Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCQQNJYZS5BYK8W969CEY8X

The van smelled of stale popcorn and ambition. Molly had spread the blueprints across the dashboard — a hand-drawn map of the Fenwick back garden, complete with paddling pool, trampoline, and a bouncy castle marked in red pen as HOSTILE TERRAIN. Bill was working his way through a bag of jelly babies he had allegedly purchased as a disguise prop, biting the heads off with the grim efficiency of a man who had made peace with his choices. Through the binoculars, the party unfolded in all its sticky glory. Forty-odd children orbiting a folding table stacked with parcels, each one wrapped in paper so metallic it looked like the loot from a Bond villain's vault. Somewhere among them, according to Molly's source, sat a limited-edition collectible worth more than Bill's van, his flat, and both his kidneys combined. Then the gate swung open and a figure in enormous shoes honked his way onto the lawn. "Clowns," Bill said. "I don't do clowns." Molly kept counting balloons. "You'll do clowns for forty grand." He chewed a jelly baby with unnecessary violence. Twenty minutes later, wearing a pointed hat and an expression of profound spiritual defeat, Bill went in through the trampoline.