January Read Free

within a brown paper bag.
Plus there were too many big notes. From what he’d seen, there were no fivers and definitely no coins. Plus, five thousand was a precise amount; no business would take such an exact figure
over the course of a day. This was something else.
    Chris was talking so quickly that his words blended into one: ‘Clarkey’s got this mate who’s selling a go-kart. Not one of those little ones, a proper racing thing. He was
talking about buying it so he could enter the national championships. Reckoned that’s where F1 scouts find their drivers. We could spend the money on that . . .’
    Kitkat thought about the way the spiky-haired server at the drive-thru had looked at him. There’d been something there, as if he
meant
to give Kitkat the money.
    Except that they didn’t know each other.
    Was it mistaken identity? Did Kitkat look like another person to whom the money actually belonged? And, if so, what sort of dodgy business was going on where he would be collecting five grand
from a drive-thru window at midnight?
    ‘What shall we do with it?’ Chris asked.
    Kitkat finally turned to face his passenger.
‘We?’
    There was a smear of yellowy-brown grease around Chris’s mouth. ‘Yeah, er . . .’
    ‘
I
don’t know what
I’m
going to do with it yet. I’ll probably return it.’
    Chris seemed outraged by the idea: ‘What if it’s like a Happy Meal thing?’
    ‘What, instead of a toy with your meal, you get five grand in used notes?’
    Chris shrugged. ‘I dunno . . . maybe. You can’t return it, though. It’s not as if anyone’s going to miss it.’
    ‘You don’t think someone’s going to miss five thousand?’
    ‘Er . . .’ Chris returned to his bucket of chicken, adding: ‘I’m only saying, like . . .’
    Kitkat’s fingers hovered on the key in the ignition. He could return to the fast-food place and give the bag back to the server who’d given it to him and yet . . .
    ‘I’m going to hang onto it,’ Kitkat said, removing the keys.
    Chris nodded enthusiastically. ‘P’raps we can meet up for a beer tomorrow and decide what to do with it? I’ll have a word with Clarkey and . . .’
    ‘No.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Don’t talk to anyone about it. Not your brother or your mum and
definitely
not Clarkey or your other mates.’
    ‘All right, all right . . .’ Chris reached for the door handle, spreading a smear of grease across the plastic. ‘I’ll text you, yeah, and we’ll sort something
out?’
    Kitkat grasped the bag and leant against the headrest.
    ‘Yeah . . .’
    The flat was empty as Kitkat pushed his front door closed and headed along the hallway. If his dad had been home he’d have been snoring in front of the television, but
the only sound was the vague echo of fireworks farting into the air on the next estate over. Kitkat leant against the doorframe of the living room peering into the darkness, wondering in which
boozer his father had ended up celebrating the new year.
    As if it mattered.
    He turned and edged towards his bedroom, peering cautiously towards the kitchen beyond just in case his dad was home. With no sign of movement, he entered his room and sat on the bed, running
through the events of the evening. The carrier bag weighed heavily in his hands.
    Five grand.
    It was definitely somebody else’s money but, through whatever twist of fate, it had ended up in his hands. He’d been without a job since leaving school, bumming around the estate and
doing odd jobs here and there. The last thing he wanted was to end up like Chris Green, nicking lead from roofs and fantasising over get-rich schemes that’d never come off. He wanted a proper
job, something that would earn him money to get out of living with his dad on this hellhole estate. Now he had five thousand, enough to get his own flat somewhere nicer. Enough to buy a suit or
something else he could use for interviews. If Chris had ended up with the money, it’d be gone on mad plots hatched with