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- Herausgeber: David Fickling Books
- Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
- Serie: Stuart
- Sprache: Englisch
Stuart Horten (aged ten, but looks younger) is now the owner of a Magician's Workshop - a treasure trove of illusions and the gateway to seven magical adventures. Except that without his great-uncle's last will and testament, Stuart can't actually prove the workshop is his.Can he solve the puzzles and find the will before it's too late? Or will the looming danger and increasing risks ruin his friendships for good?
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Seitenzahl: 265
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020
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iii
BIG CHANGE FOR STUART
LISSA EVANS
Illustrated by Temujin Doran
v
For my mum Who read like the wind and loved books And who was always the first to read mine.vi
Contents
Chapter 1
Stuart Horten sat at the kitchen table and looked at the front page of the crummy little newspaper he’d just been given. Then, with a feeling of foreboding, he began to read.
THE BEECH ROAD GUARDIAN
Exclusive!!!
Beech Road resident (Stuart Horten, aged 10, but looks younger) discovers his lost great - uncle’s hidden magician’s workshop under the bandstand in Beeton park!!
Stuart Horten (10, but looks younger) moved to Beeton at the start of the summer holidays,2less than a month ago, but already claims to have made a huge discovery. His great-uncle, Tony Horten (known as ‘Teeny-tiny Tony Horten’ because he was very short), was a famous stage magician who disappeared in 1944, leaving the whereabouts of his workshop unknown.
It turns out that it is in a huge underground room beneath the bandstand in Beeton Park. This was revealed during last week’s Beeton Festival children’s talent contest, when the floor of the bandstand gave way while a group of ballet students was performing. Stuart admits that the collapse of the floor was his fault, because he turned an underground wheel ‘by accident’.
Stuart claims that he ‘worked out’ where the workshop was by ‘following clues’ – though he refuses to tell the Beech Road Guardian what those clues were. He also claims ownership of the contents of the workshop, which consist of various tools and workbenches, and a selection of magic tricks used in his great-uncle’s stage act. ‘They are definitely mine,’ 3claims Stuart. ‘My great-uncle left them to me.’
When asked if he could prove this in any way, he thought for a bit, and then admitted he couldn’t.
Beeton Museum has agreed to give a temporary home to the contents of the workshop. The curator, Rod Felton, said, ‘This is an exciting discovery for Beeton. Though not quite as exciting as if it had been some kind of Roman weapon, like a ballista.’
Stuart (10, but looks younger) claims that—
‘Why do your sisters keep writing that?’ asked Stuart indignantly.
‘Keep writing what?’ asked his friend and next-door neighbour, April Kingley, who’d brought him the paper. ‘You mean ten, but looks younger?’
‘No. The word claims. Stuart claims this, Stuart claims that. As if I was making it all up.’
April shrugged. ‘Reporters have to have proof.’
Stuart rolled his eyes. The Kingley triplets were always referring to themselves as ‘reporters’, as if 4they were writing for some important national newspaper, instead of a flimsy four-page hand-out, invented as a holiday project, printed out in their bedroom and forced on the neighbours.
‘I couldn’t exactly tell them the truth, could I?’ he asked. ‘I couldn’t tell them that I found a stash of magic threepences, hidden by my great-uncle, together with a note telling me to try and find his lost workshop. I couldn’t tell them that I put coins in old slot machines all over Beeton, which ended up leading me to the room under the bandstand. I couldn’t tell them that one of the stage illusions I found there was called the Well of Wishes, and it actually did grant wishes when you chucked in a coin. They’d think I was mad.’
He couldn’t face reading the rest of the article, and instead turned the paper over and looked at the back page.
LADY MAYORESS DISAPPEARS
Jeannie Carr, Mayoress of Beeton (and owner of the Tricks of the Trade Magic Trick Factory and5School of Stage Magic), has not been seen since she went to investigate the room underneath the bandstand. Her assistant, Clifford Capstone (42), claims she was so upset by the damage to the bandstand floor that she decided to resign as mayoress immediately and go on holiday – though he was unable to say where, or for how long.
‘Longer than you think,’ muttered Stuart. Yet another thing he couldn’t tell the other two Kingley sisters was that the ‘holiday’ mayoress Jeannie Carr had gone on was likely to be permanent, seeing as the Well of Wishes had transported both her and Stuart back to the 1880s, and only Stuart had returned.
‘I wonder what Clifford will do now?’ asked April idly. ‘I know he was desperate to be a magician, but I don’t think Jeannie ever taught him anything useful.’
‘Just took loads of his money,’ said Stuart. ‘And kept failing him on Grade Two Basic Magic Skills.’
There was no other news in the paper – only 6a list of jumble sales and rubbish collection times. Right at the bottom of the back page was a photograph captioned: Our ever-ready staff, April, May and June Kingley. The three clever-looking faces were identical, apart from the fact that April wore glasses.
‘Is the photo going to be changed,’ he asked her, ‘now that you don’t write for it any more?’
She shook her head. ‘I might stay on. I told June that I didn’t want to be the crime reporter any more, but then she said they were looking for an arts correspondent.’
‘A what?’
‘Someone who’ll write about local plays and exhibitions and things. And I thought it might be quite interesting so I’ve applied for the post. I’ve got an interview this afternoon.’
Stuart gaped at her. ‘An interview?’
‘Yes. We like to do things professionally. It’s at three o’clock, and they’ll let me know the result at four.’
Stuart tried not to laugh. In the short time he’d known April she’d proved herself to be clever, 7resourceful, courageous and loyal, the absolute best sort of friend to have if you were in trouble or in danger. But she was also (he had to admit) a bit of a know-all and one of the bossiest people he’d ever met in his entire life. And her sisters were even worse.
‘What are you smirking at?’ asked April.
‘Nothing.’
She looked at him suspiciously, and then the door opened and Stuart’s very tall father came into the kitchen.
‘Salve, o fili,’ he announced, just as the phone in the hall started to ring. He turned back to get it.
‘What did your dad just say?’ whispered April.
‘Salve, o fili. It’s Latin for “hello, son”. You know what he’s like.’
April nodded. Stuart’s father compiled crosswords for a living, and never used an ordinary, modern word if there was a medieval fourteen-letter alternative.
He reappeared after a few seconds. ‘A Mr Felton is desirous of communication with you,’ he said.
‘Hello,’ said Stuart cautiously, taking the phone. 8
‘Rod Felton, Head Curator at Beeton Museum here. You’re the youngster who claims to have found the magic tricks, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Stuart. ‘They belonged to my great-uncle.’
‘Well, we’ve had an idea that might interest you. As a matter of fact, it’s a job offer. You’re still on your summer holidays, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. For another fortnight.’
‘Excellent. If you come to the museum this afternoon, I’ll explain …’
Chapter 2
‘Hello, little chap,’ said the museum receptionist, smiling down at him. ‘Have you come for the Junior Fun Day story-telling session?’
‘No,’ said Stuart.
‘You get a special hat,’ she added encouragingly.
‘No,’ repeated Stuart between gritted teeth. People were always mistaking him for someone younger; it was one of the worst things about being short.
He continued up the corridor, and then hesitated outside the door of Rod Felton’s office.
‘What ails?’ enquired his father, who had come along too, mainly because the museum had a bookshop.
‘Do you think Mr Felton realizes that it was me who broke all that stuff?’ asked Stuart.
He was referring to an awful incident that had 10happened two weeks before. In a room filled with Victorian farm equipment, Stuart had accidentally nudged a large model of a dairymaid – which had shoved a cart wheel that had toppled a fake blacksmith which had knocked over an enormous artificial horse. The horse had lost an ear and a leg. Stuart’s father had written out a large cheque to cover the damage.
‘That is something that we shall imminently discover,’ said his father cautiously. He reached over Stuart’s head and knocked on the door.
‘Come in!’ called a keen voice. Rod Felton had a great many large teeth, and all of them were on display in a huge smile as Stuart entered the room. ‘Aha,’ he said. ‘The young horse-smasher and his dad.’
‘Hello,’ said Stuart with a sickly smile.
‘Sit down, sit down.’ While Stuart and his father squatted on two very low chairs, Rod Felton sat on the edge of his desk and looked down at them.
‘Sorry again,’ muttered Stuart. ‘About the horse, I mean. I honestly didn’t—’
Rod Felton held up a hand to stop him. ‘We’re prepared to forgive and forget,’ he said, ‘because we 11in the museum have had what I think is a terrific idea. Our ‘Beeton in Wartime’ exhibition has come to an end, and we have a two-week gap before ‘Roman Beeton’ opens, which is obviously going to be a huge crowd-pleasing mega-blockbuster. There’s going to be a half-size model of a triclinium and a working balneum.’
‘Would that be a triclinium stratum?’ asked Stuart’s father.
Rod Felton nodded so fast that his head was a blur. ‘It would indeed. The triclinia lecti are adapted for the accubatio and, excitingly, we also have a replica cathedra which was based on an illustration in the …’
Stuart sat like a lump of wood as the conversation whizzed over his head, most of it in Latin. After a minute or two he held up his hand, as if he were in class. After another minute or two Rod Felton noticed.
‘Yes?’ he asked.
‘You were saying about the terrific idea. To do with my great-uncle’s workshop …’
‘Oh yes, so I was. Well, you know that the 12museum offered to store the tricks until a more permanent home could be found for them.’
Stuart nodded.
‘Well, we thought that for the next two weeks, while ‘Roman Beeton’ is being set up and most of the galleries are closed, we could use a side room of the museum to display your great-uncle’s stage illusions – we thought we’d call it ‘Teeny-tiny Tony’s Temporary Tricks’. And – this is the terrific bit – we had the idea of making you the exhibition curator.’
‘Me?’ asked Stuart incredulously.
‘Yes. To demonstrate to other youngsters that the museum is for everyone, even people who’ve behaved badly in the past. You know – Once I was a vandal and now I’m a helper!’
‘I wasn’t a vandal,’ protested Stuart. ‘It was an accident.’
‘And it would be wonderful publicity,’ continued Rod Felton, ignoring the interruption, ‘what with you being a relative of Tony Horten. I think we could even get local television to cover it. So would you be interested?’
‘What would I have to do?’ 13
‘Welcome visitors, tell people about your great-uncle, answer questions about the exhibits and their history. Wasn’t there some story about a terrible fire?’
‘Yes, Great-Uncle Tony’s first magic workshop was in the Horten factory, but it got fire-bombed during the war, and every single illusion in it was totally destroyed, and his fiancée Lily – who was also his assistant – disappeared at the same time. And then Great-Uncle Tony rebuilt his tricks in the secret workshop under the bandstand, before disappearing himself four years later.’
‘Excellent,’ said the curator approvingly. ‘I can see you’d be very good at it. And you’d even have official identification.’ He picked up a small object from his desk and held it out to Stuart. It was a badge bearing a cartoon of a toddler wearing a gown and mortarboard, and it read:
14‘What do you think?’ asked Rod Felton.
Stuart hesitated. The badge was awful, the title stupid, and he was pretty certain that any visitors would either ignore him or laugh at him. On the other hand …
‘Would I be allowed to touch the exhibits?’ he asked hesitantly.
Rod Felton looked surprised. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘As exhibition curator you’d have to know all about the items under your care. Do you want to come and see them now?’
‘Yes please.’
Stuart started to follow Rod Felton out of the room, and then realized that his father was still sitting on the chair, staring blankly into space – his usual expression when thinking of a crossword clue.
Stuart nudged his arm. ‘Dad?’
His father reached into his pocket and took out a tiny notebook and pen. ‘Vegetable amidst effort becomes a specialist,’ he said dreamily.
‘What?’
‘The answer’s expert.’ 15
‘Is it?’
‘P – as in vegetable – in the middle of exert – as in effort.Expert. I’m really pleased with that one. And I’ve had another exciting thought—’
‘Dad, I’m just going to look at Great-Uncle Tony’s stuff.’
Mr Horten nodded vaguely. Stuart had long ago realized that his father’s definition of ‘exciting’ was different to most people’s. On a scale of 0–10 it would probably look something like this:
‘See you later, then,’ said Stuart, following the curator. 16
‘Beeton in Wartime’ was being dismantled. An air-raid shelter lay in pieces on the gallery floor, and a dummy wrapped in bandages was leaning against the wall, looking rather sinister.
‘Through here,’ said Rod Felton, opening a door that had previously been hidden behind a poster about air-raid precautions.
It led into a square, high-ceilinged room, with only a single window near the top of one wall. The curator clicked the light switch a couple of times and then tutted with impatience. ‘The bulb must have gone,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and find the caretaker. In the meantime, have a poke around. I’m sure I can trust you not to deliberately damage anything.’
‘It was an accident,’ said Stuart yet again, but the curator had already gone.
Stuart was alone in the room, with his great-uncle’s legacy.
Chapter 3
Stuart looked at the cluster of objects draped in dustsheets. When he had discovered Great-Uncle Tony’s workshop in the vast and gloomy room under the bandstand in the park, he’d had no time to explore it properly. Beeton Fire Brigade had declared the place unsafe, and Stuart and his companions had been hustled away before he could do more than glimpse most of the contents. Now he stepped forward and pulled at one corner of the nearest sheet.
It slid to the floor, revealing a tall oval cabinet, its surface smooth and ruby red. From the centre of the door protruded the glittering handles of four swords. Stuart reached up and, gripping the lowest, tried to pull the sword out of its slot. It was 18stuck fast. He let go again and took a step back. There was no lock or handle to the cabinet and no obvious way of opening it. He knocked on it softly, and heard the hollow boom of his knuckles.
‘Enjoy the workshop,’ he said in a whisper. ‘It has many surprises.’ Great-Uncle Tony himself had spoken those words to Stuart on the stage of a Victorian theatre, just five days (and a hundred and ten years) ago …
There was a noise behind him, and he turned to see Rod Felton coming into the room, holding a stepladder and a light bulb. Close behind him was April.
‘I got the job!’ she announced gleefully.
‘Which job?’
‘Reviewer for the Beech Road Guardian. And guess what the first thing I’m going to review is?’
‘What?’
‘This exhibition! Mr Felton’s just given me permission to see it – not that there’s much to see yet. Shall we take all the rest of the covers off?’
Before Stuart could protest, April had darted past him and was ripping the dustsheets off the 19other illusions. He felt as if he’d just woken up on Christmas morning and found that someone else was opening his presents. And then Rod Felton fitted the bulb and switched on the light, and the room that had been full of mystery and excitement just a second ago now looked like a brightly lit shop-window display.
‘Seven,’ said April. ‘Seven magic tricks.’
Rod Felton climbed back down the ladder and stood with his hands on his hips. ‘What we really need is a name and a short description for each illusion – how it works and so on. Do you think you could make a start on that for us, Stuart?’
‘I’ll try,’ said Stuart.
‘Right. I’ll leave you to it. Incidentally, er’ – he looked rather embarrassed – ‘er, your father’s still sitting in my office. He seems to be talking to himself. I don’t know how to get him out.’
‘Tell him the bookshop’s about to close,’ said Stuart.
The curator nodded and strode out, and the heavy door closed with a bang.
For a moment there was silence. 20
‘So do you know if these tricks even have names?’ asked April.
‘Some of them do,’ said Stuart. ‘When the mayoress was a little kid, she saw Great-Uncle Tony’s stage act – she told me about it.’ That had been on the first occasion he’d ever met the mayoress, Jeannie Carr, and he had learned two things about her: the first was that she loved magic tricks, and the second was that she loved money, to a quite frightening degree.
He began to walk around the room. ‘The Pharaoh’s Pyramid,’ he said, lightly touching a golden pyramid, taller than himself.
‘The Reappearing Rose Bower’ – a bronze throne entwined with silver wire and flowers enamelled in pink and scarlet.
‘The Book of Peril’ – a giant book, the jet-black cover locked by a huge key.
‘The Well—’
‘—of Wishes,’ finished April, and they both stood for a moment beside the object that had led them on such a manic and magical hunt through Beeton. 21
‘It’s odd …’ said April hesitantly.
‘What’s odd?’
‘The Well of Wishes doesn’t look quite the same as it did when it was in the room under the bandstand. I mean, it’s the same shape and everything, but …’
Stuart frowned. ‘It doesn’t look any different to me.’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t put my finger on what’s changed, but something has. Anyway, what’s this one called?’ she asked, pointing at a graceful arch made of mirrored glass.
Stuart had no idea, but telling April things she didn’t already know was a new and pleasant sensation, so he paused to invent something.
‘The Arch of Mirrors,’ he said, not very imaginatively. ‘And the next one’ – he took a moment to consider the giant fan, studded with turquoise jewels – ‘is the Fan of Fantasticness, and this one,’ he said, returning to his starting point, ‘is the Cabinet of Blood.’
‘Urgh,’ said April.
Like Stuart, she tried pulling at one of the 22swords, though unlike him she could reach the top one. ‘How do you open it?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘Do you see, the base of the cupboard’s resting on a sort of disc. I wonder …’ She gave the sword hilt a sideways push, and the whole cabinet spun round in a blur of red and gold. As the reflections flickered across the room, Stuart noticed something very strange. While the other illusions glinted and flashed in the spinning light, the Well of Wishes seemed to have lost its lustre. No light bounced across its surface. It was as dull as if carved out of rubber.
‘You’re right about the well,’ he said to April.
She nodded slowly, staring in the same direction as him. ‘Very peculiar,’ she said. ‘Anyway, do you want to start the descriptions? I’ll take your dictation – I’m a very fast writer.’ She whipped her purple reporter’s notebook out of her pocket and stood poised.
Stuart felt under pressure. ‘I’d better start with the book, I suppose,’ he said, ‘seeing as I know how it works.’ He had climbed into it while 23hiding from the mayoress in the room under the bandstand.
He walked over to the giant, upright book. The words open at your peril were written across the front in letters of silver and red. He turned the key and lifted the heavy front cover to reveal an empty interior.
April had followed him, still holding the notebook. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Fire away.’
Stuart cleared his throat. ‘When you open the front cover of this illusion, it just looks like a big, empty metal cupboard. But if you get inside it and close the front cover, then the back cover opens so that you can climb out the back without anyone seeing you. And then, if someone opens the front cover again, the back cover shuts automatically – so to the audience it just looks like an empty cupboard. And there’s a a sort of safety catch at the back which Tony Horten invented.’
He waited for April to stop scribbling. ‘Is that all right?’ he asked.
‘I’ll just sub it,’ she said. ‘That’s the phrase us journalists use for improving a story.’ She made 24some rapid notes, and what appeared to be a large number of crossings out.
‘OK.’ She read from her notebook. ‘A disappearing cabinet, in which the front and back covers cannot open simultaneously unless the Horten ready-release mechanism is operated.’ She looked up with a confident smile. ‘Next!’
‘Hang on,’ said Stuart, feeling a bit jangled. ‘There’s no hurry, is there? This is the first time I’ve had a chance to really look at everything.’
It was odd to think that no one (apart from himself) had used the trick in nearly fifty years. Great-Uncle Tony’s fingerprints were probably still on the inside.
He started to close the cover again, and as he did so, some marks on the floor of the cupboard caught his eye. He crouched down and frowned. Incised into the metal, in very small print, were the words:
AT YOUR PERIL
Chapter 4
‘That’s odd,’ said Stuart. ‘It says open at your peril on the front of the book, but down here it just says at your peril.’
April came up and peered over his shoulder at the tiny writing. ‘Very odd,’ she agreed. ‘And why are the words in a box?’
She was right. A rectangle about the size of a pack of cards had been incised around the writing.
There was a pause while they both stared at it.
‘You know what?’ said April. ‘It looks just like a small version of the front cover. Apart from the missing word.’
Stuart nodded. ‘Apart from open,’ he said softly. There was another pause, and then they spoke simultaneously. 26
‘I know—’
‘What if—’
‘—the answer!’
‘—it’s another door?’
They looked at each other, grinning.
‘The writing on the front cover’s an instruction,’ said Stuart. ‘Open at your peril!’
‘Except there’s no little key for the mini door,’ April pointed out. ‘And no handle.’
They squatted down beside the writing. April tried to prise open the tiny door with her finger-nails, but it wouldn’t shift. ‘So how do we do it?’ she asked.
Stuart thought about the puzzles that Great-Uncle Tony had set in the past. He thought about the very first puzzle: a tin with a base that unscrewed anticlockwise instead of the more usual clockwise. ‘What if it’s the opposite of what we expect?’ he asked. ‘The front cover opens if you pull it. So maybe with this one—’
April was there before him. She placed her fingers on the right side of the little door, and gave 27a push. There was a grating sound, and it sprang upward, revealing a shallow space beneath.
‘What’s that?’ she asked.
Stuart reached in and took out a small object wrapped in wrinkled brown paper. It was a six-spoked star made of dark, heavy metal, its surface slightly rippled as if it had melted and then cooled. It was shaped a bit like a miniature cartwheel, but minus the outer rim.
He turned it over on his palm. ‘I have no idea …’ he said slowly. ‘A Christmas decoration? Part of a toy?’
‘Hang on,’ said April. ‘Is there something else in there?’ She ran her fingers around inside the space and then shook her head. ‘No, I’m wrong. There’s just a short groove in the bottom.’
Stuart glanced at the crumpled paper that the star had been wrapped in, and with an exclamation began to smooth it out. ‘It’s a message!’ he said, peering at the faded capitals, and April jumped up so that she could read it over his shoulder. 28
YOU’VE FOUND MY WORKSHOP, BUT DO YOU WANT TO KEEP IT?
THIS STAR IS MADE FROM ALL THAT WAS LEFT OF THE FIRST WELL OF WISHES AFTER THE FIRE, FOR I’VE DISCOVERED THAT ONCE YOU START USING MAGIC, IT’S VERY HARD TO STOP.
IF YOU TRULY WANT TO BE THE OWNER OF THESE ILLUSIONS, USE THE STAR TO FIND THE LETTERS, AND WHEN YOU HAVE ALL SIX, THEY’LL
Stuart turned the note over and April groaned. There was a wide circular mark on the paper, almost as if someone had spilled bleach on it. It blotted out the whole centre of the message:
29On impulse, Stuart placed the metal star on the page. It was exactly the same size as the missing chunk of writing.
‘Strange,’ said April thoughtfully. ‘But you can still work out what some of the message says. The top bit’s about deciding if you really wish to keep the tricks, or whether you want to give them away to someone – but why would you want to give them away?’
‘Don’t know,’ replied Stuart, mystified. ‘And what does it mean, “Lead you to my W”? What word’s missing there?’
‘Winnings?’ suggested April. ‘Wand? Watch? Wardrobe?’
‘And the “old pal” bit. What’s that about?’
They looked at each other. ‘“Once you start using magic, it’s very hard to stop”,’ quoted April, her voice breathy. ‘It’s another puzzle, isn’t it? Another adventure?’
Stuart closed his hand over the star, and felt the six prongs dig into his skin. His heart was suddenly thumping; he felt both excited and slightly frightened, and he knew from April’s expression 30that she felt the same. The hunt for Great-Uncle Tony’s workshop had been a wild and exciting chase, sprinkled with danger and magic, and now another quest was beckoning. But for what? What was the prize this time?
He felt his hand tingle, and he knew that the object he was holding was so full of magic that over fifty years it had bleached the paper it was wrapped in; he could feel its power.
‘I think we should—’ he began, and then stopped as the door behind them opened.
‘Ah, I have located my offspring,’ said Stuart’s father, looking pleased. ‘I have just been warned by Mr Felton of the impending cessation of visitation hours.’
Stuart groaned in frustration. ‘It’s closing time,’ he translated, for April’s benefit.
‘He informs me that you may recommence your activities in the morn, the portals being flung wide at nine precisely.’
‘So we’ll start again tomorrow, then,’ whispered Stuart. ‘See you here at nine on the dot?’
‘Quarter past nine. I’ve got to deliver the Beech31Road Guardian midweek edition first. You won’t touch anything till I get here, will you?’
Stuart hesitated. He wanted to start searching for clues this second, and the thought of hanging around even for an extra quarter of an hour felt almost unbearable.
‘Please,’ said April.
Stuart nodded reluctantly. ‘OK.’
That evening, Stuart’s mother arrived home even later than usual. She was a research doctor in a hospital near Beeton, and most of her days were spent peering through a microscope. Most of her evenings, however, were spent worrying about Stuart (at least, that’s what it felt like to him). Unlike his father, she spoke in plain English, and mainly in questions.
‘So, do you feel that you’re starting to settle down in Beeton?’ she asked, sitting on the end of his bed.
Stuart closed his hand over Great-Uncle Tony’s message, which he’d been studying. ‘Sort of,’ he said. He and his parents had only moved to the town 32four weeks ago, at the beginning of the summer holidays, but it had been four weeks packed with incident, and in some ways he felt as if he’d been living there for years.
‘And you’ve made really good friends with the little girls next door?’
‘Sort of,’ said Stuart again. He was certainly friends with April, but the other two triplets were another matter.
‘And you’re not getting too bored?’
‘No,’ said Stuart, relieved to get an easy question. ‘I’m not getting bored at all.’
‘Because one of my colleagues is running a junior statistics course for keen young mathematicians next week. I could get you a place on it, if you like.’
‘No thank you,’ said Stuart quickly. ‘I’ve got tons to do. For a start, I’m curating an exhibition at the museum.’
‘Really?’ His mother looked astounded. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Didn’t Dad tell you? But he was there when they asked me. He was sitting right next to me.’ 33
She shook her head, her expression worried.
‘Oh well.’ Stuart shrugged. ‘You know what Dad’s like. He was probably trying to think of a long word at the time, and didn’t notice.’
His mother smiled, but the worried look remained. ‘The thing is,’ she said, ‘I’ve just been asked if I can go to a conference in Singapore. It’s very last minute – I’d be replacing a colleague who’s ill, and I’d be away for nearly ten days. And I’d have to fly out tomorrow afternoon.’
She looked at him anxiously. ‘Would that be all right?’
‘Of course it would.’
‘Can you and Dad manage?’
‘Of course we can. I mean, we’ll miss you, but—’
