Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCQXFAARY05RNKGPVZEQNFR

The van smelled of wet dog and expired cheese strings, which Bill insisted was atmosphere and Molly insisted was a health violation. Between them, spread across the dashboard, lay a hand-drawn map of 14 Bellweather Crescent, complete with a bouncy castle rendered in disturbing anatomical detail. "Right," said Bill, tapping the map with a pen shaped like a unicorn. "Party starts at two. Cake at three. That's our window." "Why cake?" "Because when cake comes out, every adult in that garden turns their back on the present table and starts arguing about whether Oliver's mother is allowed to bring a gluten-free option. It's a documented phenomenon. I've observed it." Molly squinted at him. "Observed it where?" "Various gardens." "Bill." "I like watching parties, all right? It's not a crime." "It is, actually, the way you do it." She took the unicorn pen away from him. "So we go in at three. Through where, the side gate?" "The side gate is padlocked. But—" he produced a photograph, slightly out of focus, of a hedge, "—there is a gap here, behind the compost bin, roughly Bill-sized." "Nothing is Bill-sized except Bill." "That's the beauty of it. Nobody will expect me to fit." "Nobody will expect you to fit because you won't." Bill leaned back with the serenity of a man who had already rehearsed this in his shower. "I have been reducing my biscuit intake for eleven days." "Eleven whole days." "Ten. There was an incident." Molly sighed and pulled the map toward her. "Fine. I'll go over the wall from the alley, I'll take the presents, you stand by the hedge and cause a diversion." "What sort of diversion?" "I don't know. Be a clown." "I'm not being a clown. Clowns are a slippery slope. You put on the nose, next thing you're doing balloon animals at a christening for forty quid and a slice of quiche." "Then be a magician." "Magicians get asked to do things. Kids demand encores. Kids are the worst audience in the world, Molly, they've got no manners and infinite time." He shuddered. "I'll be a health inspector." "At a birthday party." "Bouncy castle safety compliance. Very serious. Very boring. Adults love a man with a clipboard, it makes them feel like someone's in charge." He hesitated. "How many presents are we talking?" "Kid's called Tarquin. His dad owns four car washes. There'll be a mountain." "And what's in a mountain of presents for a seven-year-old?" "Lego. Lego is the new gold, Bill. There's a man in Ipswich pays cash by the kilo." "Right." Bill nodded slowly, then paused. "Molly. Is this bad? Morally? Because that's a small boy's birthday and I've been sitting here for twenty minutes worrying about my trousers." Molly looked out the windscreen at the balloons already tied to the lamp post, bobbing hopefully in the drizzle. She thought about it for exactly as long as she could stand. "His dad owns four car washes," she said. "Right." Bill started the engine. "That's fine, then."