Free 3 A Reformed Character by Cecilia Peartree Page A

when she went to Disneyland, but he had a horrible feeling there was a primary-school whine in his voice. But Amaryllis seemed almost relieved that this had come out. Maybe she had developed a guilty conscience at last. Some part of him hoped not: in a way he would have liked Amaryllis to stay just the way she was when he had first met her. It could get very confusing if people changed.
    'Yes, I admit it, I went round there yesterday. And to the house. I couldn't get into the house though - it's too soon. There's still police tape round it.'
    'It's not like you to be put off by a bit of tape,' said Christopher with feeling, remembering past exploits.
    'Come on then,' said Amaryllis. 'It's not far from here.'
    Christopher wasn't the most observant person in the world, but he couldn't help noticing, as she strode off along the river front walkway in front of them, that she wasn't walking with quite her usual air of agility. It was almost as if her joints were starting to stiffen up with age. But she wasn't that old, not that he had ever guessed, even in the privacy of his own mind, how old she was. You could presumably retire from spying at any age.
    Jock nudged him. 'You've noticed something, haven't you?'
    'There's something not quite right - ' said Christopher just as Amaryllis turned back towards them and said, 'What's the matter with you two, gossiping like a pair of old women?'
    They caught up with her, one on each side. Christopher's arm accidentally brushed hers as he fell into step, and she flinched.
    'What's wrong?' he said quietly.
    'I bumped my elbow earlier. In the kitchen.'
    'Hmm.'
    They walked a bit further in silence.
    'The yard's just across the railway line and down towards the shore a bit,' she said, opening the little gate that led them across the tracks. Christopher immediately imagined being mowed down by some massive steam engine, or worse still by one of the quiet modern trains that would be almost on you before you heard them, but Amaryllis and Jock seemed to think it was all right so he crossed meekly, and volunteered to close the gate behind them at the other side.
    The old railway yard was even less impressive than its name suggested: the shell of a workman's hut, and some old concrete coal bunkers. A lot of cigarette ends. And somebody had carelessly dropped a baseball bat by one of the bunkers. Christopher frowned as he glanced at it. He had the vague idea they were sometimes used as weapons as well as for playing rounders or the fancy American equivalent thereof. It had been a bit irresponsible to leave it lying around here where children could get hold of it. Or maybe children did play rounders in here. It wasn't as dangerous as some of the places he had played when he was young: the nearest quarry, the coal tip by the eastern shore, the ruins of a small castle with its own well. But he didn't think today's risk-averse parents would approve of the proximity of the railway line.
    'This is it then,' said Amaryllis. She didn't even glance at the baseball bat. 'This is the glamorous hang-out of Darren and Giancarlo and the rest.'
    'Giancarlo wasn't there that night, was he?' said Christopher, not entirely sure of his facts. 'I thought it was just Darren and Alan Donaldson and Zak somebody and Stewie somebody else.'
    'Zak Johnstone,' said Amaryllis. 'You're right, there was no mention of Giancarlo. But maybe he was there anyway.'
    'Or maybe he wasn't,' said Christopher. He didn't want to start another argument.
    'Victoria didn't say anything about him either,' said Jock. 'She didn't seem all that pleased when I asked her about him. Was he part of the gang or not? I think he's a bit younger than Darren.'
    'Doesn't mean they can't be friends,' said Amaryllis.
    'Odd that Darren and Victoria didn't mention him though,' said Christopher. 'We wouldn't even have known he existed if Jock hadn't said something. Back at the caravan, I mean.'
    'Oh, that's right, blame me,' said Jock.
    'Nobody's blaming anybody,'