Gabriel Avery hadn’t picked a pocket in weeks and the tips of his fingers were starting to itch.
Summer was fast coming to an end and each week fewer tourists were passing through Torbridge, which meant fewer pockets for Gabriel to pick. Even the tourists who did come never stayed in the village long. After all, there were only so many photos someone could take of the town’s main attraction – a hideous granite boulder-bridge – before getting bored and leaving. Thankfully for Gabriel, a steady trickle of commuters still passed through daily. No doubt on the way to faraway places where wonderfully exciting things happened.
Gabriel had only lived in Torbridge for a year and already he felt that pretty much anywhere else would be more exciting.
It was early on a Monday morning and Gabriel was leaning against the wall of the train station waiting for the next train to pull in. Soon the platform would be alive with people changing to head north to Exeter or south to Cornwall. But at the moment, only two men in dark suits waited, and they were backlit by the rising sun so Gabriel couldn’t get a good look at them.
Probably locals, he thought, yawning. He never picked a local’s pocket. They’d only recognise him and tell Grandma. And after his most recent incident he was already in her bad books.
Come to think of it, Gabriel wasn’t sure he’d ever been in Grandma’s good books since they’d moved to Torbridge.
It was before eight and everyone getting off the trains would be grumpy, tired and, best of all, completely uninterested in Gabriel. Which meant he could move between them like a twinkle-fingered ghost. Excitement raced through him at the thought. For the last few weeks he’d been so busy helping Grandma at the mansion that he hadn’t been back here, and man did he miss it.
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