Run: 2026-10-27-01M5YFV748P7067PN5ZJMPDCTS

Molly and Bill crouched behind a laurel hedge opposite number twelve, where a balloon arch sagged over the gate like a rainbow after bad news. Beyond it, children shrieked around a magician, jelly wobbled on paper plates, and a picnic table groaned beneath presents wrapped in rockets, unicorns, and enough ribbon to moor a yacht. Bill unfolded his plan: a colouring-book page improved with arrows. “Right,” he whispered. “We go in as clowns, you distract the parents, and I wheel the presents out in my bin.” Molly examined the bin. A painted sign read BILL’S BIRTHDAY BORROWING. She turned it around. “Subtle. Why clowns?” “Nobody questions clowns.” “Everybody questions clowns. That’s why circuses have fences.” Bill scratched his orange wig with the pencil. Across the road, the magician bowed, accidentally released three doves from his trousers, and was rushed by shrieking toddlers. Molly revised her opinion of the afternoon’s security. She took the pencil and crossed out BORROWING. Then she crossed out the arrows, because Bill had drawn them pointing towards a paddling pool. “New plan. We carry a cake box, look disappointed, and say the entertainer sent us. You smile at nobody. Children can smell fear.” “What about the presents?” “We ask where the gifts go, load the bin, and leave before musical statues. If anyone stops us, you do your crying.” Bill looked wounded. “My crying never works.” “It worked on the magistrate.” “He was crying too.” Bill considered this while rubbing a damp patch on his sleeve. The hedge rustled, and a pigeon departed with visible disappointment. “Fine. But if I’m crying, I want a dinosaur. You can keep anything that squeaks.” Molly sighed. “You’re unbelievable.” A gust flipped the wig over Bill’s eyes. He batted it down while Molly inventoried their supplies: one cake box containing no cake, two oversized shoes, a false moustache, and a bag of balloons Bill had brought for reasons he declined to explain. She handed him the moustache. He stuck it beneath his nose, sneezed, and transferred it to his eyebrow. The garden gate opened. A woman wearing a badge that said AUNTIE LINDA, SO HELP ME hurried out, searched the street, and spotted them. Molly grabbed Bill’s arm. “Remember: disappointed, harmless, and briefly invisible.” “I can do two of those.” Auntie Linda marched over. Behind her, the magician’s doves settled on the present table and began opening something with considerable professionalism. Molly felt a pang of professional jealousy. Bill leaned towards her. “If this goes wrong, we’ll blame the balloons.” “If this goes wrong, I’m leaving you in the bin.” Auntie Linda stopped before them, took in the wig, the moustache, and the enormous shoes, then sagged with relief. She declared them the emergency puppet show. Bill whispered, “I really, truly love puppetry.” Somewhere beyond the hedge, forty presents waited, undefended except by thirty children, six doves, and a magician with trouser trouble. Molly lifted the empty cake box and smiled her most dependable smile. “Obviously,” she said. “Bill’s the puppet.”