Jig ran back to the boys and held the box of matches aloft, triumphant.
‘Have them.’
Spikey and Dizzy Dylan stood guard over the mound of old tyres a guy had dumped from the back of a van.
‘I got these out of me ma’s bedroom,’ Jig said, laughing. ‘She’ll be banging the walls looking for them in a minute.’
‘Get some paper,’ Spikey shouted.
Dizzy and another boy ran around, grabbing up armfuls of newspapers, cartons and cardboard.
‘Put them inside the tyres,’ Spikey said.
Jig struck the match. The paper went up quickly. They sat and watched the flame spread and grow. More rubbish was raided.
Jig looked around as kids gathered, jumping up and down at the small curls of flames. The smoke got thicker and dirtier.
Kids coughed and smacked each other on the back, laughing and spluttering. Some hopped from one foot to another, dancing.
The coughing became heavier. The black smoke covered half the green. Jig could see arms reach out through blinds to shut windows, and laughed.
Jig, Spikey and Dizzy moved away from the smoke as it billowed and sat closer to the canal and watched. Their fire coughed away like a dirty old train.
Jig noticed a few people were putting more stuff out. There were bits of tables and beds, mattresses, bags of rubbish and even a big old television.
He jumped up and the others followed.
They ran from one house to the fire and back again.
The sky opened up just as Jig spotted a three-seater sofa.
‘Bingo,’ Jig shouted. ‘Give us a hand here.’
Kids ran from everywhere. Jig and Spikey marshalled their army, and heaved the sofa towards the green.
There was a stinking wet smell from the fire now and a toxic black smoke.
A man came out and moved his car down the road. Jig led the loud laughs and nodded to himself in satisfaction.
He looked at his phone. It was still only six o’clock.
He had another two hours of freedom.