Bailonz Street 13

Mary screamed when she saw Liam Moore, and the landlord came running out. Everyone around—neighbours, passersby on the street—stared at us. A patrolling officer also ran over and screamed when he saw Liam Moore.

“Ahhh!”

Why are you screaming too? And why in such a high-pitched tone?

One of the people who had gathered pointed at us, stammering.

“L-Liam Moore! It’s Liam Moore!”

“Is he really alive?”

It’s not like there was a banner in the neighbourhood saying, “[Breaking News] Liam Moore Dead, Shocks London…” Why did everyone assume he was dead?

“Is that detective really alive?”

Someone added, late to the realisation.

Who spread this false information about him dying? I turned my head abruptly, glaring at the crowd, which fell silent. Yet, with each blink, more people seemed to appear. Although the police were trying to disperse them, it didn’t seem to be quieting down any time soon.

“He was told to rest completely.”

Liam Moore, who had been stifling yawns, was now dozing off on my shoulder. An officer came over to talk, but I couldn’t give a proper response. I waved my hand dismissively while dragging the relaxed Liam.

“Later. Tell Inspector Jefferson we’ll visit him later!”

I pushed the still drowsy Liam through the front door. Mary, wide-eyed, helped a bit, but he was incredibly heavy. Why was he so heavy when he was just skin and bones?

Finally, we returned to 13 Bailonz Street. Perhaps our dramatic return would make it into the newspapers tomorrow.

“Huh, ha….”

Liam Moore was dozing against the wall, Mary stared at us as if she’d seen a ghost, and the murmuring outside the locked door continued unabated. I sighed.

＊ ＊ ＊

Two days later, on December 23rd, we received a letter from Arthur Moore.

Liam Moore was meekly enjoying his convalescence. I was, too. We even put up a notice saying we weren’t taking any new cases for a while. Some were disappointed, but they seemed to understand given our recent ordeal.

Our return to 13 Bailonz Street was plastered on the front page of the newspapers. I had anticipated it, but seeing it in print was still shocking. Various daily newspapers described how remarkably healthy Liam Moore looked as he stepped out of the carriage. Somehow, there was even a photograph. I never imagined I’d see myself supporting him on the front page.

“My portrait rights…”

I told myself not to cry. If my family found out, it would be noisy, but somehow, we’d manage.

Then, letters started pouring into our home. Most were trivial congratulations on Liam Moore’s return. I turned over the stack of letters with gloved hands, recognizing a familiar name.

[A. Moore.]

The sight made me gasp. Liam Moore, startled by my scream, stopped in his tracks and stared at the letter in my hand. His eyes were trembling.

“It’s… it’s for you.”

With Christmas approaching, perhaps his father was summoning him home? But Liam’s expression turned sour as he read the letter.

“Damn…”

He muttered, rubbing his forehead.

News of our return had spread quickly. If Liam’s father had contacts in London, he would have heard about his son’s dramatic disappearance and return. From someone else’s mouth, no less.

This made me realise Liam might have been a negligent son. Peacefully living his life only to suddenly hear, “Hey, your son is missing?” “How would you know something I don’t?” And then, a few days later, “Oh, they found him.” I couldn’t even imagine how bewildering that must be.

“What a bad son…”

I muttered.

“Ahem.”

Liam Moore cleared his throat.

Liam seemed to have forgotten about his father. Or he assumed his father wouldn’t care about his affairs.

His eyes kept flicking between the letter and me.

“We’re in trouble.”

“How much more trouble can we get into?”

“My father is summoning me home.”

“This is bad.”

This was genuinely bad. How much grief had this troublemaker son caused his father? Liam Moore drove me crazy; his father must have been even more worried.

I apologise, Arthur Moore. I didn’t expect him to be like this either….

“When was the last time you wrote to your father?”

“…”

So long he couldn’t remember.

“There were a lot of recent events….”

Liam Moore trailed off.

“Surely you don’t consider a few months ago as recent?”

“…”

No answer. So, it had been months since his last contact. I rubbed my forehead.

“Write a reply immediately. Say you’ll leave right away.”

Liam hesitated.

“I was planning to go, but…”

“But what?”

“I sort of forgot…”

Who forgets about their father? I stared at him in disbelief. I couldn’t lecture him on Eastern filial piety, so I held my tongue.

He asked cautiously.

“We have to leave immediately, don’t we?”

“Why ask the obvious?”

“…Come with me.”

He looked at me with his grey eyes. He held my hand and turned back to the letter, nervously rereading the same lines.

Asking me to come along and then feeling embarrassed—what an odd situation. Why would I go to meet his father? What would I say?

Hello, I’m Jane Osmond. I’m… quite close with your son…?

“What would I do there?”

Liam had no answer. See? It would be awkward.

His son had become notorious (constantly involved in crimes), and now he was bringing a woman? Not a wife or even a fiancée, but just living together? Oh, and their relationship seemed a bit odd?

It would be a disaster. We wouldn’t make a good impression.

“To… introduce you.”

“As what?”

“First love?”

This is absurd.

His attempts to persuade me were commendable but all terrible answers.

After a while of pondering, I gave in.

“There’s a beach, right?”

I finally asked. Liam, sensing my decision, replied.

“There’s a small beach. The sea breeze is harsh in winter, but it’s still….”

“Is it worth seeing?”

Liam nodded. He put down the letter and wrapped his arm around my waist. Unlike before, he was now below me.

I leaned on the sofa’s backrest and looked into his eyes. He whispered quietly.

“Very… beautiful.”

Did he really need to say it in this position? Was he actually a fox, not a cat? Were all his actions strategic? Either way, it was hard to refuse.

His long fingers brushed my hand. Was the impure implication my imagination?

“There’s a white cliff, a beautiful coastline below. Lots of heather flowers. You’ll love it.”

I quietly moved my lips.

“You’ll go, right? Let me show you Nifoisse Hall.”

Liam Moore asked again, certain of my agreement. I sighed and smiled.

“Fine. I’ll go.”

Liam Moore finally looked satisfied.

It seemed like I had been caught in his trap.

omg i love these 2 sm… sorry for the late update, ive been quite busy these days and focused a bit on catching up w my other novels.. but ill restart with bailonz regular updates pretty soon !! i also created a discord server (.gg/MmW9vpjgvn) to send novel specific updates abt my work..so if u wanna check it out feel free to!

cant wait for the arthur and jane meetup…! and see you soon