apartment until she found out, however stupid that might seem. And she knew she could not tell Juan – just yet. He would want her out right away. No, she would have to lie to him and tell him she was fine. At least until she found out more about the mysterious Will Taubman.
“You sure you’re ok?” asked Juan.
Lily sighed. It was eight o’clock in the evening and they had been speaking for the past hour, mostly about Lily’s problem than Juan’s course.
“I’m fine. Don’t be worrying about me. Concentrate on your course. I’ll still be here when you get back.”
“I know. It’s just...” His voice faltered. “I’m worried about you, that’s all. And I’m too far away to help. I know,” his voice brightened, “I’ll get one of the night-shift to keep a check on your place while I’m away. That way, I know you’ll be safe.”
Lily laughed.
“What’ so funny?”
“Nothing. It’s just that I never thought I’d have my own police guard at my beck and call.”
“Not until I get back, you don’t. Seriously, take care and make sure you lock up tonight. I’ll get the lads to keep an eye out.”
“Thanks, Juan. I’ll sleep better knowing the long arm of the law is taking care of me.”
Juan snorted. “As long as the only arm of the law around you is mine, I don’t care.”
Lily giggled. “Goodnight, Juan.”
As soon as the phone clicked off, Lily grasped the message she had written on the paper and read it for what seemed like the umpteenth time.
‘Dear Will. I am not stealing your stuff; you are dumping it in my front room. Please stop or I shall have to call the police.
Lily’
Like the writing on Will’s message, she kept hers in block capitals in the assumption that anyone who wrote such simple characters would be unlikely to understand her usual untidy, scrawled script – ghost or not!
It took an age for her to drop off to sleep. Having left her note where she had discovered Will’s she found herself tossing and turning, wondering whether it would be answered, and worrying whether she actually wanted it answering. If it were a real person who had written the first missive, would he be angry and come looking for her? If it were a ghost, would it turn nasty?
After half an hour of agitation, she rose from the bed, swept the clothes that were hung over a chair to the floor, and then jammed the chair under the handle of her door. Surveying her handiwork, she decided that the barricade would have to do, no matter how flimsy. At least she would hear the clatter of the chair being moved if anyone tried to get in, which should give her chance to phone the police before beating a hasty retreat through the window.
Before scrambling back into bed she checked once more that her mobile was close to hand and that her path to the window was clear. Satisfied, she pulled the duvet close around her head and again fought for sleep.
The ringing of her mobile woke her. Rudely awakened, she sat upright in the bed, momentarily disoriented. The phone rang again, and she took deep breaths to calm her already frayed nerves. To her surprise, when she answered, her voice remained calm, which was just as well. The caller was Juan, asking if she was alright. After assuring him she was fine and telling him to stop worrying, he reluctantly wished her a good day, but not before letting her know no-one had been spotted loitering outside her apartment the previous night.
The news settled Lily’s nerves. At least if her note had been answered it ruled out one possibility. A flutter developed in the pit of her stomach. Which would leave the other.
Glancing at the clock she saw that it was eight-thirty, and tossed aside the duvet. It was way passed time she usually rose. Still dressed in her pyjamas, she dragged the chair away from her door, and then walked slowly toward the lounge. For some reason she tip-toed, and with every step her nerves grew more taught. By the time she grasped the handle and pushed the door open they were screaming.
Swallowing the build-up of saliva in her throat, she poked her head around the door jamb. To her relief, the room appeared as she had left it the previous night. The curtains were open, the window locked and there was no sign of anything untoward. She frowned. In fact there was no sign of anything, other than the TV, her settee, chair and table. Her note had gone.
Nerves forgotten, she ran to the spot where she had left it in case it had somehow blown out of view on an invisible breeze, but it was nowhere to be seen. It had been taken. But by whom? And why was there no reply?
Disappointment vied with relief. A part of her wanted there to be a reply now that her note had gone, if only to settle who or what was behind the mysterious goings on. Now she may never know. Then again, perhaps her note had done the trick and whomever it was that was playing silly buggers would pack it all in.
Two days later, that hope was quashed. After rising, Lily, as was her want, took her mug of coffee into the lounge to enjoy a leisurely start to the day, and there it was, nestled on the carpet next to the TV: A piece of paper.
The sight caused her to stop, her heart beating a now too familiar tattoo against her rib-cage. Gathering her courage, she urged herself forward, her steps slow and halting, the mug clasped in her hands, to stare down at the untidy script gazing up at her. By squinting, she could just make out what it said.
‘Lily. Why are you doing this? I live here, not you. So why are you stealing my things? In case you are calling at the wrong house by mistake after your night-time trips, this is 7 Bark Lane and is owned by me, Will Taubman. Please stop bothering me or I will have to alert the watch as to your thievery.
Will
Her thievery? Lily was nonplussed. How could anyone accuse her of thievery when the stuff had been dumped on her floor? Her initial fear at seeing the note vanished, replaced by indignation. Placing the mug on the floor, she grabbed the note and moved over to the window to read it again.
After reading it for a third time she placed it on the sill and gazed out of the window in abstraction. It would seem that she had a ghost. Juan, in his morning call, had again confirmed the lack of any person or persons loitering around her apartment the previous night. So Will had to be a ghost, didn’t he?
But a ghost that thought she was stealing his stuff? It didn’t make sense. Her hand rose to finger the hearts suspended on their golden chain, a habit she had fallen into when worried, and her thoughts drifted. What if Will were not a ghost, that he was in fact still living and breathing, but in a different time? She’d seen a film about that once, one starring Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves, but that was fiction. This was real life. Surely things like that didn’t happen for real.
The thought, obscure and totally improbable, stayed with her all day. By the time she finished her gardening jobs she had decided on a plan of action. As soon as she got home she made herself a coffee and then settled down in the lounge to write her letter.
‘Dear Will. You appear to be mistaken. This apartment is 23 King’s Court, not 7 Bark Lane. Bark Lane was pulled down many years ago to make way for this new building. Either you are lying and playing me for an idiot, or you are a ghost with no right to be in my world. Please stop bothering me.
Lily’
That night, it took all Lily’s self-control not to admit to Juan what had happened, and what she had done. He would only worry if he knew about it and, with any luck, she would have it sorted by the time he arrived home in two days time. Biding him goodnight, she showered and retired early, eager to see whether Will would reply to her letter.
Surprisingly, she fell asleep almost immediately, and awoke bright and refreshed to Juan’s morning call. Again he confirmed that no-one suspicious had been seen outside her apartment, and told her he was looking forward to coming home and seeing her again. On thumbing the ‘end-call’ button, she realised she was looking forward to seeing him, too. The realisation sent a warm, fuzzy feeling thrumming through her body.
Tossing aside the duvet, she rose and almost ran to the lounge, thrusting open the door to see if there was a piece of paper on the floor. There was, and she skidded to a halt. Would it be the one she’d left last night, or would it be a reply from the ghostly Will?
With eyes fixed on the white sheet, she stepped slowly forward, until she could see the writing more clearly. The writing was Will’s. Stooping, she grasped the page and carried it to the window to read it in the light.
‘Lily. You are the one who is mistaken. 7 Bark Lane is where I live. My house is built of solid stone and there are no plans that I know of to pull it down. I have never heard of a King’s Court. I am thinking that it is you who are the ghost. One who thieves, and I would like you to stop.
Will’
The reply had Lily bemused. He thought she was the ghost? Maybe the Bullock/Reeves scenario was playing out. Maybe there was a rift – was that what they called it? – in time that was enabling her and Will to communicate.
Pushing herself away from the window, she decided to prove to Will that the year she lived in was, in fact, 2008. A copy of last week’s Manx Independent was in the kitchen. If she left it along with another letter he would have to believe she came from the future. She giggled, wondering how he would take it. She knew that if she were in his situation she would find it difficult to believe. The thought had her laugh out loud. She was in his situation, albeit in reverse.
Placing the paper where she had found Will’s letter, she wrote a message on the cover sheet.
‘Now do you believe me?’
Rising, she looked down at her handiwork and rubbed her hands together in satisfaction, and said, “Let’s see what you make of that, Will Taubman.”
She did not have long to wait. By the time she’d made a coffee and returned to the lounge to drink it the Independent had gone, replaced by a copy of Mona’s Herald. The date on the paper was 29th August 1852 - that day’s date only 152 years earlier - and scrawled at the top were the words, ‘Now do you believe me?’
Stunned, Lily slumped to the floor, staring at the date and Will’s scrawl. Fiction had become fact. She was communicating with someone from the past who was still living his life, in the very spot where she now resided. Suddenly nervous, her gaze flicked around the room. Was he here now, with her but in a different time?
After placing her mug on the floor she rose and went to the kitchen to grab her notebook and pen. It was time to find out. Her message was short and to the point.
‘I believe you.’
Placing it where the newspaper had lain, she waited for something to happen. She had no idea what, but excitement had her staring at the slip of paper, willing it to disappear to wherever it went to. And it did. Not suddenly with a pop, but with a gradual dissolution, like a thin sliver of ice melting into the carpet.
Within a matter of moments, in much the same manner, her slip of paper reappeared. Under her words were scrawled Will’s.
‘I also believe you.’
Lily clapped her hands in delight. Will was real, not a ghost. Grabbing her pen and another sheet of paper, she asked him a question. The paper took longer to return this time, but Will’s words held her spellbound. He had answered her question and posed one of his own.
Grabbing another sheet, she wrote her answer, taking care not to write too modern, and added yet another question of her own. Time flowed by quickly. Before Lily realised, dusk had fallen and her floor was covered in sheets of paper. But she was happy. She had discovered Will was single, two years older than she was, had lived alone since his father had drowned, his mother having died during childbirth, what he did for a living, and what life on the island was like in the 1800’s. In turn, she had told him of her life, her dreams, about the purchase of the apartment, her necklace and what life was like the year 2008.
If it were not for the pounding at her front door she would have carried on all night. As it was, startled by the loud hammering, she scrawled a hasty note of apology and placed it on the floor before rising to see who was trying to break her door down. At the doorway to the lounge, she stopped and turned, dismayed at the amount of paper that littered her floor. It would take some clearing up, and sorting, but she intended to keep every piece, as a record of what they chatted about. Closing the door behind her, she smiled. It was like MSN, only without the computer.
Whoever it was outside pounded on the door again.
Annoyed by both the persistence and the interruption, Lily yelled, “I’m not deaf. Give me a moment.”
She yanked the door open, intending to give the perpetrator a piece of her mind, but her words were crushed from her body by a fierce embrace.
Lily screamed, and the burly figure jumped back, immediately releasing her, hands rising to cover his ears. Lily’s heart raced. She clutched at her chest and half-stumbled backwards, feeling faint.
“What did you go and do that for?” a deep voice asked. The figure belonging to the voice stepped forward, rubbing at its ears. “I think you’ve gone and deafened me.”
The shriek that had been building died in Lily’s throat and, eyes narrowed, she flew at the figure, beating small fists into his chest. “Why didn’t you call me to say you were coming, you... you, idiot!”
Raising his arms, Juan defended himself against the blows, then reached out and grabbed her flailing arms. “Whoa! Ease up, Lily. What’s got into you? I took the last flight back instead of waiting for tomorrow morning’s. I thought you’d be pleased to see me.”
With her arms still pumping against Juan’s grip, Lily met his amused gaze, and grew more angry. “Because, you idiot -” She stopped what she was about to say, not ready to admit she had been communicating with Will. Lashing out, she kicked Juan in the shin.
Crying out in pain, he released his grip and bent down to rub at his injured leg. “What did you go and do that for?” he asked, peering up in bemusement.
“For scaring the hell out of me,” Lily snapped. She folded arms across her chest and glared down at him, her foot beating an angry tattoo on the floor. “Or have you forgotten there may be a lunatic out there dumping stuff in my lounge?”
Rising, Juan winced. “Oh. Right.” Suddenly, he smiled and held out his arms. “Well, now that you know it’s me, how about that hug?”
His smile was infectious, and Lily found her anger fading. Stepping forward, she allowed him a momentary hug before she eased away. “Next time,” she warned, “call me before surprising me.”
Juan winked. “But then it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”
Pursing her lips, Lily shook her head, and then ushered him in. There was no answer to that.
Juan stayed for an hour before Lily, feigning tiredness, managed to shepherd him out, with the promise that she would go out for dinner with him the following evening. Then, once he’d left, she leaned back against the door and sighed in relief. It had been difficult not to admit to her communication with Will. And every time Juan mentioned the name the more difficult it became. They had remained in the kitchen the whole time, Lily claiming the lounge was a mass of ironing that needed doing and had he called she would have cleaned it up so they could talk in comfort. By the end of the evening she was emotionally drained. It felt as though she had been covering for an extra-marital affair, or at least how she supposed she would feel if she were having one. But she wasn’t even married, for heaven’s sake. So why did she feel so guilty?
She would have to tell him, of course, but not just yet. Maybe over dinner the following evening. She would see. Hoping that Will had left another message, she headed for the lounge to try and get the papers in some sort of order.
***
“So yer heard nothing back, then?”
Leaning against the wall by the front door, arms folded across his chest, Henry Gale flicked his gaze around the dingy, sparsely furnished room. Will could see the look of disapproval in his eyes, but ignored it. On his wages, what could Henry expect? Luxury and Will Taubman were two things that did not sit well together.
“Not since I told her to stop calling in on her way home and nicking my stuff.”
Henry chuckled. “So who’d yer think she is then, this- this Lily woman?”
Will shrugged, and moved across the room to stoop beside the fire. Using a cloth, he took his pot from the spindle and rose. Turning to face Henry, he raised the pot and said, “No idea. Fancy some breakfast?”
Henry shook his head, and levered himself away from the wall and reached for the door latch. “No thanks, lad. I’ve already eaten. I’d best be off. They spotted a shoal of herring out in the bay and I’d best get out there. Tide’s about right and the lads should have the boat about ready by now.
After opening the door, Henry turned to face Will. “You know I lost one of the lads?”
Will nodded, and waited for the expected question.
Henry briefly scanned the room before fixing his gaze on Will. “You can do better than this, lad. I’ll give yer till the end of the week afore I look for a replacement.”
Will was still staring at the back of the door long after it had closed on Henry’s exit. He knew Henry was right, but the sea was the last place he wanted to earn his living. The farm did not pay much, but he was happy there. And he was needed.
No longer feeling hungry, he placed the pot next to the fire. He had a hard few day’s ahead of him at Billy’s farm, now that harvesting was upon them, and he’d best be away. But before he left he would have to write Lily and let her know he’d be gone for the best part of a week. Moving to the tall cupboard next to the fire, he opened the door and pulled out the paper with her last message on it. Turning it over, he grabbed a stick of charcoal and wrote his note on the back, then placed the paper on the floor where the others had appeared.
They had been exchanging messages for over a week now and Will found himself looking forward to her notes. At first, he could not believe she was from the future, and was convinced she was a ghost sent to annoy him, but the newspaper and her descriptions of how places he knew and visited looked in the future convinced him. Lily was the closest he had ever been to having a relationship with a woman, and he knew he’d miss her company whilst away working.
Grabbing his pack, he made his way out onto the lane, wondering if she would answer his latest question truthfully.
Although mid-morning, there was a chill on the breeze that wasn’t present a couple of weeks ago, and Will shivered. Autumn would soon be here, and with it the winds and the rain. His thoughts returned to Henry’s offer. It was not the time of year to consider a job on the waves over a job on land. No, Henry would have to find himself another sailor. This one was already taken. Humping his pack on his shoulder, he set out for Billy Teare’s farm, little realising that by the time he arrived there, his plans for winter would have to change.
***
‘I will be away for a week, working on the farm. I will miss you. What do you look like? I would like to know. Then I can picture you when we write. Yours truly,
Will’
It had been nearly a week since Will had sent the message, and still Lily had not responded. Mainly because she did not want to send a photograph of her to an empty house where anyone could walk in and see it. Will had told her about Henry Gale, and knew he would not be averse to entering the house to see if he were in. And seeing as Will had not told Henry about their exchange of notes, a colour photograph of some girl from the future would be bound to stir up trouble.
Thinking of which, despite her promise to do so, she still had not told Juan about Will. Somehow, she could not seem to find the right moment in which to broach the subject, and the longer she left it, the harder it became to bring up. Juan, now that things had stopped appearing in her lounge, assumed it had been someone playing pranks, and that the police presence had seen them off, and concentrated his efforts on wooing Lily. Efforts that were not entirely wasted.
From being a staunch advocate of female independence, Lily now found herself with two men in her life. One who was outgoing, loud, gregarious and proud to be seen out with her, and one who was quiet, reserved and would never be seen with her. Not in this life, anyway. She knew she would have to tell each about the other, but not yet. She was enjoying herself too much.
After placing the photograph on the floor, she checked everywhere was locked for the night and went to bed. Juan was on lates, and even though he said he would check on the apartment, she knew he would not call. In fact, she would be lucky if she saw much if him over the next four days. The thought was depressing, but at least she had her notes from Will to look forward to. He should have finished his work on the farm now, if she had read his message correctly.
Every morning for the next two weeks she raced into the lounge, expecting an answer, but her carpet remained bare. And with each day’s lack of contact, the more withdrawn she became. Was the rift in time healed, or had something happened to Will that she did not know about?
The not-knowing ate away at her. Even Juan’s natural exuberance could not pull her out of her dark mood, and the more he tried the more she withdrew. In the end, after one heated argument too many, he stormed out of the apartment, telling her to call him when she was ready.
Lily winced as the door slammed shut, and sagged against the kitchen worktop, the prickle of unshed tears in her eyes. It was not Juan’s fault, so why had she chased him away? Using the back of a sleeve, she dabbed at her eyes. Now she was back to where she’d started; on her own.
Sighing, she levered herself away from the worktop. With any luck, all would be better after a decent night’s sleep.
But it wasn’t. There was still no return note from Will, and Juan refused to pick up her call. And she knew he was off that day. Staring out of the kitchen window at the rain-lashed roadway outside, the ringing tone in her ear, Lily knew that today was one day she would not spend working. Instead, she would go to the Bean Bar, have a latte, and watch the world go by. After putting on her boots, she grabbed her long coat and stepped out into the rain, head bowed, and headed for St Paul’s Square.
The covered walkway sheltered her from the worst of the elements, but Lily still kept her head bowed as she walked. When passing the bookshop, however, a title grabbed her eye, and she stopped to peer in. In the middle of a display on local authors was a book, ‘Ramsey From Days Gone By - paintings by Michael Starkey’. Would there be a painting of Bark Lane, one that would show her where Will lived - used to live?
With there only being one way to find out, Lily bought a copy. Five minutes later she was sat at a table in the Bean Bar, leafing through the pages until she found the one she was looking for. On page twenty-one was a painting of the lane. Several small cottages flanked a narrow dirt track, barely twelve feet wide, each cottage unique and homely. And to think the lane and cottages once stood where she now lived. And that Will resided in one of them. The thought had her head spinning, and she wondered yet again why Will had not been in touch.
After finishing her coffee she made her way back home. Although the rain had lessened the wind had picked up, and she found herself leaning into the weather to prevent being blown backwards. Once home she stripped off her wet clothing and dressed in a baggy jumper and a pair of old trousers before making her way to the lounge to relax in comfort.
She saw it immediately, the paper lying on the floor, and ran over to it, knowing who it would be from. Excitement vied with relief as she grabbed it from the floor, devouring the words that Will had written.
‘Lily. I am sorry I am late writing you. Billy Teare died and I had to settle the affairs of the farm. It took longer than expected. I now have no job, so will ask Henry if he still wants me. It will mean me being away longer, as fishing is not all that Henry goes to sea for, but it will mean I have money. I will tell you more later. I like the picture you sent. You are very beautiful. May I keep it?
Will’
The question caused Lily’s lips to twitch into a smile. Shaking her head, she made her way through to the kitchen to pen her reply. When halfway through her note her mobile rang, and Lily grabbed it from the worktop.
“Lily. It’s Juan. Can we talk? Over coffee? I... I’ve been stupid and... I miss you. Can we sort this mess out?”
It was an unusually subdued Juan Cubbon that strode up her pathway some twenty minutes later. Even his smile lacked its customary confidence as Lily opened the door to him.
“May I come in?” he asked, on seeing her.
Lily smiled, and moved aside, gesturing toward the lounge with a wave of her hand. “Your coffee awaits, good sir.”
Her comment appeared to settle him, and his smile widened to resemble the one she normally associated with him as he stepped into the hallway.
“Lily-”
“Shhh! Not yet, Juan. I have something I need to tell you. Please, go through to the lounge.”
His smile faded, and his eyes narrowed at her words, but he did as he was bid and headed for the front of the apartment. Once in the lounge, he halted, and turned to face her.
“What’s with all these papers?” A wave of an arm drew Lily’s eyes to the piles of Will’s notes that she had sorted and stacked on the floor beneath the window.
With a wry smile, she said, “That’s what I need to talk to you about.”
“So you mean you have been communicating with someone from 1852? By notes that melt into the carpet and then melt back again?”
Lily nodded. They were sat on the settee, where they had been ensconced for the past two hours, Will’s notes piled on the small table and the floor beside them. At first, when she had started her tale, Juan had thought her mad, she could see it in his eyes, but when she had shown him the notes and messages, detailing things that only someone from that era could have known, she could see that he was starting to believe.
Lily reached out and grabbed one of his hands in her own. Meeting his gaze, she said, “I know it sounds unbelievable, but you’ve seen Will’s notes yourself. I’m not mad.” She smiled. “So there’s no need to ready a room at Ballamona just yet.”
Juan shook his head, lips compressed. “I don’t doubt you - now. But had you told me this a couple of weeks ago...” He shook his head again. Then, reaching down, he grabbed the book on Ramsey scenes from the floor. “And you say his house is in a painting in this book?”
Releasing his hand, Lily shrugged. “I like to think so.”
Juan flicked through the pages until he reached the one on Bark Lane. “Amazing.”
“Juan!”
The urgency of Lily’s tone had Juan looking up.
“There. On the floor.” She pointed to a spot just in front of the TV, where a sheet of paper had materialised. “It’s Will.”
Rising, she grabbed it, and read it before handing it to Juan.
‘My dearest Lily. I must away now for a week or two. Henry has need of me for one of his illicit ventures. It is not something I am proud to be doing, but I have need of the coin. I will write when I return.
Yours in time,
Will
“Who’s this Henry?” asked Juan, looking up.
“Henry Gale,” Lily answered, settling onto the settee and grabbing the proffered note to read again. “Sometimes a fisherman but mostly a rogue, according to Will. With the farm having gone, he needed a job, and Henry had been pestering him for months to join his crew.” Seeing a puzzled scowl on Juan’s face, she said, “What’s the mater?”
Pursing his lips, Juan shrugged. “Probably nothing, but that name seems familiar. From something I read about once.”
Wide-eyed in amazement, Lily said, “So you believe me?”
Juan laughed. “How could I not?”
It took less than an hour after leaving Lily’s place for Juan to discover where he had read about Henry Gale, but two days before he dared show her his findings. They were having coffee at the Bean Bar, on Juan’s break, when he pulled a sheet of paper from his uniform pocket and handed it to Lily.
“What’s this?” she asked, unfolding the paper.
Juan fidgeted on his seat, hands clasped around a mug of coffee. “I think you’d better read it,” he said.
As she read, the paper wilted in her hands, and she could feel the colour drain from her face. “We have to tell Will,” she murmured, rising from her seat.
Juan grasped an arm and held it firmly.
Lily tried to yank it free, but his grip was too strong. “Let me go,” she demanded, unaware of the eyes turned their way. “I have to let him know.”
Keeping his voice low, Juan said, “Think Lily. If you tell him you risk altering the time-line. We have to let it run its course, however unjust or unfair, or risk changing... everything.”
Like the paper in her hand, Lily sagged. How could she not tell Will about Henry’s, about his future, now that she knew? Especially when it meant...”
“Lily!” Juan’s grip tightened on her arm again. “You can’t tell him. Understand?”
Dumbly, Lily nodded, and rose slowly to her feet. Her smile wan, she said, “I need some time alone. You understand?”
After holding her gaze for a moment, Juan nodded, and gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “You have to think of the now, Lily, not what has already gone.”
Lily looked to the floor, unshed tears in her eyes, then turned and left the shop. Instead of heading for her apartment, she carried on down the road the short distance to south beach. Once there, she sat on the wall and gazed out to sea. Somewhere out there, back in time, Will sailed with Henry, not knowing what his future held. Unfortunately, she did, and could not do anything about it.
As Christmas neared, Lily felt herself slide into depression. Communication with Will had been spasmodic due to his trips out to sea with Henry, but each note contained a warmth and vitality that, by rights, belonged to lovers. And each note reminded her that they did not have long left together. Juan, aware of the reason for her sadness, called round often, and did his best to lighten her mood, but nothing he could do or say could ever brighten the darkness that lay ahead.
It was Christmas Eve when Lily’s resolve was tested, and found wanting. A shrivelled rose stem and a message from Will had arrived that morning. In it, he wished Lily a Merry Christmas, promising that he would send her a present upon his return, that Henry had asked him to sail with him, promising him a cargo that would set him up for life. Enough coin with which he could buy his own farm.
Lily knew from Will’s writings that a farm was the one thing he had wanted ever since Billy Teare had died, and the one thing he would never live to see should he sail with Henry on this one, last voyage.
Will’s message ended with the lines;
‘If only you were here with me, we could spend our days on the farm together. As it is, I shall cherish your photograph and imagine you are here, where you belong.
Yours in time,
Will’
Not able to sit and wait for Will’s demise, Lily penned what she hoped would not be her last message to the past.
‘My dearest Will. I too wish I could be there to share your days, but this cannot be. Instead, I would like to think you will enjoy a long and healthy life with someone of your own time and to this end I urge you not to sail with Henry on this trip. My present to you is a long life. Please take heed of my urgings. Do not sail with Henry on this trip. I wish I could tell you more, but I cannot. I risk my future by asking you not to sail, but it is a risk I am willing to take for you.
Write back as soon as you are able, if only to ease my mind.
With love,
Lily’
Like melting ice, the message disappeared into the carpet, as did the tears that Lily shed.
Christmas day came and went and the end of the month drew near. Juan, having taken extended holiday leave, refused to leave Lily on her own, and camped out in her apartment. He cooked for her, cleaned for her and took her for long walks to help her overcome a grief so deep that she glided through each day as though it were her last. She’d never received a reply from Will, and knew in her heart that her warning had been too late. That Will was with Henry, and that she would never hear from him again. Subconsciously, she was aware of everything Juan did for her, but was too immersed in her grief to react to his kindness.
On the morning of the 28th December Juan opened the curtains to the lounge. Bright, winter sunlight flooded in through the window and illuminated the spot on the floor where Lily left the messages for Will. Only this time it was Lily who occupied the spot. Lying foetal, clothed in her pyjamas, Juan could hear her sobbing.
Quietly, so as not to frighten her, he padded across the room and gently eased his hands under her body and raised her to his chest. She was surprisingly light and he had no difficulty in levering himself upright.
Lily made no effort to escape, and leaned into his chest, her tears felt through the dampening of his tee-shirt. With her settled into his arms, he carried her to her bedroom and lay her down on the bed, where once again she curled into a ball. After covering her with the duvet, he went through to the kitchen. He needed a coffee, and the stronger the better.
He had no sooner put the kettle on than a loud knocking at the apartment door had him flinching. Having been too immersed in thoughts of Lily and how he could help her overcome her grief now that the day was at hand, he had not heard the knocking at first, merely been aware of something at the periphery of his mind that was obtrusive and annoying.
Cursing, he walked the short distance down the hallway and opened the door.
“Is there a Lily Brigs that lives here?”
Juan gazed down at the short, scruffy little man who stood on the threshold. Dressed in farmer’s dungarees, a pair of mud-splattered green wellington boots and a tattered overcoat that had seen better days, he looked like a tramp.
“And you are?”
“No matter who I am, feller, is there a Lily Brigs that lives here? I have something for her.”
“Who is it?”
Juan scowled at the little man, who ducked down to peer around him and up the hallway, before calling over his shoulder. “No-one Lily, just someone asking for directions.”
The little man grinned. “So she does live here. Thought so.” Thrusting a hand into a pocket, he pulled out a tattered envelope and held it out. “This is for her.” He peered myopically at Juan. “A present from a friend.”
Once Juan had taken it, the little man turned and scurried away.
“Who is it?”
This time Lily’s voice came from somewhere closer. On turning, Juan saw her emerge from the bedroom, hair dishevelled, face white, leaning against the door jamb for support. She looked so weak and frail. Concerned in case she fell, Juan stepped forward to wrap an arm around her waist.
“You should be in bed.”
Lily’s eyes fixed on the faded, crumpled envelope in Juan’s hand. “What’s that?”
Raising it, Juan stared at the name written on the front, and Lily gasped.
Surging upright from the door jamb, she snatched the envelope from Juan’s hands to stare at the name written on the front.
Surprised by the move, Juan placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her shaking, and asked, “What is it, Lily?”
With tears in her eyes, she looked up, then held the envelope for him to see. “It’s his writing, Juan.”
“Whose?”
“Will’s.”
Without further explanation, she ran into the lounge, leaned against the window sill, eased open the flap to the envelope and removed what lay inside.
“What is it?”
Lily looked over, to where Juan had halted just inside the threshold to the room, and grinned.
“A photograph. My photograph.”
In Lily’s hand was the colour photograph she had sent through to Will two months previously. The colours were faded, the paper cracked and bent through age, but it was the same photograph, and she could still read the words she had written on the back.
‘To Will, from Lily.’
Only there had been an addition, in Will’s child-like handwriting.
‘I hope you liked my Christmas present. Look in the box beneath the lining. Will.’
The necklace warmed, and Lily’s hand rose to her chest. It felt like it was on fire. Suddenly knowing which box Will meant, she rushed passed a startled Juan and hurtled into her bedroom. On the dresser was the wooden box that housed the necklace.
“A knife, Juan, fetch me a knife!”
Her words were loud and frantic, but she did not care. She had to see what Will had left her.
Not daring to utter a word, Juan returned from the kitchen with a knife. Lily snatched it from his hand and, taking deep breaths, eased the knife’s edge inside the box and levered up the red lining. It was difficult to move at first, but once she had one corner raised the whole lining lifted and came free.
In the base of the box lay a black and white photograph. A middle-aged man and his wife gazed out from within the confines of the wooden sides. Dressed in their finery, standing stiff and erect, two young children standing beside them, it had been taken in front of a small farmhouse.
Lily’s hands trembled as she reached in to remove the photograph. At first, it would not move, the paper having stuck to the wood, but with gentle persuasion it eventually came free. Lily gazed at the handsome couple and their children for a moment before turning it over. On the back were the words;
‘To Lily, my guardian angel, forever in my thoughts.
Will.’
This time, the tears that fell were ones of happiness.
In the kitchen, on the wall where Lily had pinned the report on the demise of the Brig Lily, the name of Will Taubman faded from the list of twenty-nine men that had perished at Kitterland on December 28th 1852.
While trying to make it big on Broadway, dancer Abby Fouchet finds herself falling in love, falling in rehearsal (!), and trying to outwit a clever killer out to destroy the man she loves.
