Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0N11YQDXKS40T7KW3SEMJP

Molly spread the map across the dashboard with the solemnity of a general planning an invasion. Unfortunately, the map had been drawn on the back of a takeaway menu, in purple crayon, by Bill, who had labeled the garden as “cake zone” and the house as “castle of tiny screaming people.” Outside, balloons bobbed from the gate of number 42. A banner read HAPPY 6TH BIRTHDAY, SOPHIE! The shrieks from the garden suggested either a party game or a small revolution. “Right,” Molly said. “We go in, we blend in, we locate the present table, and we leave with dignity.” Bill peered through binoculars the wrong way round. “Everyone looks very far away and judgmental.” “That’s because you’re using those incorrectly.” “I’m creating emotional distance.” Molly snatched the binoculars and focused on the garden. Children in paper crowns charged around a bouncy castle. Adults guarded paper plates. On a table beneath a gazebo sat a mountain of wrapped gifts, glittering like treasure. “There,” Molly whispered. “The loot.” Bill swallowed. “Some of those have unicorn paper.” “Stay professional.” “I am professional. I’m professionally concerned about stealing from children.” Molly gave him a look. “Last week you stole a garden gnome from a vicar.” “The gnome looked unhappy.” “It was ceramic.” “Exactly. Trapped.” A child wearing fairy wings sprinted past the gate, pursued by a boy with frosting in his hair. Bill ducked below the dashboard. “They’re organized,” he said. “They’ve got scouts.” “They’re six.” “So were several historical conquerors, probably.” Molly opened a battered holdall and removed their disguises: two aprons, a floppy chef’s hat, and a badge reading PARTY HELPERS. Bill held up the hat. “Why do I have to be the chef?” “Because you already smell faintly of sausage rolls.” “That’s my natural charisma.” “The plan is simple,” Molly said. “We walk in carrying this tray of jelly cups. We act useful. While they’re distracted by the entertainer, we transfer the presents into the holdall.” Bill glanced toward the garden. A man dressed as a pirate was being pelted with foam swords by a mob of children. “I don’t think the entertainer is distracting them,” Bill said. “I think they’re defeating him.” Molly watched as the pirate attempted to make a balloon dog, only to produce what looked like a sad blue intestine. “Fine. Then the distraction is his suffering.” Bill leaned back, troubled. “What if one of the presents is socks? We’ll have risked everything for socks.” “We take the good ones.” “How do you know?” “Weight. Shape. Rattle.” “That’s not theft, that’s Christmas archaeology.” A sudden cheer rose from the garden. The birthday girl had appeared, crowned in tinsel, carrying a plastic wand. She touched each present reverently before arranging them straighter on the table. Bill’s face crumpled. “No,” Molly said. “She loves them.” “Bill.” “She believes in wrapping paper.” “So do I. It conceals value.” The little girl hugged a lumpy parcel almost as big as herself. Molly looked away first. Bill said softly, “We’re monsters with a catering tray.” Molly folded the crayon map, slower than necessary. The pirate in the garden tripped over a chair and was immediately celebrated as if it were part of the act. “We could steal the cake,” Bill suggested. Molly stared at him. “Too far?” “Even we have standards.” Five minutes later, Molly and Bill marched up the path in aprons, carrying jelly cups and wearing smiles so false they squeaked. At the gate, Molly paused. “New plan,” she muttered. Bill nodded. “We help, we eat one sandwich each, and we leave without committing birthday treason.” “Two sandwiches,” Molly said. “I’m not a saint.” The gate swung open, and thirty children turned to stare. Bill raised the tray like a peace offering. “Hello,” he said. “We’re here about the jelly.” The children cheered. Molly sighed, then smiled despite herself. Somewhere beneath the gazebo, the presents remained untouched, glittering accusingly in the sun.