I know you disapprove. You think that nicking those shoes was wrong, and the truth is I have to agree with you. Which is why I’m telling you all this. But at that time, the wrongness of what I did was what made it work for me. I felt as if I’d outsmarted everyone by not playing according to their stupid rules. Also, because it was wrong, it bound me to Ritchie. It was our secret. Nobody else knew what we were up to – at least, then. And besides, the very next day I had the glimmering of an idea how I could salve my conscience.
But first I have to tell you what happened when I got into school on Wednesday.
Paula came up to me with that look in her eyes, the one girls get when they’re getting ready for a good gossip. “I saw you down The Broadway yesterday afternoon,” she said.
I went scarlet. I thought, She knows. She saw us in Shoe World. The whole thing’s over. Seen through Paula’s eyes, our escapade with the shoes seemed shoddy, cheap, worthless and common.
“Go on, then,” Paula continued. “Spit it out. What were you doing with that new boy?”
So she didn’t know. It was Ritchie and me together she saw, and she thought I was going out with him. By this time a little audience had assembled, consisting of Janette, Karen and Mandy. Mandy was chewing; every so often you could see a flash of white as she moved the gum around in her mouth. Janette was applying lip balm with her index finger.
“What’s going on?” squealed Karen.
“That Craig Ritchie is Anna’s new bloke,” Paula stated.
I was surrounded. I could feel their combined curiosity tugging at my secret. But I played it cool. “He’s not my bloke exactly,” I said. “He’s a kind of mate.”
“You’re a quick worker,” Paula said. “So why’s he not been in school? You got him hidden away somewhere? In a little love nest?” It was hard to tell with Paula whether she was being straight or sarky.
“Yeah,” I parried. “Doing my every bidding.”
All the girls laughed. I was glad. I’d said the right thing. Even though I’m a girl myself, girls in a group make me nervous.
“Why hasn’t he been in school, Anna?” Karen continued.
“He got fed up,” I said.
“Can’t blame him,” Paula commented, losing interest.
“But are you going out with him?” Karen nudged.
I just smiled – enigmatically, I hoped. Because at that precise moment in time I wanted to think I was going out with Ritchie. It was probably pure vanity and a desire to impress the girls, mixed up together. But then, if I hadn’t fancied him, the sheer thought of us being an item would have disgusted me. Ritchie didn’t disgust me. The opposite, in fact. There was something hard and definite about him that made him more real to me than anyone else in my life.
Then the teacher came in to take the register and the usual chaos ensued. I was left with a sort of glow. I was happy. The happiness persisted throughout registration, all along the corridor and up the stairs to the English room, and even during the lesson itself. It was still Macbeth. The bottom sets only saw the video and looked at a scene or two. We had to read the whole bloody thing. And discuss it with the teacher. The swots were getting into their stride.
“But what I don’t understand,” Rachel said to Mrs Keane, “was why Macbeth never told Lady Macbeth he was going to get Banquo murdered. Because she would have approved. She was harder than him.”
Rachel loved doing that – spotting stuff in the text that nobody else did. Mrs Keane enthused accordingly.
“Absolutely! Another of those little puzzles that Shakespeare loves to leave us.”
“She wasn’t just hard,” Elizabeth added. “I would say she was evil.”
“Now where’s your evidence for that?” Mrs Keane asked. The three of them usually kept any discussion going all lesson. Elizabeth supplied the evidence, but I was feeling mutinous. I didn’t much like the swots and, anyway, I thought they were wrong about Lady M.
“She isn’t evil,” I said. “She loved Macbeth, and she wanted what he wanted even more than he did.”
“Interesting!” gushed Mrs Keane.
But I wasn’t going to say any more. I understood only too well what was going on in Lady Macbeth’s mind. I recognised that denial – the way you pretend to yourself and the way you pretend to others. I guessed she also had that feeling of walking a tightrope, and not looking down for fear of losing your footing. Yeah, I could relate to Lady M – which was weird. I wasn’t evil, was I? Lady Macbeth was, because she said that gruesome stuff about killing her own babies if she had to. And also, she was ambitious. And selfish. No – I wasn’t like her. Me and Ritchie were different. Like we’d said, we weren’t the Macbeths. We were Robin Hoods. From now on, I vowed, we’d pick and choose our activities very, very carefully. And we wouldn’t benefit from them. We’d make sure others benefited. We’d operate outside the law, but for the right reasons. So I decided to text Ritchie at break now he’d got his phone working and ask him to meet me later. There were things I wanted to talk about and plans I wanted to make.
* * *
“Helping people?” Ritchie’s voice was incredulous.
“Why not?” I countered.
It was raining and so, of all places, we’d ended up in the Launderette in Fairfield. There was a small parade of shops – chippie on the corner, newsagent’s, hairdresser’s, a boarded-up shop and the Launderette. The smell of washing powder pinched my nostrils. The machines clanged and clattered as we talked. Sheets and towels and pillowcases and T-shirts getting cleaner and cleaner by the second.
“Like you’ve said, it’s unfair,” I explained. “Life’s unfair. But we’re good at what we do – the way we got those shoes yesterday. We could make things a bit more fair. Ritchie?”
His face was unreadable and it made me uneasy. It reminded me how little I knew him. Funny how you can be obsessed with someone and think about them pretty much all the time, have the most important experiences of your life with them, and not know them. I’d picked up that Ritchie was a fairly private person. He’d told me hardly anything about his home life apart from those few, sparse facts in the park on Sunday afternoon. He lived alone with his mum; it sounded like he had a bit of contact with his dad, though they probably didn’t get on well. Maybe he was waiting to know me better before he told me more. This was reasonable. I had to be patient. Which was fine, really it was fine. Had he spilt everything out to me at the beginning, I would have valued him less. His reserve made him attractive to me.
“You do fancy him!” teased an inner voice.
“Well?” I persisted. I dug Ritchie in the side with my elbow.
“Explain what you mean exactly,” he said.
“Well, like, if we knew someone, someone who’d had a hard time, or who needed money. And we made things better for them, or found them some money. By maybe nicking something and giving it to them.”
Ritchie looked thoughtful. “Taking it from someone who deserved to be ripped off. Some bastard.”
“Yeah!”
He laughed, and I felt I was getting somewhere. One of the washing machines banged repeatedly and then came to a halt. The silence seemed to expose us, and I found myself whispering.
“Do you know anyone who needs a few quid, Ritch?”
“Me. I need a few quid.”
“Apart from you.”
“Lemme think.”
Two women came in then and gave us a suspicious once-over. So we got up. The rain had stopped anyway. We walked until we came to the main road and sat on a wall by the bus stop.
“What I can’t stand,” Ritchie said, “are the bastards who nick stuff off old people. You know, the ones who pretend to be gasmen or plumbers and get inside their houses and take their benefit books. It’s like taking from your own. A few weeks ago this old lady near us let these blokes in who said they were council workers. They nicked loads off her. We know about it because she stops and tells everyone. We should get the bastards who conned her.”
“That might not be possible, but couldn’t we get back some of her money?”
This was more like it. Ritchie and I were thinking as one again. That was what I liked best. The traffic swished past us on the wet roads. I know I was prattling a bit, but I was excited.
“We could go back and do another shop – not in Fairfield, somewhere else, in case we’re recognised. Just me and you. Maybe in town. But the problem is, we need money, and it’s not easy to steal money, is it? What can we do?”
“To get money,” Ritchie said, “you need money. That’s how big business works. It’s how we could work. You know, I heard of this idea, once, only it’s pretty complicated.”
“Spill,” I instructed him.
This couple walked into the bookshop – you know the one – there’s a chain of them, there’s probably one where you live. But I’m not naming names, for obvious reasons. But this couple – they were obviously students. The bloke was wearing a black and white bandanna, tatty black sweater and jeans. The girl with him – his girlfriend? – had a rucksack slung over one shoulder, a copy of the Big Issue poking out of the top. She wore some black Bench trousers and a Kangol T-shirt. Her hair was in cutesy little bunches. The couple didn’t stop and look at the special offers and recommendations at the front of the shop, but made for the stairs and went to the first floor, where the non-fiction was.
“It’s a matter of seizing your opportunity,” Ritchie muttered to me, rubbing his bandanna where his scalp was itchy.
“Uh-huh,” I said to him. “I’ve checked out the ceiling. There aren’t any CCTVs.”
“Bookshops are cool because, if you’re lucky, you can rip out the security strips, if they’re stuck to Cellophane,” he commented.
Also, I thought, bookshops were cool because they were mainly arranged in alcoves. I cast my eyes over to the cash desk where there were two assistants. One was dealing with a customer but the other was staring idly into space. We made sure we had our backs to him, looking as if we were just browsing.
“How do you feel, Anna?” Ritchie asked.
“OK. Good.” Which was true. I was completely happy. I loved being with Ritchie like this. I was totally focused on what we were about to do, living completely in the moment. I checked my rucksack was open, and took a moment to calm my breathing. Ritchie steered me over to the alcove in the far corner. A notice read, Psychology.
“Find a book that there are several copies of,” he said. “Something we can afford.”
We’d scraped together all of our available resources: the money mum gave me for school, including twelve quid for a theatre trip I was supposed to be going on, some change lying around the house, and some money Ritchie said he was owed by Loz’s brother, which I didn’t ask any questions about. We had just over thirty quid with us in total. I began to browse through the psychology shelves, Ritchie standing guard protectively. I knew he was giving the cash desk sidelong glances.
“Educational Psychology Today, that’s twenty quid. Psychology and Social Policy, thirty. Crime and the Individual, fifteen. Young Offenders, twenty. Understanding Crime in Modern Society, thirty. There are five copies—”
“Now!” urged Ritchie.
I’d been waiting for this. In an instant I tore off the security tag and shoved the book in my rucksack. Time stood still. My heart was beating like a hammer and icy fingers squeezed my stomach. If we were going to be spotted, it would happen now, at this precise second. But all was quiet. All I could hear was Ritchie’s heavy breathing and a distant conversation. I couldn’t help but turn to look at the cash desk. One of the assistants had his back to us, involved in some transaction. The other was off in the opposite part of the shop, helping a customer. Ritchie had chosen the moment well.
As we’d planned, we began to make our way out of the shop. Not too fast, but not dawdling either. My knees were trembling and to steady myself I linked arms with Ritchie. I felt his reassuring squeeze. That was good.
Outside the dusk was falling. I was full of adrenaline and wanted to run, or hit out, or hug Ritchie. But I did none of those things. I concentrated on seeming as normal as possible and we continued to walk to McDonald’s, and entered.
Tanner was already there, sitting at a table drinking a huge chocolate milkshake.
“Gimme a slurp,” said Ritchie, and helped himself.
Rather him than me. Chocolate milkshake was the last thing I wanted. My excitement made me feel slightly sick. We passed the rucksack over to Tanner, who peered inside.
“You’re weird, you guys,” he said.
“Just wait,” Ritchie commented.
In the beginning I hadn’t wanted Tanner in on what we were going to do, but Ritchie explained the advantage, and then said, if we were going to make a habit of this, we’d need support. We’d need a gang, he said. And then it felt OK. Me and Ritchie, and our gang. Our homies, our brothers. He said Tanner was the most trustworthy. Because Tanner had been bullied, he made the most loyal friend you could have. He really appreciated people who were nice to him. I gave him a friendly smile, and reminded him that we’d see him in Burger King in half an hour. He nodded, and said he hadn’t forgotten.
Afterwards Ritchie and I walked up and down Church Street. Church Street was the main shopping area in town. It was chain-store heaven. Marks and Spencer, BHS, Debenhams, Starbucks, Wetherspoons, you name it, it was there. I linked arms with him again. It occurred to me I might be being a little too friendly, but I didn’t mean anything by it – it was more that I just had to link arms with him. I felt close to him. That was all there was to it.
I wondered what we’d be doing when this evening was over. I thought I’d like to meet his mum, and see his house, but I could hardly invite myself. Still, if the opportunity did arise …
I found I couldn’t keep quiet any longer. Nervousness loosened my tongue. I just had to talk.
“So Loz, Tanner and Woodsy – are they your only mates?”
“More or less. There are some others. But I’m not the type who needs friends much.”
“I’m the same. Have you ever had a girlfriend?” I blurted out.
“Not a proper one,” he replied. I was pleased about that.
“The bandanna suits you,” I said.
“You don’t look too bad yourself.”
I tried not to show my pleasure. Anyway, it was time to adjust our appearances. I took my hair out of its bunches and let it hang loose, while Ritchie removed the bandanna. Soon we found ourselves outside the bookshop again. Time for Round Two.
We entered. This time we did stop to look at the displays of bestsellers. Ritchie said he’d read a book once called On The Road, which was pretty cool. I’d not heard of it. He also said I should read Brave New World and 1984. I was interested that Ritchie liked reading, only I didn’t ask him more because I had to keep my mind on the job. I just asked him what he thought of To Kill a Mockingbird, which we were doing at school. He said he’d read it a year or two ago, and that it was good. I noticed most of the books on sale were silly girlie romances and crime novels. We carried on chatting as we made our way to the psychology section. This time when we looked over to the cash desk we smiled at the assistant. In fact, I broke away from Ritchie and went straight up to him. The assistant was very thin, pigeon-chested and spotty.
“Where’s the psychology section?” I asked.
He pointed to it and seemed very friendly.
“Oh, thanks,” I gushed. “I’ve got to get some books for college. I’m starting a new module. Cheers!”
I walked over to psychology, trailing Ritchie. We found the same bookshelf we were at before, but this time had a fairly audible conversation.
“My module’s on crime, and I’ve got this long essay to write.”
“Have you got your reading list with you?” Ritchie asked.
“Oh, shit!” I put my hand over my mouth as if I hadn’t wanted that word to slip out. “I’ve left it in the flat.”
“Do you remember any of the titles on it?”
“Well, kind of. Most of them had ‘crime’.”
Ritchie made an exasperated gesture and glanced over at the assistant, who was watching us. Ritchie rolled his eyes, as if to say, women!
I began to pick out books and leaf through them. I took Understanding Crime in Modern Society. “This one looks good,” I said. “It’s a bit hard to understand in places. But I’m fairly sure this one was on the list.”
“What are you gonna do?” asked Ritchie.
“Ooh – I don’t know!” I went on, doing my best ditsy impersonation. “I really don’t know.”
“Look, why don’t you get it anyway,” Ritchie said, as we made our way to the cash desk. When he spoke again, it was half to the sales assistant. “If it turns out to be the wrong one, you can always bring it back. She can get a refund, can’t she?”
“Certainly,” said the bloke at the till.
I got out my purse, and we all chatted as I completed my transaction. This bloke had just started there full-time, after having backpacked in Australia. I told him Ritchie and I were at the Central Uni, I was doing psychology and Ritchie was into Business and Management. The assistant popped the receipt into the bag, we thanked him profusely, and left.
Now Ritch and I were on a high. We got out of the shop and hugged each other – our first hug. I was exploding with happiness. Ritchie seemed full of energy, humming to himself, a spring in his step. There was Burger King, and inside we saw Tanner, with yet another choccy milkshake. That boy was going to be seriously ill. We opened the bag from the bookshop and gave him the receipt.
“You know what you have to do,” Ritchie said to him.
Tanner gave a smart salute and it made Ritchie smile.
“Jump to it, then!” The lads were messing and it was good to see. Tanner sucked at the straw in the milkshake, making a revolting sound as the last of the shake vanished into his mouth. I pulled a face. Tanner shot off on his bike.
“Fancy a coffee?” Ritchie asked me.
We went next door to Coffee Republic. We had enough money left for one coffee between us. Ritchie queued up for it while I found a table at the back, in a corner. When he brought the coffee over, he came and sat by me. We were side by side, our legs touching. We took sips from the coffee in turn.
“All these gaps – this waiting around – makes me nervous,” I confessed.
“It doesn’t bother me,” he said.
“You’re good at this. The acting, I mean. Anyone would think you really were a student.”
“I will be, one day.”
That was interesting. I prompted him to continue. “I might study acting,” he said. “At some college or other. I reckon you don’t need qualifications for that, just talent. Once I get out of here, that’s what I think I’ll do. When it’s all over.”
“When what’s all over?”
“Stuff,” he said, drumming his fingers on the table. Then he changed the subject. “Are you rich, Anna?” he asked.
“God, no. But we’re not poor either, sort of in the middle. That’s why – up till now – I’d never thought of stealing—”
“Shhh!” warned Ritchie.
“Of doing what we’re doing.”
“Taxing, then. But, tell you what. You can see for yourself how rich I am. Come round to mine some time.”
“I might,” he said. “You know, your hair looks nice like that, just loose. It makes you look older. Come on – it’s time.”
“OK,” I said, tingling with excitement.
So we got up and strolled back to the bookshop. We marched in, through the shop, up the stairs, straight to the cash desk. And our luck was in, as I knew it would be. Because Ritchie and I together, we were charmed. The Fates were on our side. Nothing could touch us. The same assistant was there, and when he saw us, he grinned in recognition. Poor bastard. He actually seemed pleased to see us. We were probably the nicest customers he’d had all day.
“You’re not going to believe this,” I said to him.
“It was the wrong book?”
“Too right.”
Ritchie stood there looking bored, as if being linked to an airhead like me was getting him down.
“What is the right title, then?” the assistant asked. “Can I help you find it?”
“Crime and Society,” I said. “But I hope you don’t mind – I’ve decided to get it out of the library. I’m ever so sorry. The truth is, when I checked my bank balance …” and I ended with a giggle.
“Can you give her her money back?” asked Ritchie, as if he was beginning to lose patience.
You could see the assistant clocking the situation. Ritchie was getting more annoyed by the minute, and there was this feeling that we might start rowing if I didn’t get my money back.
“Have you got the receipt?” the assistant asked.
“Sure,” I said, fishing around in the bag with the book inside. “Hold on a moment.” I fished some more. “Heck, I can’t find it.”
“Here – let me,” Ritchie said. He took the book out of the bag, examined the bag, examined the book. “What have you done with it?”
“Sorry! It’s not my fault. Please don’t get angry.”
“You should have been more careful to keep the receipt if you weren’t sure about the book! And you’ve thrown away the wrapping!”
Ritchie sounded seriously annoyed now. I could see the assistant getting more and more edgy. “Look,” he said. “It’s OK. I remember you buying the book. I’ll give you a refund and explain to my manager. He’ll understand.”
I shot him a happy smile. “See?” I said to Ritchie.
“Thanks, mate,” Ritchie said to the assistant.
He opened the till, completed some paperwork and handed us one twenty and one ten-pound note. We thanked him, and left.
But it wasn’t over yet. We walked quickly away from the bookshop to the end of Church Street. There was Tanner on his bike. When he saw us he felt in his pocket, and handed Ritchie a twenty-pound note and two fivers.
“It was a cinch,” he said. “Even though the other branch didn’t have a psychology section, they said that since I had the receipt, they didn’t mind refunding me the money. You ain’t half clever, you two.”
Ritchie handed Tanner back a fiver. That was his commission. Which we could afford, as we’d doubled our money. Once we’d replaced our own cash we were left with twenty-five quid clear profit. How clever were we? But the best was yet to come.
On our way to the bus station we saw a Big Issue seller. As usual, everyone was ignoring him, keeping their distance, as if he was scum. As if they were so much better than him. We went right up to him.
“Here you go, mate,” said Ritchie, handing him a fiver. “It’s OK, we don’t want a mag.”
“I’ve got one,” I added, waving mine.
You should have seen the look on the bloke’s face – like it was five Christmases all rolled into one. I’d never seen anyone look happier.
“Cheers! Good luck to you!”
We grinned and hurried off. We broke into a run when we saw the bus to Fairfield ready to depart. On the bus we relived our scam, replaying every second, everything we said and did. In no time, we were at our destination. We jumped off the bus and Ritchie took me by the hand.
“This way!”
A row of rather shabby maisonettes, plastic dustbins outside them. One house towards the end, with a light still on in the kitchen. The doorbell wasn’t working. Ritchie rapped on the glass panel in the front door.
We heard footsteps and a chain being inserted. The door opened just an inch or two. A suspicious old-lady voice said, “Who’s that?”
“It’s Craig Ritchie, Wendy’s lad.”
“What d’you want?”
Her voice sounded less suspicious. She recognised him. “I’m not letting you in, you know. They came last week, the men from the council. They took my benefits book and my jewellery and my purse. You can’t trust anyone any more. I’d be better off dead, I would.”
“I’ve come to give you this,” Ritchie said. “We’ve been having a whip-round – me and my mates.” He handed her the twenty-pound note.
At first there was no response from her. I said, “Go on – it’s for you. Not everyone’s bad. Please accept it. You can treat yourself to something.”
She unchained the door and opened it. While she gave us a good stare I took in her cluttered hallway and inhaled the fusty old-woman smell of her house.
A small, wrinkled hand reached out. “This is good of you,” she said.
“Don’t mention it,” I said, preparing to go.
“You’re good kids,” she said. “You’re good kids. There should be more like you. I’ll tell them, I will. I’ll tell them when they start complaining about the kids these days, all into crime. I’ll say, I know two decent kids. God bless you!”
“You too,” I said, as we walked away.