Dear Scarlett Read Free Page B

scrape on the gravel.
    This is crazy.
    I watch my fingers laying the open padlock on the step.
    Mad.
    I must be mad.
    I stop.
    I could just leave.
    Or I could go further.
    Inside, there’s the money box, built into the wall. It’s got a different sort of lock. I peer across at it in the gloom.
    I should turn round now and lock up the shed.
    But instead I reach into the pouch. I pull out a lumpy pick, but it’s obviously the wrong thing, so I reach for another set of picks; they’re heavier.
    Ping
.
    The tiny door creaks open. I put my hand in and I can feel notes; masses of pound coins. Real money. But I like Mr Hammond and I don’t think Dad would have stolen from him. It feels wrong, so I won’t touch anything.
    But now I know that I could be…
    …I could be a burglar too.

My Big Mistake
    Monday morning.
    Nearly five o’clock.
    I think I’ve been awake all night. Ellie went home yesterday and my room smells almost normal again. I’ve done nothing about Dad’s box, except hang the poxy key around my neck on an orange shoelace and wonder why he gave it to me now.
    I imagine, Dad was trying to tell me something. But I can’t see what. It feels like it’s all a big clue to something. But I can’t work it out. Perhaps he should have waited until I was older; I might have been cleverer.
    He left me his tools, so he must have wanted me to break into things. So I will, and I’ll do it properly. I’ve been thinking about the equivalent of a jewel robbery in Dampington, and I think I’ve come up with exactly the right target.
    A mission.

    Downstairs, Houdini looks hopeful, so I feed him. Then, tucking the roll of picklocks under my arm, I slip out.
    There are no cars. No one’s up, but it’s nearly light out here and the birds think it’s morning. The grass is wet under my feet, and nettles brush my legs as I take the footpath past the airfield into town.
    This feels like a dream, I can’t possibly be doing it in real life.
    My spine’s tingling. My blood’s turned back to fizz again. I have to stop and breathe for a minute, because part of me feels like I could explode.
    “Hey!” I shout at the fields. A single crow takes off from a phone line and flaps off, creaking and screeching.
    “HEY!”
    I wait.
    This time, nothing moves. There was only me and the crow, and now he’s gone.
    I walk on. I keep thinking of Dad. I’m doing what he did. I’m on a job, an early morning visit to a rich person’s house, to relieve them of unwanted jewellery. In order to succeed, I must move like a wraith through the town. No one must ever know I’ve been here – even a footprint could land me in it.
    When I reach Dampmouth Bay, I slip down a side alley and stay absolutely still. The streets are empty. There are noises down in the harbour, but nothing up here in the town.
    I stay there waiting for the longest possible time, listening to myself breathing in and out, in and out.
    I could just go home.
    Abandon the whole thing.
    But I don’t.
    I walk a little further.
    Just off the high street is Ye Olde Sweete ’n’ Toys Shoppe. One window’s crammed with jars and lollipops and tins of stripy candy. The other, Nerf guns, Lego and Playmobil.
    I stand to one side as if I just happen to be there,waiting by the wall for a lift at five-thirty in the morning.
    Listening, I can’t hear anyone around, no footsteps, no cars, but I think up an excuse.
“I was window shopping, it’s my brother’s birthday.”
    Not great, but it’ll do if anyone appears now, this second. I put my hand on the doorknob, slip one of the picks into the lock and I don’t even stop to think what I’m doing.
    Clunk, clunk, clunk
.
    Nothing happens.
    A tiny pulse of panic starts on the side of my head. Bet this never happened to Dad.
    I pull out the longest pick.
    Clunk, clunk, ping
.
    I turn the knob and the door opens a crack.
    If an alarm goes off, I’m dead. I hold my breath for at least a minute, but nothing happens, the shop just breathes