explaining to the barber that he didn’t really want it done. This should be amusing. I popped up to the pound shop to get him a beanie hat for when he came out into the cold air.
Of course, after doing that to him, I had to make up for it by getting hold of one of the boys. He happened to be sitting in the café where, I had noticed before, all the kids of his age went, only not necessarily during school hours. He tried to run away at first, but when I explained I wasn’t interested in harming him, just in buying him a smoothie of his choice, with the chance of a toastie if he wanted, he agreed, especially since the other option was to be frogmarched back into school and attract the unwelcome attention of the attendance officer or modern equivalent thereof.
The boy was spotty, sulky and scared.
‘It wasn’t me, it was him. He’s away,’ was all he would say. ‘Don’t take it out on me, pal. He’s gone.’
‘So you’ve no idea where he might have gone,’ I said, summarising.
‘No… Except – ‘
‘What?’ I asked, maybe a bit too sharply. He flinched and muttered very quickly,
‘He sometimes stays with his granny. In Lochgelly. He could be there.’
‘Know the address?’
‘No.’
‘Know anybody who might know the address?’
‘No.’
I sighed.
The boy leaned forward, sucked up the last of his banana smoothie with a final hollow intake of air, and started to get to his feet. Christopher didn’t try to stop him. Christopher hadn’t done anything useful during this interview except to pay for the smoothie. If I had been a ruthless kidnapper and brutal interrogator, I wouldn’t have chosen him as an accomplice. Fortunately I didn’t fall into either category.
‘His bike’s gone too,’ said the boy and made a swift exit from the café.
‘Well?’ said Christopher. ‘What are we going to do now?’
‘You choose.’
‘Go to Lochgelly? Knock on all the doors? Do you know how big Lochgelly is?’
‘Haven’t a clue.’
He glared at me as if it was all my fault. Whereas it wasn’t, or at least not entirely.
‘Wouldn’t the police have found him if he’d gone to his granny’s?’ he suggested.
‘They’d have to be looking for him first, wouldn’t they? They probably never even spoke to the girl in the fish shop or trawled through the school registers.’
‘Maybe I should have told them about that so they could follow it up,’ groaned Christopher. ‘What’s got into me? What made me think I could do it all myself?’
I shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me… You didn’t think the police cared enough? You didn’t have anything better to do? Anything I can do, you can do better…’
He gave me an uncomfortably shrewd look. ‘Jemima Stevenson is your friend too, Amaryllis. You don’t seem to be taking this very seriously.’
I laughed. ‘Oh, I am, Christopher. You’ve no idea.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘What exactly have you done?’
‘What do you think I’ve done?’
I got up and left the café. A few moments later he caught up with me on the way down towards the river. I looked at his striped beanie hat and chuckled to myself. It was so not his style.
‘Seriously, Amaryllis, what have you done?’
‘Nothing!’
We reached the river front and walked slowly along towards the old harbour. The air was clear, and we had an excellent view of the oil refinery at Grangemouth.
‘I’m going to have to tell the police,’ said Christopher. I knew he was offering me a chance to own up to what I had done, but I shook my head. If the police came knocking at my door, fine. Well, not fine, but I would deal with it. I tried not to think about the implications for our friendship.
Christopher came round that evening and offered me a chance to flee the country. ‘I’ve told them. They’ll be round any minute.’
‘I don’t run away – not from the police, anyway.’
‘But this is serious, Amaryllis.’
‘I know it’s serious. That’s exactly why I won’t be running away.’
He picked up the gnome I had brought back as a souvenir, which was still sitting on the worktop where I had left it that night, and idly traced its beard with one finger.
‘You could get into serious trouble,’ he persisted.
‘Do you think I don’t know that?’
If the police hadn’t arrived just then, I would probably have been in even more serious trouble for battering him to death with the gnome. When they told me what they thought I had done, I laughed.
‘Do you really think so? Is that what Christopher said?’
‘Mr Wilson took us to meet the boy,’ said one policeman. ‘He saw you going off up the road with his friend. Then he heard screams in the distance, and he hasn’t seen his friend since.’
‘Where did you go, Ms Peebles?’ said another. ‘Where did you take that boy?’
‘What did you do with him?’ said the first one. They made a very wooden double act, I must say.
‘I know where they went,’ said Christopher suddenly. We all turned to look at him. He was staring at the gnome as if he had seen a ghost. ‘The gnome. She got it from the tip. She took the boy to the tip and – ‘ his voice went very low and dramatic, ‘only one of them came back.’
‘The tip?’ said the first policeman.
‘I think they like to call it the recycling centre these days,’ I said. I picked up my jacket and started to put it on. ‘And don’t forget the bicycle.’
‘The bicycle?’ said the other policeman.
‘That’s the key to the whole thing,’ I said. It was almost time to stop pretending and tell them what had really happened.
‘Why don’t you tell us what really happened, Ms Peebles?’ said the first policeman.
‘Why don’t I show you?’ I said.
We set off up the road. On the way, I told them about Jemima Stevenson and the boy on the bicycle. They didn’t say anything; had heard it all before. By this time I knew Jemima was making a good recovery; Big Dave no longer kept vigil day and night at the hospital; she would be coming home soon to enjoy the benefits of a clutter-free shed. The police perhaps felt they could close their files and nobody would notice. I didn’t want them to do that.
We arrived at the tip. In daylight, I could see what Christopher had meant. The men who worked there were in their own little world. Gnomes lined the path that led round the area, and salvaged sun-loungers awaited a fine day with little traffic when the workers could rest their weary limbs and admire their close-up view of the skips.
The police were unpopular for closing the place down, even temporarily. I watched as the forensic team clambered all over the rubbish.
They found most of the pieces eventually and set them out on the concrete near the packaging bins. Two wheels in plastic bags, a set of handlebars, a chain and so on.
‘Here!’ shouted one of the recycling centre workers, who were watching from behind the row of gnomes. ‘These handlebars should go in metals, not wood.’
‘Sorry, I’m sure,’ I muttered.
‘And you’re not allowed plastic bags in the containers,’ shouted another one.
‘Thanks for your very helpful advice,’ I called back.
‘I’d pipe down if I were you,’ said one of the policemen, kicking one of the wheels in disgust. ‘You’re already in trouble for wasting police time.’
‘Be careful with that wheel,’ I told him. ‘It’s probably got forensic evidence on it.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Fabric from an old lady’s coat, that kind of thing,’ I said. ‘Why do you think I put them in plastic bags?’
He sighed. One of his superiors came over. ‘Where’s the boy, Ms Peebles? We’ve just wasted most of our remaining budget for the month, and all we’ve found is this.’
He kicked one of the wheels.
‘Be car
eful, that’s evidence,’ I said.
He glared at me, ‘Tell us what you’ve done with the boy.’
‘I haven’t done anything with him. Last time I saw him he was sitting over there – ‘ I indicated a spot on the grass verge just outside the tip area – ‘screaming at me because I was taking his bike to bits. By the time I’d finished , he’d gone.’
‘Where?’
‘I’m guessing Lochgelly. That’s where his granny lives, apparently. Has he been reported missing?’
‘Well – no.’
‘Well then.’ I shook my head at him and started to walk away. Just outside the tip, standing on the grass verge, stood Christopher.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ shouted one of the policemen. But nobody came after me. I guessed they never wanted to see me again. I hoped they were bundling up the pieces of bike to take back to the lab for analysis. That hadn’t been my original intention – I had just wanted to scare the boy and make sure he didn’t do anything like that again ever – but if they wanted to look for evidence, that was fine with me. As far I was concerned, frightening the boy out of his wits would do more good than five hours of community service or whatever pathetic sentence he might receive if he was left to get his just deserts from the legal system.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Christopher. ‘I thought – I wasn’t sure what you’d done.’
‘You were right. I had done something. No worries.’
‘You can’t just say no worries, Amaryllis. I’ve shattered the trust between us. I’ve betrayed you.’
‘Don’t make a fuss, Christopher,’ I said, tucking my hand into the crook of his arm and guiding him down the road again. ‘It’s better you don’t trust me anyway. There are things I’m capable of that you can’t even begin