Dangerous to Know Read Free

one you come to. We’ve got blue wristbands so it should be fine. But we should have been there, like, fifteen minutes ago. Mum told me to take a taxi from the station, gave me the number of one and everything.”
    “Well, where’s the number? Let’s call it.” Jono stamped out his fag butt on the pavement and took a drag of cider, passing me the bottle.
    Sammy grinned. “Lost it. Anyway, there’s no phone box, is there?”
    “Waste of money,” I said. “Let’s walk.”
    So we did.
    By about eleven we’d found the festival site, thanks to Bethany and her Bronze Duke of Edinburgh Award, and we were utterly knackered. It was hilly round there. Even Sammy was moaning about his feet, and mine were killing me, too. Luckily, we were also quite drunk and slightly stoned, so no one was cold. The cider was bloody heavy: it made more sense to drink it, but we’d had to stop what seemed like a hundred times; five minutes after one of us had gone for a piss, someone else would need one and this was pretty funny, but maybe you had to be there. We’d been able to hear the music for about half an hour before we got within striking distance: a dull, low beat getting louder.
    “There’s the blue gate,” Bethany said. We hung back near the hedge, not wanting to be spotted by the guys in fluorescent yellow coats.
    “I could go and tell them we’re on the staff list,” Sammy said, sounding hopeful. “They might let us in even though the gate’s shut. Mum’s bound to have remembered to put us on. She got in a right stress about it.”
    But just then a knackered old Ford Transit pulled up right by the gate, blinding us with its headlights on full beam. “Hi, mate,” I heard the driver say in this really posh voice. “We’re staff. Shantih Café. I’ve got a van full of chocolate brownies that need to get into the fridge within the hour.”
    “Sorry, mate, I can’t let you in here. Cut-off was ten p.m.”
    “It’s not even eleven yet. We got stuck in traffic outside Bristol. Listen, can’t you get hold of Damian? Damian Rhys-Edwards? He’s site manager.”
    “Gate opens again at eight-thirty tomorrow, mate.”
    “I’m sorry, but can you just radio Damian? Or Rebecca? We really need to get in tonight. I can’t lose this stock. I’ve got a thousand chocolate brownies back there.”
    “Sorry, mate.”
    “Shit,” whispered Jono, “They’re being really strict. What are we going to do?” His voice sounded kind of ragged and strung out. I hoped he wasn’t going to lose the plot.
    “It’s cool,” I said, very quietly. “Don’t worry.” About a hundred yards past the gate, I could see white give-way markings painted on the road and a shadowy gap in the hedge: a lane running parallel to the site.
    I beckoned to the others and walked right past the gate while the chocolate brownie guy was still arguing with security. I didn’t look behind me, but I sensed Bethany, Jono and Sammy following. We scarpered down the lane, filled with sudden terror that the fluorescent blokes might have spotted us after all and become suspicious.
    It was time to stage a break-in.

THREE
    All this began with a sofa Mum got from the small ads in the back of the paper. She needed a hand to lift it and Louis had a faculty meeting that night, so I met her at the hospital after school. She was running late, as usual. I sprawled in a canteen chair with a cup of black coffee – the least toxic thing I could find on the menu – trying not to breathe the scent of burnt cheese and disinfectant. It’s no smoking in there so I was gasping for a fag, but not desperate enough to stand out in the rain like the old dudes leaning on Zimmer frames by the fire escape, cheerfully gasping their last.
    I was the only customer except a couple of women. One was that sour-faced heifer Nadine who works on the reception desk. Every time I went in, she looked at me like I was going to nick her handbag. The other I’d never seen before. She was a proper