Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCRPDN20Z29BM75Q6FX3S4P

The van smelled of stale crisps and ambition. Molly had the blueprints spread across the dashboard, which was really a leaflet for Bouncy Bonanza Party Hire with arrows drawn on it in eyeliner. "Right," she said. "Fourteen hundred hours. Cake comes out. Lights go off. Everyone sings. That's our window." Bill squinted at the leaflet. "That's a bouncy castle." "It's a *diagram* of a bouncy castle. The castle is our entry point. Nobody watches the castle during cake." "Molly. I'm forty-one years old and eleven stone of regret. I cannot bounce." "You don't have to bounce, you have to *traverse*." He rubbed his face with both hands. "And the presents?" "Present table. Back of the marquee, under the banner that says *Freddie is 6*. Approximately thirty units. Gift bags, boxes, one of those enormous soft toys that costs ninety quid and gets left in a hedge by Thursday." "You've cased a six-year-old." "I've cased a *revenue stream*." Molly tapped the leaflet. "Middle-class postcode, Bill. That table's got LEGO on it. Do you know what LEGO holds its value like? Gold. Better than gold. Gold doesn't come in a sealed Millennium Falcon box." Bill stared out the windscreen at the house, where a man in a polo shirt was wrestling a helium canister like it had insulted his wife. "I want it on record," he said, "that this is the lowest point of my professional life." "Lower than the bins?" "The bins had dignity. The bins were *nocturnal*." "The bins had a badger in them." "The badger and I had an understanding." He unwrapped a boiled sweet, considered it, and put it back in his pocket. "What about the mums? You've not factored in the mums." Molly went quiet. "I've factored in the mums." "Have you though." "There'll be four of them by the prosecco. That's the danger zone. But they're facing inward, Bill. Mums in a huddle face inward. It's a defensive formation, it's got no rear visibility." "And if one of them clocks us?" "You're the entertainment." Bill turned his head very slowly. "Say that again." "You're the entertainment. I bought you a waistcoat." She reached into the back and produced something purple and sequinned. "You're Mister Wobbles. You do three balloon animals, you take a bow, you walk out with a bin liner nobody questions, because clowns carry bin liners. That's just true." "Balloon animals." "You've got big hands. It's basically sausages." "I have never made a balloon animal in my life." "Then make an abstract one and tell them it's a giraffe. Children have no critical faculties, that's the whole basis of the industry." Bill held up the waistcoat. It caught the light and threw a small disco across the dashboard. "Thirty units," he said. "Thirty units. Two hours. We're home for the football." "And when the kid cries?" Molly paused, hand on the door. "He's six. He'll get more presents in September." "That's Christmas." "Exactly. Nature's insurance." She popped the door. "Come on, Mister Wobbles. Your public awaits."