Dear Scarlett Read Free Page A

bedroom smell funny, so all I can see is her, and her dad. Her bag’s like a magic washing-powder stink dispenser, a sort of blue clean smell that smothers everything else. Even Syd’s baby wipes. Their whole house pongs of it.
    I wonder what ours smells of. Baking? Soup? Poo?
    Ellie’s is the only house I ever go to these days, and she’s the only person that ever comes here. The boys used to; Sam Lewis was round all the time, but he’s into football now. The boys at our school have always been more fun than the girls. All the girls are prize horrors and I wouldn’t want to bring them home. I certainly wouldn’t want to go to their houses, and I’m really glad they never ask me.
    I think their mums are scared of us. After all, Dad was a criminal.
    But Ellie – honestly, what did I do wrong in a former life to be landed with
her
?
    I roll on to my stomach and put my handsaround the bars at the end of the bunk and stare at the wall.
    I suppose Ellie’s different; she doesn’t have any friends, boys or girls, she’s only got me because of Uncle Derek and Mum, and we’ve only got Uncle Derek because he towed out Mum’s car when we got stuck in the mud. He’s not bothered about Dad, but then he’s used to dealing with criminal types.
    Although I’m not sure I’d really describe Ellie as a friend.
    If she is a friend, she’s very annoying.
    Are friends supposed to be that irritating?
    I turn on to my back, and press my feet up against the underside of Ellie’s bunk. I could tip her out.
    Or, I could take a look at Dad’s tools.
    I think of them lying there in the moonlight, waiting for me, only fifteen centimetres away. It’s unbearable, so I reach out under the bed for the bundle of picklocks, gently closing my hand around the leather pouch.
    I clamber over Ellie’s electronic equipment – DS, phone, iPod – all plugged in and glowing in the corner of my bedroom. For a moment I’m tempted to pull out the leads, but I think her gadgets areprobably her true friends, and that, although just like Ellie and her dad, they’re really annoying, it would be wrong.

    Downstairs, Houdini the cat’s licking his bottom in the moonlight. He only comes out when Syd’s gone to bed.
    He breaks off to rub his jaw against my knee. I unroll the tools and he pads over them, making them clink.
    “My dad was a burglar, and he’s left me his tools,” I whisper to Houdini but he just scratches himself on the corner of the sofa.
    I run my fingers over the tools. I need to try them. I need to have a go. They’re cold and heavy in my hand. I pad through the moonlight into the kitchen. Uncle Derek’s parked his running shoes by the back door, next to Mum’s wellies. I tiptoe around and pull back the bolt.
    Now what?
    I stand on the wet gravel. The moon’s reflected in the watercress beds. I can hear the stream running into the big tank at the bottom.
    The moonlight falls on Mr Hammond’s wooden watercress shed. It’s got a big padlock danglingfrom the door and inside there’s a locked honesty box, where people pay for the watercress.
    The gravel’s cold and sharp under my feet, and I try not to let it crunch. An owl hoots off in the trees behind the airfield. Something rustles in the hedge and something else squeals.
    I lay Dad’s tools on the ground, and choose one of the picks. I’ve no idea what I’m doing, but I stick the longest in the lock and fiddle about.
    Nothing happens.
    I take the smallest. Again, nothing happens.
    Perhaps this burgling thing is more difficult than it seems.
    I try three more before anything feels like it might happen. There’s a pick with a thick end. I slip it gently into the padlock, and this time something moves. It’s as if my hand holding the padlock can feel the inside, almost as if I can see it. I use my left hand to hold the pick, I don’t know why, but it feels right.
    Ping
. “Yes.”
    The lock falls open.
    It slips off easily, and I lift the door so that it doesn’t