Outlaws

Even if they were acting normally, I couldn’t tell Angela or Norman about what I’ve done. They’re sat on the floor in Angela’s room, with candles and – well it’s not panpipes, it’s more like chanting, but if someone chipped in with a panpipe or two he wouldn’t be shouted down. It’s times like this I wish I played guitar. I feel like I just found the punchline to a great joke. I hope those two aren’t up to anything weird though.

Fuzz came back with some grippy gloves, and ordered me to eat the cubes of jelly that he’d left while he made out with his girlfriend.

“Because it’s exciting,” he said – about the jelly. “You get too excited, you’re gonna wanna go. Jelly keeps you all bound up tight, so there’s less risk of DNA. Less risk of getting caught. Or caught short.”

At Miranda’s he sent Pamela across the road to smoke a fag and hold her thumb over her redial button. Around the back, Fuzz stuck a brick through the kitchen window and then we hid in the dark for twenty minutes, crouching behind the shrubs and glad of the jelly. The nosy neighbour stayed by her TV.

When he figured it was safe, Fuzz went through the window, looked around, opened the back door. He told me to turn my torch off, shut the curtains, turn the lights on. Because nothing looks more dodgy than torchlight indoors.

I found a bureau, stuffed full of all kinds of loose flying junk, but some of it was Miranda’s gallery contacts, which I piled into a plastic bag.

“What’s she nicked?” Fuzz asked me yesterday.
“A picture.”

He was staring at me now, and asked what I was up to.
“I want more than just my picture back.” I said.
“Yeah, but, you’re like the worst burglar ever. You just bagged a take away menu there.”

We split up after that. I went through the house, looking at everything, finding nothing fantastic. In the attic was Miranda’s version of dad's study – strictly small scale. She’s got star charts, and a telescope, and there are glass slides, with a microscope. She has her own journals, in her own cipher, only two of them though. There were mouldy cups left, and a sleeping bag, from late night observatory sessions. There was not much very wonderful. I wanted to find the tree root she stole, but I expect it was binned soon after she hit me with it. She had no potions or blank books, unless they’ve gone with her.

Down in the bedroom I found Fuzz looking at jewellery. He said he didn’t know what to do with it.
“I ought to take it really,” he said. “Get a reward for the risk. But that’s not what I’m doing this for. That’s not really who I am really, now.”
“So leave it.”
“But then, what’s she gonna think?” He said, nodding to where he imagined Pamela was.
“I tell you what.” I said. “I’m going out the back. You join me in a minute, and I’ll never ask… whether or not.”

On the walk home, we went our separate ways, every car that went past I thought was going to pull up beside me, and when it didn’t I felt like I’d won the contest, and I wish I hadn’t. On my own road I had an urge to boast to everyone I saw, and an urge to run away. I’ve spent the last hour dancing.