two

SHARON KNEW THE STREET. Her best friend at primary, Carla, had lived there, before her Dad got a job and they moved away. It only had houses on one side, the other was the beginning of an industrial block, not that there was much happening there these days. The houses were all state designs, packed tightly together hard up against the railway line.

Sharon remembered the way her and Carla used to put their heads against the iron fence and feel the vibrations of the passing trains. On a good day there’d be so much noise and shaking inside your head you could believe it was going to take you with it. It hadn’t though.

Meantime the houses looked like they’d shrunk. Maybe it was time doing that, or the grass growing up so high against their walls.

‘You live here?’

‘You know it?’

‘Sort of.’

‘How do you sort of know something?’

‘Sort of know you don’t I?’

‘Here, stay outside while I tie up Tua.’ Justin slipped through the gate just as a huge creature, part dog part steroid, rushed toward them, barking and slobbering and twisting its head with excitement. Justin was as bad, whooping it up as the two of them danced around the lawn then disappeared down the side of the house. The barking turned to high pitched whines and Justin reappeared.

‘He hates being tied up.’

‘Funny that.’

‘Yeah.’ Justin looked around, like he’d only just noticed the place.

‘Oh, sorry about this. We were going to clean the place up but we decided it might look a bit suss. Here, inside’s better.’

Walking in through the front door was weird. Two worlds that needed more than just a wall between them. Sharon stayed stuck half a foot inside, not quite ready to move on.

‘What is it?’ Justin asked.

‘Dunno,’ she said, because she didn’t. Not exactly. It was the clutter of it, the way there was no space left alone just to be space. All sorts of stuff, spread round the kitchen like they had been transported to an appliance store showroom. Microwave, oven, dishwasher, food processor, everything new and flash, like it had never been used. And a silver polished thing on the bench, a coffee machine she thought, though she’d never seen one. When Justin opened the fridge and offered a drink she caught a glimpse of bright fresh colours way too good to eat. It was like someone had just gone mad on the HP, or won lotto, except in a different suburb. Round here winning would be a party and more smashed glass than you’d ever be able to clean away.

‘How many of you live here?’ Sharon asked, because it was the only thing she could make into a question.

‘Just me and Simon.’

‘He’s your older brother eh?’ She’d heard of him.

‘Yeah. Mum and Dad live in the other house.’

‘Other house?’ She could tell she was meant to ask.

‘Yeah. They were separated but now they’re back together only Social Welfare don’t know so they still get two houses. One for them, one for us. Sweet as.’

‘You’re lucky.’ She meant it too. If she closed her eyes and thought of escape, maybe it would look a bit like this.

‘So what does Simon do?’

‘Unemployed.’

‘What about your Mum and Dad then?’ Because the gear came from somewhere.

‘Same. It’s a family tradition.’

‘So,’ Sharon looked for a way of asking. ‘How do you afford all this then?’

‘Think I stole it?’ But he didn’t look upset. More he looked like he’d wanted her to ask all along.

‘Didn’t say that.’

‘Anything here, I can show you the receipt. Not that stupid.’

‘Right. So where do you get your money?’

‘Just because you’re unemployed,’ Justin winked, ‘doesn’t mean you can’t have an income. Come on, this is nothing. Have a look at the lounge.’

Television and video, surround sound, component stereo, a big couch that made the room look small, and even a pool table squashed into one corner, so you’d never get round to play half your shots.

‘What do you think?’ Justin asked.

‘It’s great.’ More than great. This was it. This was the way she wanted to be. Give her this and she’d be happy, never ask for another thing. Promise.

‘Come on, tell me. Where do you guys get your money from?’

‘It’s not important.’ He waved his hand, like there were a thousand ways of earning that sort of cash. ‘Here, supplies are in my room.’

He kept his stash in a cute little antique tin on his desk next to the computer printer. Apart from the computer though this room was bare. Just a little single bed, carefully made, a set of drawers and a black and white poster on the wall of some guy Sharon didn’t recognise. No clothes hanging about like there were at Sharon’s, no overflowing rubbish bins or collection of things she couldn’t quite throw away. Looking around Sharon decided this wasn’t a bedroom at all. No, if hers was a bedroom, there needed to be a different word for this.

• • •

She’d never seen a person take quite so long to roll a joint. He played with each strand like the whole thing was going to be judged in a competition.

‘Just do it,’ Sharon said.

‘Anything less than perfect’s a waste,’ Justin replied, holding up the finished product for her inspection. ‘Look at that.’

‘Still just going to be smoked though.’ Sharon said.

‘Not arguing, just saying look and remember. You might never see a better joint.’

His zippo appeared suddenly, almost without him moving, and it was lit. He moved so easily nothing he did ever looked try-hard. He handed it to her and Sharon felt like she was being watched, judged too, even though he turned his back and started doing something with his computer. She knew she slobbered, always had, couldn’t help it. He’d say something and she’d be shamed.

He didn’t though, just took another drag and passed it back and when it was finished he rolled another, not going any faster. They talked a while, about things they both knew, school and parties and people they hated. Justin showed her a game on the computer he said worked best when you were stoned and although it was alright Sharon liked it better when they went back to talking. Loose talking, where you quickly lose sight of the details, like looking into a face that doesn’t have any features. Still a face though, still talking. The longer she stayed there the more Sharon knew this was a place she wanted to be. If there was a way of never leaving she would take it. This was the life she’d always meant to be living, like a misplaced grocery item accidentally taken home in the wrong trolley, and all this time no one had been bothered enough to take her back.

‘Hey Justin,’ Sharon said.

‘Yeah?’

‘Tell me where you get your money from.’

‘Nah, can’t.’ He shook his head but she didn’t believe him. How come he’d brought her here then? He must have known what would happen.

‘Yes you can.’

‘Simon’d kill me.’

‘I wouldn’t tell him.’

‘Maybe not.’ He looked at her, like he was weighing up the risk.

‘Trust me man.’

He didn’t say anything, just turned back to the computer and flicked through some screens.

‘Nah, come on. I’m sick of that computer shit. Talk to me.’

‘Here,’ he said, not looking round. ‘Have a look at this then.’

‘I don’t want to look at that shit, said already.’

‘Don’t say I didn’t offer then.’ Justin shrugged and then she clicked.

On the screen was a map, all the street names written in, and when he moved the mouse the streets all changed, new houses, new suburbs maybe, like you were flying high above them. Another click and the view swooped in close, so you could make out the borders of individual properties, all drawn as the same unlikely rectangle, and some of them coloured in red, yellow or green.

‘What is it?’ Sharon asked.

‘It’s a map,’ Justin replied.

‘I’m not stupid.’

‘What of then?’

Sharon looked again, scanned the street names. Russell Ave. She’d been there. She knew where this was. Of course.

‘It’s places you’ve cased.’ Made sense. Easiest crime there was, burglary. Cops only caught the stupid ones, the others weren’t worth the effort.

‘Well done.’

‘So what’s the colours then?’ Sharon asked.

‘You tell any one you’ve seen this, you’ll never ever have anything to do with this. Understand?’

Sharon nodded. Of course she did.

‘Okay, green’s places where no one’s home during the day. Yellow’s a place with green either side. Safe you see. Understand?’

Sharon nodded.

‘What’s red?’

‘Places we’ve done.’ He was showing off now. Not that he had to, she’d seen the stuff they could afford. ‘Here, where do you live? Hardy Street isn’t it?’ He clicked through the screens till she was looking down on her own place. You’d have to be crazy, she thought, to bother with a street like that. You’d pay, if they ever caught you. They had though, three reds.

‘Hey, that’s our house. It was you took our stereo!’

‘Sorry, didn’t know.’ Justin shrugged.

‘Give it back.’

‘Can’t can I? It’s sold.’

‘Bastard.’

‘I know.’

‘Can I help then?’ He had to say yes. It would be the best, like something off a movie. A chance to show them all, all the people who thought she couldn’t do anything useful. She’d buy stuff for Zinny too.

Sharon looked at Justin but he refused to take his eyes off the screen.

‘Go on.’

‘It’s not that simple.’

‘Course it is. Come on. This one here, it’s yellow. Let’s go and do it, right now. Here, no, don’t even need you. I’ll do it myself. Prove I can.’

‘It’s not like that,’ Justin said, talking slowly like he was a teacher and she was back to being thick. Fuck you, she wanted to say, but she couldn’t, because she could tell there was still a chance of him letting her in.

‘Most people doing this don’t make so much, or they blow it all and get caught when they’re desperate to make some more. Simon’s cleverer than that. A lot of the time we only take little stuff, a camera or some cash. So people don’t even know they’ve been hit. Or we steal to order. Single item, straight in straight out. It’s like Physics or something. There’s a set order you do things and as long as you don’t mess with it it seems to work out.’

‘I could still help,’ Sharon insisted, knowing how bad it would be to have to let this go. ‘Next time, when you’ve got something on, I’ll help you out.’

‘That’d depend on Simon.’

‘Ask him.’

‘Maybe.’

‘You’re the best.’ Sharon flung her arms around his body and felt it tense with the surprise. She planted a huge kiss on his cheek, the big slobbery kind like Zinny always gave.

• • •

That night Sharon tried to cook something different, the sort of thing Justin might cook, in his flash kitchen with all its flash colours and tastes. Only there wasn’t much in the cupboards and all that was left in the fridge were some carrots and a lettuce that had started to slime. The freezer was full though. Theirs was a freezer household. Pies, pizza, frozen veges, ready to microwave into an instant munch, although that was dodgy now the plate thing had stopped rotating.

She grated what was left of the cheese over a meat pie and put it in the oven. At least she was doing something, making an effort. She went through the drawers for a recipe book she’d once had, to see if there was any way of rescuing the carrot. Kaz appeared, dressed for an argument, tight black jeans and a cropped white top, showing off the stomach she was forever sunning on the grass out the front with the morning TV set up on the open window ledge.

‘What are you looking for?’

‘Recipe book.’

‘We haven’t got one.’

‘Yes we have. It’s red, from school.’

‘Nah, haven’t seen it.’ Kaz shook her head, her eyes saying she was already thinking about something else. ‘You doing something special?’

‘Not really.’ Sharon thought of Justin but she knew how to hide a blush.

‘Don’t make any for me eh? These jeans’ll bust if I eat anything.’

‘You going out?’

‘Down to the pub probably. Can you look after Zinny?’

Sharon couldn’t say no, not with Zinny there, pretending to play with a plastic truck but listening too. She remembered how it felt.

‘Yeah, sure.’

‘Good one. I’ll pay you half if I get a win.’

‘You going to be late?’

‘Depends. See you later eh?’ And she left.

‘Hey Zinny,’ Sharon said, ‘want to help me cook?’

‘Okay.’ His eyes were huge, like they’d done their growing first and were waiting for the rest of him to catch up.

‘Bring that chair up here then. You can grate the carrot.’

She gave up on finding the recipe book and they settled on an untried mix of tinned pineapple and half a pot of yoghurt, that had been in the fridge as long as the lettuce. It tasted okay though, with the pie, and Zinny took great care to mix it all together with his stubby little fingers. Still, Sharon knew how embarrassed she’d be, if Justin could see them both.

‘What do you think then?’ She asked her little half-brother.

‘It’s yummy,’ and he smiled through the smudge of sauce that hid the shape of his mouth. Hardly the best judge, Zinny. The one time he’d been to playcentre he’d eaten all his lunch and three other kids’ besides. They hadn’t invited him back.

‘Hey Zinny, do you like it here?’

‘Yep,’ he nodded, his big eyes looking round for seconds. ‘Is there more?’

‘Sure.’ She spooned another helping of collapsing pie onto his plate.

‘You really like it here?’ She was sure she hadn’t been that happy at his age. Even then she’d understood. Zinny didn’t answer, just did that trick you can do when you’re three, pretend the question’s too complicated and concentrate on looking at something else, looking cute. They’d be onto him when he got to school though, then he’d have to find a new way of avoiding things.

‘I’m going to find a way of taking you away from this you know Zinny,’ Sharon said. ‘Not just me, Justin and me. Justin’s okay. You’d like Justin. Yeah, me and him are going to take you some place where you can have anything you want. Any fucken thing, just have to say. You’d like that wouldn’t you?’ But he didn’t respond, just looked at her like he knew how crazy she sounded, and Sharon let it drop.

• • •

It took ages, two weeks and three days, before Justin said anything. The whole time Sharon was dying to ask but she knew better than to go opening her big mouth. Him and Simon were pros, they wouldn’t even think about working with some little girl who all the time was asking about the next job. That’s what she told herself anyway, while she waited, watching him whenever he came within view, all the time wanting to run over and grab him, all the time terrified they’d forgotten all about her. Then he walked up beside her in the corridor, on the way to Tourism, him doing his glide thing so she didn’t know he was there till he spoke.

‘Wanna wag and come for a smoke?’ he said, and she said ‘sure’ although at exactly that moment her stomach turned upside down and the noise never made it out. He must have understood though, because he waited for her at the doors. She was silent the whole way up to the trees, trying to think of something cool to say but coming up blank, feeling the nervous sweat building up beneath her armpits.

It took forever for Justin to locate his cigarettes and even longer for him to take out two and light them. Sharon knew it was just the nerves making everything seem slow motion, slower even than Justin’s usual wound-down speed. There was a time at the school athletics, in the fourth form, when she’d seen him in the 100 metres. All these other guys hissing and straining, giving it everything and him, eyes half-closed like he was nodding off, but somehow gliding past them all. It was a school record too, the coach came into the class the next day and tried to convince him to enter the regionals.

‘Nah,’ he’d said, ‘I must have just got lucky, got myself caught up in some different sort of time zone.’ Except that’s where he always was, and now everybody called him Glide, the most relaxing person in the world to be with. Most days. Not now. Now Sharon wanted to take hold of his scrawny neck and squeeze the question out. ‘Hey Shaz, will you help us?’ so she could scream back ‘Yes!’ A thousand fucken times. Yes.

‘There’s a test,’ is what he finally said, easing his voice into the silence like he was afraid of offending it. ‘It’s Simon’s idea. He says you might be useful, sometimes, when we need a girl. But there’s a test.’

‘I’ll do it.’

‘You don’t know what it is yet,’ he said, like that might matter.

‘So?’

‘You’ve got to steal some mail.’

‘Easy. Whose?’

‘Doesn’t matter, it’s just a test. Twenty pieces from twenty different addresses, that’s all. To show you know how to do stuff without being caught. To show you’ve got the smarts.’

‘I have, no worries. I’ll show you.’ She knew she was being way too eager but she couldn’t help it. She would have gone right then, stealing mail, that was too easy, anyone could do that, but he made her listen some more while he told her all about it. How they’d started out that way, when they were little. How you needed a bus timetable and a map, so you could do a street and get out of there, before anyone called the cops. How you needed a paper delivery bag, so you’d look like you were delivering pamphlets, how parcels and coloured envelopes were best.

Sharon sat and listened to it all, sitting on her hands to stop them doing anything an overexcited little girl’s hands might do, to give her away.

‘When do I do it?’ She asked, when he’d finally stopped making it all sound harder than it had to be.

‘Tomorrow. Then Wednesday you can bring it round, so we can check. Come for dinner.’

• • •

It wasn’t easy, getting it exactly right. That night Sharon stayed up late, with the bus timetable and a map of the city she took from Geography spread out on her bed, feeling like some geek straining hard on a piece of assessment. It was too, an assessment, and she knew they were expecting her to fail, like people always did. Just some clever way of getting rid of an annoying little girl. Not this time though. There was way too much to lose.

By the time she went to bed she had it all planned out, and having a day planned before her felt so strange she couldn’t sleep.

She started early, way before Kaz or Zinny had crawled out into the day. It gave her time to walk to her first target suburb, a chance to clear her head, settle the nerves that were going crazy. When she got to the streets she’d marked out the night before they looked just like she’d imagined. Big hedges, mown lawns and wide drives. Rich places, where they’d get rich mail. It should have been easy. It wasn’t like she hadn’t stolen things before, and harder stuff than this too. She’d once managed to get the bladder out of a cask of wine in the middle of a busy supermarket and breezed out past the checkout without even missing a beat. Only this was different. This had her stomach tied up in the sort of knots that get honest people caught every time they try to do something wrong. This wasn’t stealing. This was a test. And passing a test like this, it could change your whole life.

So she passed the first five houses by, even though there were trees everywhere and no one was ever going to notice, and she could see the mail sitting there, waiting to be lifted. The sixth house she took the plunge, and felt herself walking way too fast towards the white iron box, like she was suddenly in Justin’s world, where everything else got slowed down. She took the first thing she felt and backed up quick, not checking what it was till she’d turned the corner into the next street.

Some sort of bill by the looks, with a window envelope and typed address. She threw it into a hedge. It didn’t matter. It had broken the ice, like the first punch at a party. No stopping her now.

‘Nice day.’ An old fella out of nowhere, walking one of those pathetic little not-quite-dogs that Lennox would eat if he ever got the chance. The guy was wearing an old brown hat, like he was off something on TV1, and when he smiled Sharon smiled back.

‘Yeah, not too bad.’ Might steal your mail later, she added to herself as he walked away. Hope you’re expecting something special.

Trouble came near the end, the way it often does, like it can tell you’re starting to relax. Sharon was two hours into the job and already she had the twenty pieces she’d been set. Good stuff too, coloured envelopes and a few parcels, all from different addresses. They’d have to be impressed when they saw. But there was no point being careful Sharon figured, when the piece that could clinch it was waiting in the next box. And anyhow, it was way too late to be thinking about making it back for afternoon school.

So she walked up one too many paths. It was the perfect box, stuffed to overflowing like just there the mailman had got sick of his run and dumped what was left. Two packages and a heap of cards. A birthday for sure. Sharon was lingering, like she’d started doing, deciding which piece looked best, when she heard the voice.

‘Oi you. What do you think you’re doing?’

‘Delivering pamphlets,’ she said, not even bothering to look up, cool as. She wished Justin and Simon could see it, the way she didn’t crack under pressure.

‘Let’s see. What pamphlets?’ An old guy, pensioner age only dressed like he still had a job somewhere, trousers and a shirt and tie. He had a long egghead, bumpy on the top like bits had collapsed, and a black patch covered one eye although Sharon had to look twice to be sure she wasn’t imagining that. What sort of person wore a patch? Probably he was once a bit of a hard bastard, or thought he was.

‘Fair enough. If you don’t want any.’ Sharon shrugged like you would if you were delivering. ‘Your business.’ And then she turned to walk away, not even thinking it might be a problem.

‘Oi no, no you don’t. What’s in that bag? I’ll call the police you know. Come here, show me.’ He was shouting, probably just pissed off with being old, and the noise of it brought someone out from next door. This guy was less promising, only half the age and wearing shorts and a singlet. Sweating too, and maybe a bit pumped, like he’d just been going hard-out with some weights. Sharon got ready to run.

‘What is it Jack?’

‘This little bitch, should be at school. I caught her going through our mail.’

‘Were you?’ the man stepped forward and the angle for escape closed up.

‘No.’ Sharon tried to trick herself into believing she hadn’t done it, so they might believe it too. She thought of her bag, the whole morning’s work. Would she have to dump it, if he chased her? ‘I’m just delivering pamphlets.’

‘Get her to show you then,’ Jack crowed, looking much younger now he knew he was winning. ‘Go on, show us these pamphlets of yours.’ And he edged closer too, like he was starting to think what he’d do, if he got his hands on her.

‘You said you didn’t want any,’ Sharon said. ‘Here, look then.’ She put one hand into the bag, watching them both, but the young guy especially, waiting for that moment when he might relax. It came, just a second when he looked down to the bag, all she needed. She was halfway back down to the road before the yelling started.

‘Get her! Get the cheeky little cow!’ Sharon could hear the other guy’s footsteps behind her, gaining like she knew they would. The bag swung wildly about, crashing against her hip while she pumped hard with her free hand. Her lungs started to burn. She cut down a path and launched her body over a hedge, not thinking about anything except getting away, tumbling down into a bank of overgrown bush. He’d have to be desperate to follow her in but Sharon didn’t take any chances. She slipped and crashed her way down the slope like some wounded animal using up its last chance. There was blackberry at the bottom, doing its bit for law and order. It ripped at her clothes and scratched her face but by then it didn’t matter. She’d made it for sure. She’d won. A good story to tell the guys too, if they needed more impressing.

Sharon took a moment when she reached the path at the other side, just to let her breath find its way back in. The sun was out again and it made her feel like a smoke. She got through twice as many in the summer. She was just lighting up when the car slowed beside her and her heart stopped again.

‘Afternoon.’ A too-young face smiled out above the blue uniform. Through the open window he looked sort of bored. Trouble for sure. Sharon thought about the blackberry. Nah, he’d chase her all the way, just for the fun of it.

‘Hi ya.’

‘Shouldn’t you be in school?’

‘Yeah.’ Sharon nodded, relieved. Just truancy shit. Too easy. ‘Had to go home to pick up an assignment.’

‘Sure you did.’ He smiled again, to show her how clever he was. ‘What school?’

‘Parkland.’

‘Thought they had uniform.’ Yeah, he’d be a detective in no time this one. Except he hadn’t noticed the scratches, or thought how it was a pretty funny looking school bag she was carrying.

‘Seventh form.’

‘We’re going that way. Can we give you a lift? You’ll have to put that out of course.’

‘Oh right.’ Sharon flicked her last cigarette onto the pavement and ground it beneath her shoe. Why not? This was a real story, would get the guys laughing for sure. Not just finishing the job but getting a ride away from the scene with the cops themselves. The whole way there the cop in the passenger seat turned round and asked stupid questions about school while Sharon sat smiling to herself, holding her illicit haul close to her chest. It was a couple of bus trips back from Parkland to her own school but it was worth it, just for the way that felt.