Run: 2026-07-09-01KX4162921NJ3HD08ASFJ8816

Molly lay flat on the roof of the bungalow, peering through binoculars at the garden below. Balloons bobbed along the fence like nervous witnesses. A clown in a spotted waistcoat was making balloon animals beside a table groaning with wrapped presents. Bill crawled up beside her, wearing black trousers, a black jumper, and a plastic pirate hat. “Why the hat?” Molly whispered. “It’s camouflage.” “Against what, exactly?” “Children. They trust pirates.” “They trust pirates in cartoons. Real pirates have scurvy and threaten shipping routes.” Bill adjusted the skull-and-crossbones. “This one has an elastic chin strap. Very convincing.” Below them, a chorus of seven-year-olds screamed as the clown produced a dachshund from a balloon sculpture. The dog balloon promptly deflated with a long, wet raspberry. Molly lowered the binoculars. “There are twenty-three presents.” “Twenty-four,” Bill said. “One behind the punch bowl. Small, blue paper. Could be jewellery.” “At a child’s party?” “Children get odd things these days. Miniature drones. Gold bullion. A pony in a box.” “It’s probably socks.” “Rich socks.” Molly consulted the hand-drawn plan on the back of a takeaway menu. “We go down the drainpipe, cross the shed roof, enter through the kitchen window, and take the presents while they’re doing pass-the-parcel.” Bill frowned. “I thought we were disguising ourselves as entertainers.” “That was before you bought a pirate hat and forgot to buy any entertainment.” “I can juggle.” “You can drop three oranges with confidence.” “I can also sing.” “You sing like a kettle being arrested.” Bill looked wounded. “That is unnecessarily specific.” A cheer erupted below. The clown had produced a cake, three tiers high, decorated as a glittery castle. At its centre stood a plastic princess holding a candle shaped like the number six. “Right,” Molly said. “The cake is the distraction. At candle time, everyone looks at it. We move.” “Couldn’t we simply attend the party?” “In what capacity?” Bill brightened. “Parents.” “We are both wearing burglary clothes.” “Parents wear black. They’re tired.” Molly glanced at him. “And the pirate hat?” “Divorced dad.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fine. We’re not going in as parents.” Bill peered down again. “That clown keeps looking this way.” “The clown is looking at a pigeon.” “The pigeon has a red nose.” “That is the clown’s reflection in the window.” Bill considered this. “Clever clown.” The birthday girl ran past the present table wearing a tiara and a cape. She stopped, pointed at the sky, and shouted, “Mum! There’s two burglars on the roof!” Molly froze. Bill waved. “Hello, young citizen!” Every child turned upward. A silence spread across the garden, interrupted only by the faint hiss of a balloon losing its dignity. Molly grabbed Bill by the collar. “Drainpipe. Now.” They scrambled backward, but Bill’s pirate hat snagged on a television aerial. The elastic snapped, launching the hat into the garden. It landed neatly on the clown’s head. The clown looked up at the roof, then down at the hat. “Ah,” he said, in a voice amplified by professional confidence. “My accomplices have arrived.” Molly stopped crawling. “Accomplices?” The clown gave them a broad wink. “Ladies and gentlemen, for the next trick, these two will make every present disappear!” The children erupted in applause. Bill stared at Molly. “Well. That saves us the trouble of being invited.” Molly smiled despite herself. “You take the blue one. I’ll get the rich socks.”