Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0P58B684FMG1ST3RHBT8EQ

Molly spread the crayon-drawn map across the bonnet of Bill’s van, weighting the corners with a half-eaten sausage roll, a torch, a rubber duck, and Bill’s left shoe. Across the street, bunting drooped from number 42 like cheerful police tape. Balloons bobbed at the gate. A cardboard sign read HAPPY 6TH BIRTHDAY, ARCHIE! in glitter so aggressive it seemed personally offended by clouds. Bill squinted. “That’s not a map. That’s a giraffe.” “It’s an aerial plan,” Molly said. “Archie’s little sister drew it for me in exchange for a sticker.” “You bribed a toddler?” “With a sticker, Bill. I’m not a monster.” From the house came a shriek of delighted children and the faint thump of party music. A woman in a dinosaur apron crossed the front window carrying a tray of cupcakes. Bill watched the cupcakes with professional longing. “We go in during pass-the-parcel,” Molly said. “Everyone’s distracted. We locate the present table, load the gifts into the party bags, and vanish before the magician pulls anything regrettable from his hat.” Bill folded his arms. “I still don’t like it.” Molly blinked at him. “You robbed a yacht called The Tax Haven.” “That yacht had it coming. These are children.” “They’re presents, Bill. Half of them are socks from aunties and educational wooden puzzles. We may be doing them a kindness.” A small boy in a superhero cape appeared at the upstairs window and pressed his face against the glass. Bill waved automatically. The boy waved back, then licked the pane. Bill lowered his hand. “We need disguises.” Molly opened the van’s side door. Inside were two costumes hanging from the ceiling: a fairy with wings the size of satellite dishes, and a lopsided badger. “No,” Bill said. “Yes.” “I’m not being the badger again. Last time a dog proposed to me.” “You said no, didn’t you?” “Only because he didn’t have a pension.” Molly thrust the badger head at him. It smelled faintly of talcum powder and regret. “Children’s parties have rules. Nobody questions entertainment. If a badger enters carrying a ukulele, parents assume they booked him and forgot.” Bill peered into the costume’s dead plastic eyes. “What are you going as?” “The Sugar Plum Fairy of Logistical Redistribution.” “That’s not a thing.” “It will be after today.” A burst of applause came from number 42. The front door opened, and a hired clown staggered out, pale beneath his face paint, clutching a balloon sword. “Run,” the clown whispered to no one in particular, then hurried down the pavement. Molly and Bill watched him disappear. Bill said, “That’s a bad omen.” “That’s an opportunity.” Molly snatched up the ukulele and tucked the map into her waistband. “They’re down one clown. We’re up one badger.” He sighed and climbed into the costume. The badger’s head swallowed him to the shoulders, muffling his voice into a furry bassoon. “If a child cries, we leave.” “If a child cries, we improvise.” “No stealing teddy bears.” “Agreed.” “Or anything handmade.” “Fine.” “Or presents shaped like books. Literacy matters.” Molly adjusted her wings, which immediately knocked the rubber duck off the bonnet. “Bill, at this rate we’ll only be stealing batteries and gift receipts.” “Good.” They crossed the road in formation, Molly fluttering with criminal elegance, Bill waddling beside her, the ukulele clutched like a tiny hostage. At the gate, a handwritten sign announced: ALL GUESTS WELCOME! PLEASE TAKE OFF SHOES! Bill looked down at his single shoe back on the van bonnet. Molly smiled. “See? Already blending in.” Before she could ring the bell, the door swung open. Archie’s mother stared at them, exhausted, glitter on her cheek and icing in her hair. “Oh thank heavens,” she said. “You’re the replacement entertainers.” Molly curtsied. “Indeed. I am the Sugar Plum Fairy of—” “Brilliant. The children have trapped Uncle Kevin in the bouncy castle and the rabbit’s gone missing. Presents are in the lounge. Don’t let anyone touch them until cake.” Bill and Molly exchanged a look. Inside, the hallway smelled of jam, crayons, and chaos. Thirty children roared in the living room around a mountain of brightly wrapped boxes. On top sat a handmade card reading TO ARCHIE, LOVE NAN, surrounded by wonky stars. Bill’s badger head turned slowly toward Molly. She sighed. “All right,” she muttered. “New plan.” “What new plan?” Molly picked up the ukulele, stepped into the room, and forced a dazzling smile. “We guard the presents.” Bill nodded with relief. “And maybe rescue Uncle Kevin.” “And,” Molly added, eyeing the cupcakes, “negotiate payment in cake.”