I hadn’t thought it through. Not carefully enough anyway. I thought, with the key, we’d be in and out in no time. Stupid, that’s what I was, I’d forgotten all about the chain. I don’t know how I’d forgotten it. Ruth always said that she couldn’t sleep without the chain on. More than once, I’d listened to her pleading with Jubrel to go down and check it.

‘Go on you cruel, cruel man, you’d leave your poor woman’s house defenceless.’

Jubrel would go in the end, the stairs creaking beneath him.

So Em and his stupid brother stood in front of the house, the door ajar. All that remained between us and tickets to our father was a metal chain.

It had taken me a long time to persuade Em to come. But eventually I had convinced him it was just a loan. We’d repay it as soon as we could.

‘What do we do now?’ Em hissed.

It was dark, the street lights making circles up and down the pavement. We were in shadow. Two o’clock in the morning was an eerie time to be out. All we’d seen on the way over was a mangy fox. It stalked across the road, paying us no more notice than it did the parked cars.

To each side of the door were small windows, stained glass on the right and frosted on the left. Ruth had told me that they both used to be stained glass. They’d had to break one when they’d locked themselves out. So I knew what to do.

I placed my hand on the glass and mimed for Em’s benefit.

He considered the glass for a moment, scratched his head, then nodded. ‘Do it,’ he whispered.

So I did.

The night’s chill silence was shattered as the glass fell away. I nearly added a cry to the crash; I’d struck the window with my palm and didn’t need to hold it up to the distant street light’s glow to know that it was cut, badly. My thumb throbbed, each pulse a wave of pain. I bit down hard.

We listened for a moment. No sound. It seemed our breaking had gone unnoticed. Now for the entering. I thrust my bleeding hand through the jagged, toothed opening, taking care not to slice it further. It was not a long reach round to the catch. I unhooked it and we were in.

I feared the stairs. Their ominous creaking could be our undoing. We took each one slowly, trying to put as much weight as we could on to the banister, pushing ourselves up more than stepping. Slowly, slowly we made our way to the top.

On the landing, we stopped and listened. Em’s breathing was heavy behind me. In the distance a siren sounded. We couldn’t hear a peep from further into the house. Normally Jubrel’s snores could be heard throughout the building. I was surprised that all was quiet.

A minute passed before I beckoned my brother forward. Thankfully the door to the study swung open soundlessly. Here, Em waited. He was the ears now.

I crept on. A photo of my former carers glared down at me from the wall and my own beaming face was framed on the desk along with a host of other children.

The filing cabinet was opposite the large photo of Ruth and Jubrel. I was thankful that I could turn my back on their accusatory look, but as soon as I did my shoulders prickled. I felt as if I was being watched.

At first I fumbled with the dials, squinting in the dark to pick out the miniscule numerals. It felt like minutes before I had the first number.

1

The second one came easier, even though my hands were damp with sweat.

1

As I tried to find the next, my brother entered the room and pulled the door to behind him.

‘Prince,’ he whispered into the gloom. ‘That siren, I’m pretty sure it’s coming this way.’

I didn’t answer. What was there to say? Besides, I nearly had the third number.

2

I could hear the siren myself now, and a car, screeching down the road. My hands began to shake. Car doors slammed and the final dial clicked into place.

0

I yanked open the top drawer, quickly grasped the passports and slammed it shut.

‘Police!’ a voice yelled from downstairs as I slid the passports into my pocket and Em swore. ‘Show yourselves.’

I pulled at the second drawer. It jammed, the top drawer still slightly open. I pushed, pulled, reached in and grasped the wooden box.

A light went on downstairs as my brother whispered, ‘What do we do now?’

Have you ever had one of those crisis moments where everything just happens? You don’t need to think, your brain and your body act as one. This was definitely one of those.

Without a word to my brother I reached for the window clasp, unlocked it and wrenched the pane open. The stairs began to creak.

I jumped.

The five minutes before had rocketed by, but now as I hung in the air, I had a moment of clarity. Of course we’d woken Ruth and Jubrel with the breaking glass and, being sensible, they’d phoned the police.

For a second time I was thankful. If my foster carer had taken it on himself to chase us off, he would definitely have recognised me. That was the last thing I wanted.

I careered into the bushes below. I had aimed carefully and the shrubbery broke my fall. I was quickly on my feet, the wooden box clutched to my chest. My brother crash-landed behind me, swearing again, this time loudly. He, too, got up, but hobbled as we raced down the garden.

Em, injured, needed a bunk over the fence and cried out as he landed on the other side. I hauled myself over to another shout of ‘Police,’ this time followed by ‘Stop!’

We didn’t.

Ruth and Jubrel’s garden backed on to another. We ran towards the house that loomed above us in the dark, and down the side alley. For a third time that night I gave thanks. The gate at the end was bolted, but not locked.

We couldn’t run fast – Em’s ankle was hurting him badly. But we ran fast enough. Before we knew it we were gasping for breath at the bottom of our flats with no sounds of pursuit to be heard.

We’d done it. We were thieves again.