3 A Reformed Character

A Reformed Character

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©Cecilia Peartree 2011

All rights reserved

Chapter 1 The tyranny of the triple word score

Christopher was secretly pleased when a knock at the door interrupted their game of Scrabble. Playing Scrabble with Amaryllis was more of a journey through her past than a game, with arguments about whether the names of various kinds of weapon were in the dictionary or not. Her placing of 'Uzi' on a triple word score was particularly contentious.

'Don't answer it,' she suggested, peering at the board.

'I can't leave them outside in that downpour.'

It was because of the downpour that they were playing Scrabble in the first place. It was the only thing to do apart from listening to the rain battering at the metal roof of the caravan.

He pushed open the door. The person who had been standing on the step just outside fell off with a yelp.

'Sorry,' said Christopher, peering out. Surely it couldn't be dark this early in the afternoon? 'I don't know why the doors open outwards.'

Someone else darted forward to help the first person up. Christopher wondered uneasily if he should have listened to Amaryllis and not opened the door in the first place. They didn't know anybody here. These people might have knocked on the door with sinister intent. On the other hand, if that turned out to be the case he could rely on Amaryllis to stop them carrying it out.

'Mr Wilson?' said the young man, staring up at him through strands of wet hair. He had the hood of his sweatshirt up, and it was hard to see -

'Darren?'

'Yes.'

'What are you doing here?'

The girl who had helped Darren climbed the two steps and held out a hand to Christopher. Even in the twilight he could see that she was very pretty, with dark hair and big brown eyes. 'I'm Victoria,' she said, shaking his hand and smiling.

'Victoria,' he repeated.

'So - what brings you two here?' said Amaryllis, who had moved to Christopher's side lithely and silently as was her custom.

'You'd better come in,' said Christopher to Victoria. 'It's no use standing around out there getting drenched.'

'We're drenched already,' said Victoria, but she moved into the caravan anyway. Christopher extended a hand down to Darren and urged him up the steps. He edged his way past Amaryllis, who was watching like a cat. They stood in the middle of the lounge area, dripping all over the cream-coloured carpet. Christopher wondered if Mrs Stevenson had actually chosen cream or if it had been foisted on her by the caravan manufacturers. The colour didn't seem as if it would appeal to her.

Victoria was even prettier in the light. Her skin was olive and her features small and neat.

Darren looked about the same as he had when they encountered him the previous year under difficult circumstances.

'You'd better take off your coats and shoes and dry them by the fire,' said Christopher.

Once they were all sitting down again - one thing the caravan had in ridiculous abundance was squashy seating - there was an awkward silence. Christopher knew from experience that Amaryllis believed in the power of the awkward silence to reveal secrets, but it just made him feel very uncomfortable. He said to Darren, 'I can't believe this rain! Where's it all coming from?'

Darren looked at him as if he had gone mad, Christopher felt stupid and Victoria came to his rescue.

'There's flooding on the railway track at Burntisland,' she said, nodding. 'The train only just made it through.'

'Oh dear,' said Christopher. 'Would you like something to drink?'

A hot drink. And maybe some toast. Refreshments would definitely smooth the social path.

He was on his way towards the kettle when Darren spoke.

‘I’m on the run.’

Christopher’s natural reaction would have been to say ‘Wha-a-at?’ or ‘On the run?’ in a stupid voice, but he forced himself to wait and see what Amaryllis said. Of course she said nothing. Darren looked from one to the other and at last added, ‘From the police.’

‘I hope you haven’t brought them here with you,’ said Amaryllis.

‘I’m not that daft,’ said Darren.

Amaryllis stared at him with an ‘Oh, really?’ expression until he said crossly, ‘I’m not!’

‘They won’t think of following him here,’ said Victoria. ‘They’ll never work it out.’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that,’ said Christopher. ‘You’d be surprised what the police can work out.’

‘Well, never mind that just now,’ said Amaryllis. ‘What have you done this time?’

‘I never done nothing - anything,’ said Darren. ‘I never done anything before either. They just blamed me for it. I’ve been going straight.’

‘So you expect us to believe you didn’t set fire to the village hall last year? Even though you appeared smelling of petrol just after the fire started and your prints were all over an empty fuel can found near the scene?’ said Amaryllis.

‘Amaryllis,’ said Christopher quietly. She glanced round in surprise as if she had forgotten he was there.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be making toast?’ she said to him. He got the message. He was to make toast and leave questions to people who knew how to do interrogations. He hadn’t yet found out how many interrogations she had actually carried out during her career as a secret agent, but he could imagine the level of ruthlessness she could reach if the situation demanded it.

The rain increased in intensity and a gust of wind made the caravan shake. Christopher turned away to put the kettle on and start the toast. He tried not to think about how precariously the caravan was perched, high on the cliffs above Kinghorn. Was this the kind of night when King Alexander III had accidentally ridden over the same cliff to his death?

‘They think he killed somebody,’ said Victoria into the sullen silence produced by Darren and Amaryllis both sulking at the same time.

‘Killed somebody?’

Christopher forgot himself and turned back towards the little group. He frowned, irritated that it had taken such a short time for him to butt in with a stupid question.

‘Toast,’ said Amaryllis.

He opened the bread-bin, still half-turned to see what was going on.

‘So, what makes them think you killed somebody?’ said Amaryllis to Darren. He hung his head.

‘He knew the person who died,’ said Victoria.

‘Who was it?’

‘A friend of his.’

'A friend?'

Victoria shrugged, which Christopher noticed she did elegantly. ‘Just one of the gang.’

Amaryllis paused for a moment.

‘It’s not really a gang,’ said Victoria. ‘Not in a bad way. They’ve all been friends since they were at school.’

‘So this killing was within the gang – and the police think Darren had something to do with it? ‘Why’s that?’ said Amaryllis.

Christopher poured tea into the cups and saucers that had come with the caravan. They were cream-coloured too, with a ring of small flowers around each saucer. Again, he couldn’t imagine Mrs Stevenson choosing something so bland. From what he had seen of her house, the décor was a riotous clash of colours, much like her taste in woolly hats really. He found a tray, waited a few moments for the toast, and when it was ready he carried the refreshments over to the table, moving the Scrabble board to one side while being careful not to disturb the words already in place. He noticed that Amaryllis had managed to put ‘KGB’ on a double word score, presumably while he had been answering the door. He would have to remember to challenge that later.

Darren and Victoria still hadn’t answered the question when Christopher said brightly,

‘Tea and toast?’ We might even have some jam in the cupboard.’

Victoria daintily accepted a cup of tea and Darren grabbed a piece of toast as if he hadn’t seen food for days, although stuffing it all in his mouth in one go could have been a strategy to prevent him from being able to answer any more questions for a little while.

‘Who was this friend of Darren’s?’ said Amaryllis to Victoria.

She took a sip of tea.

‘Have you got any sugar?’

‘No,’ said Amaryllis.

‘It was Alan Donaldson. He’s a joiner – he works with his dad. He was a joiner, I mean.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘They found him in one of those new houses – at the edge of the wood. Up the hill a bit. He and his dad were working in there. He’d been stabbed – somebody said with a screwdriver, but I don’t know about that.’

She took another sip of tea.

‘So why should they think it was Darren?’ enquired Amaryllis.

Victoria glanced at Darren before replying. Christopher thought the boy shook his head slightly, but she pressed on anyway.

‘He was there when it happened.’

‘There on the scene?’ said Amaryllis.

‘Sleeping in the house,’ said Victoria. ‘He didn't have anywhere else to go.' She glanced protectively at Darren, who was slouched in the corner, a hand over his eyes as if he didn't want to see the problem. 'He didn’t know anything had happened though. He was still asleep when the police came.’ She looked from Amaryllis to Christopher and back. ‘He really didn’t do this, you know! I’m not just saying that. They’ve just picked on Darren because he’s been in a bit of trouble before and it was easy.’

‘Hmm.’ Amaryllis seemed unconvinced. She didn’t actually use her ‘oh, really?’ look this time but Christopher imagined she was having trouble suppressing it.

‘I wouldn’t do anything like that,’ mumbled Darren. ‘Alan was a friend of mine. We’d been through some – well, some trouble together. He was a mate. One of the guys. A pal.’

‘Yes, I think we understand that,’ said Amaryllis. ‘So – are you really on the run? Did they arrest you? How did you get away from them?’

‘I helped him,’ said Victoria in a small voice.

‘You do realise you’ll be in trouble too?’ said Amaryllis sternly.

Victoria nodded. ‘My dad’ll kill me.’

‘He’ll have to catch you first,’ Amaryllis observed.

She uncurled from the settee in one lithe movement and started to walk round the caravan interior. Christopher thought this was when she was at her most cat-like, although she didn’t have a herd of deer or even a flock of sparrows to stalk. The caravan was quite spacious but even one deer would have been a crowd.

'How did you do it?' said Christopher, sitting down beside Victoria. He knew it would take a little while for Amaryllis to work through all the implications and hidden potential in the situation. Better if nobody interrupted her while she was doing that, even although it was tempting just to watch her movements as she prowled around.

'It was when they were taking him out of the house to get him into their car. I distracted them, and Darren ran,' she said. 'It wasn't that hard. I didn't even mean to do it - it just happened.'

'And what made you come here?'

'It was your friends. Darren said you all hung out at that pub down near the water -'

'The Queen of Scots,' said Christopher helpfully.

'Yes, that one. Well, we went in there and spoke to your friends. The great big fat guy, and the wee old woman with the funny hat.'

Christopher recognised Big Dave and Mrs Stevenson from this rudimentary description, although he didn't think either of them would exactly be flattered.