Lifted Page 5

  She examined the necklace, quickly. Whoever had put the security tag on had done so without attention or care. All she had to do to free the necklace from its packaging was to unhook the clasp and pull it, link by link, through a cardboard hook. In just a few seconds, it had slipped out and lay coiled in her right hand. She closed her palm over it, enjoying, for a moment, the sensation of the cold, smooth metal against her skin. Then she took a deep breath and glanced around her. When she was sure that nobody was looking in her direction, she let the necklace fall into her bag through a small gap at the top. There was a soft rustling sound as it uncoiled on its way down. Swinging her bag across her shoulder once again, she turned and strode purposefully to the exit doors, marching straight across the pedestrian crossing outside. It was only when she reached the other side of the road that she remembered to exhale.

  My Blog

  January 28

  Whoops, I did it again.

  OK, I’ll admit it wasn’t an accident, but I didn’t exactly plan it, either. It just happened, the way things you have some control over, but also know are inevitable, happen. The first time was so easy and it made me feel so good – for a short while, at least – that I had to repeat the experience. I just had to. It was like visiting a fairground and finding yourself in the queue for the biggest, scariest ride there is, knowing that you’re going to be terrified out of your mind, but waiting in line and getting on it anyway, because you also know you’re about to enjoy a thrill like no other. And then the barriers come down, and it’s too late to change your mind, and you’re away! You scream all the way through, begging somebody, anybody, to stop the ride so you can get off. You’re dizzy and sick and certain you’re only seconds away from death. But when the ride ends, you feel exhilarated, alive, like you’re invincible. And the moment you climb off, and your excitement fades, you’re dying to get straight back on again.

  Most of the time, my life is flat. Routine is like gravity, with heavy chains which pull me back and tie me down. When I steal I feel lifted. I feel taller, bigger, stronger. I feel like I’m flying free.

  I was on my way home from school, and I was feeling miserable and empty, and I didn’t want to go home yet, not like I did every other boring day. Instead, I found myself heading to the shops, half aware of what I was going to do, but not allowing myself to put it into words. It was a bit like having an itch that needed to be scratched, but in a place I couldn’t reach. An itch on the inside. I wandered past the shops, hoping that something would call to me, asking to be taken, just as the tights had done. This time, I wanted it to be better than tights, more appealing and more expensive. You see, I figured that if a pair of nasty tights could make me feel that good, how much better might I feel if I took something I really liked, something I might want? And how much more grateful would the charity shop be to receive something that people would want to buy? I knew even before I did it that I wasn’t going to keep whatever I took, that it was never going to be mine. It was all about the taking, not the keeping. Giving it away would stop the stealing being a bad thing and make it into a good thing. Well, maybe not exactly a good thing, but a less bad one, at any rate.

  I soon found it in the window of a clothes shop that I liked, but couldn’t afford to shop in, the type of place my dad might take me to if he wanted to buy me a treat. It was a necklace, hanging from the unfeasibly long plastic neck of a mannequin, and as soon as I saw it, all sparkly and pretty and stupidly expensive, the adrenalin started pumping through my body, and I knew I’d found my prize. I also knew it would be both easy to take and easy to hide. I did my coat up to the top, so you couldn’t see my school uniform underneath, and walked in with as much confidence as I could muster. Luck was on my side. There was only one shop assistant, and she was helping somebody at the till; I don’t think she even registered that I’d come in. I was in and out within thirty seconds, like a cartoon phantom, so fast that I probably left skid marks in the carpet.

  I popped home before I went to the charity shop. I needed to calm down first and I thought it would look a bit suspect if I brought in just one new-looking item again. The necklace really didn’t seem like something a poor, dead gran would wear, so I dug out a couple of Mum’s old jumpers from the spare room, and bundled everything into a tatty plastic bag.

  ‘Hello again dear,’ said the same volunteer, when I walked in. ‘How nice to see you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘You too. I’ve brought in some more stuff. We had a bit of a clear out at home.’

  She emptied my plastic bag on to the counter. The necklace glittered pleasingly, and for a moment I wanted to keep it for myself. I even thought about saying I’d made a mistake and it shouldn’t have been in with the jumpers.

  The volunteer’s beaming smile changed my mind. ‘Thank you dear, what a lovely piece. It looks almost brand new. So shiny. Lovely.’

  ‘Oh, I gave it a bit of a polish for you,’ I said, delighted that she seemed so happy with my donation. I felt warm inside, like I’d just helped a blind person to cross the road. ‘I got it for my birthday but I never wear it.’

  ‘Thank you. People don’t tend to bring us much jewellery these days, they put it on eBay instead. It’ll look lovely in the window display. And thank you for the jumpers too. We do well with patterned knitwear, especially when it’s pure lambswool. The mature ladies like it.’

  ‘Great,’ I said. ‘They’re my mum’s.’ I didn’t say she only wore them when she was cleaning the windows and didn’t want to spoil her decent clothes. Or that she didn’t know I’d donated them.

  She took her price list and her book of labels from under the counter and examined the jumpers. ‘I think we can get about three pounds for each of these,’ she said. Then she held up the necklace again and peered at it through her reading glasses. ‘It is lovely, but it’s only costume jewellery.’ ‘£1.50’ she wrote on a label, which she stuck on to the clasp at the back.

  ‘No!’ I wanted to shout, dismayed at her ignorance. How could she work in a shop and be so clueless about what things cost? No wonder people put stuff on eBay. ‘You can’t charge that little for it! That’s like stealing from the charity! It’s brand new and it’s on sale up the road right now for sixty quid!’ But of course I couldn’t. So I gritted my teeth and smiled and said I really hoped that someone nice bought it. And then I went home and did my coursework.

  Posted by Palgirl at 7:05 PM

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  Chapter 6

  Ruby was a natural at shoplifting, she’d discovered. She had a talent for it. Maybe it was because she’d been told she possessed what people called an ‘honest’ or ‘open’ face, whatever that means, but nobody ever seemed to suspect that she was up to no good. She could walk into a shop, browse for a few minutes, take whatever she pleased, and then leave, as if it was the most natural thing in the world – as if handing over money had no place in the normal shopping experience. The more she practised, the more adept she became. She was like a magician, able to secrete items inside her bag, or her coat, with the merest flutter of her fingers. It was easy, if you knew what to take and what to avoid, if you were aware of the cameras and the security guards and the alarms. The key was to look confident and purposeful, even, if you were brazen enough, to smile at the assistants and have a little chat with them, so they let their guard down. It was like acting, really. Sometimes, Ruby would buy one – usually very cheap – item and steal something more expensive at the same time. It was her version of buy one get one free.

  Although her first few shoplifting expeditions had been spontaneous, impulsive acts, which happened because she was upset, she soon learned it was preferable if she did it when she was calm and in control. If she was feeling emotional she was more likely to make mistakes, to be clumsy or not to concentrate properly. And that, she reasoned, was when she might get caught. Weirdly, though, she’d noticed she didn’t feel upset very often any mo
re; things didn’t seem to get to her the way they used to, not when she knew it was only ever a few hours until her next outing. She let unhappy feelings wash over her, numbly, as if they belonged to somebody else. Now, there was only the high of a successful steal and the dull ache until she did it again.

  Without their knowledge (of course), she had begun to steal to order for the charity shops. Whenever she donated something – and she had taken to visiting several different shops, so as not to arouse suspicion – she would chat to the grateful assistant to find out what items sold the best and what could get the highest price. Jewellery, they told her, was always a popular seller, as were books, scarves and cashmere jumpers. While these were all fairly easy to steal, other charity shop favourites like jackets and coats were a no-go for Ruby, because they were virtually impossible to hide.

  It amazed her how lax many shops were, forgetting to put tags on things, or putting them on so poorly that you could pull them off with barely any effort. It was almost as if they were asking you to shoplift. So convinced was Ruby of her own skill, and so confident was she of her growing experience, that she soon began to forget how much luck was involved too. And that, as she would discover one Saturday afternoon a few weeks into her new career, was dangerous.

  She was in her local department store, Kelly’s, a favourite shoplifting haunt because it was big and well-stocked and the ratio of shop staff to customers was very low. Not to mention that it had everything a charity shop could possibly want. She had scoped it out, noticing on which points the security cameras were focused and what paths the two security guards took. They were like mice, she’d noticed, always following the same pattern. She had bided her time, browsing in the accessories department, picking things up, examining them and then putting them down again, as if she couldn’t quite decide on a gift for somebody. Today she was looking at silk scarves, which had just come in as part of the store’s new spring collection. They were the sort of thing her mother might like, or her aunt – soft and floaty, in muted beiges and greys. Today it would be easy: the store had given her a helping hand. Stupidly, no doubt to protect the silk, the security tags had been attached not to the scarves but to the scarves’ labels, which were sewn on with only a few stitches. Ruby could see immediately that they would come away with a simple tug.

  When she was as sure as she could be that nobody was watching her, she picked up two scarves in exactly the same colour and took them over to the full-length mirror nearby. She wrapped one around her neck and pirouetted around, as if she was admiring her reflection. As she did this, she tore the tagged label from the other scarf and let it drop to the floor, gently kicking it under the mirror with her foot. Perhaps her de-tagging was a little too violent, because it left a small hole, but that was fine for the purposes of the charity shop. It made the scarf look more authentically secondhand; she could even say it was moth-eaten. And then, in one brisk movement, as she unwrapped the first scarf from around her neck, she used her other hand to stuff the second, now tag-less scarf in her coat pocket. Slowly, diligently, she walked back over to the display table and replaced the first scarf in the pile, as though she’d decided it simply wasn’t to her taste. She might have looked calm, but she was breathless, her heart drilling into her chest wall and the blood pumping hot in her cheeks and ears. She loitered a while, pretending to examine a few other items, as she tried to bring her breathing back to normal, and then, with a determined stride, she made for the exit.

  The doors were only a few metres away. Just a few more steps …

  ‘Stop!’

  Someone had her arm. Ruby’s insides seized up, although somehow her legs kept walking of their own accord. It was a strange sensation, a bit like taking your feet off the pedals when you’re cycling downhill, she thought. So this was it. This was it. She had always imagined that if she got caught she’d feel a tight, vice-like grip around her wrist. She’d expected that it would hurt, like a handcuff or a Chinese burn. But the hand on her arm was far gentler than she had anticipated. She felt only the light brush of long fingers, a touch that felt almost affectionate. As she quickened her pace she could sense the figure of a man looming behind her, walking at exactly the same pace, his hand still grasping for her arm.

  ‘Ruby,’ he said. ‘Please stop.’

  That was odd.

  ‘How do you know my name?’ she asked. She felt weirdly, unexpectedly calm. She turned her head round slowly to face the man.

  It wasn’t a security guard. It wasn’t a man at all, just a very tall boy. It was Noah.

  ‘What the hell?’

  ‘Just stop please, OK?’ he said. If the voice hadn’t sounded familiar, it was because it was deeper than she recalled.

  ‘But I —’

  ‘Shush,’ whispered Noah. He was shaky and very red in the face. ‘Don’t say anything and don’t look behind you, but the security guy has clocked you and he’s been following you around for a couple of minutes.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked. She realised her legs had stopped walking, although she couldn’t remember telling them to. Now her feet were stuck fast to the floor, while everything around her seemed to be spinning faster and faster. How was it possible that she hadn’t noticed the brightness of the lights before? How had she been unaware of the music and the low purr of chatter that wove its way through it? It was as if she’d been brought suddenly out of a trance.

  ‘He saw you take that scarf and he’s waiting for you to leave the store,’ Noah said. ‘I saw him talking into his radio about you.’

  Ruby giggled, involuntarily. The weird, raspy noise that erupted from her didn’t even sound like her normal laugh. She thought of saying, ‘What scarf? I don’t know what you’re talking about’ or ‘It was an accident’ but she knew it would sound pathetic. ‘I, uh …’ she stuttered. She felt sick and wobbly. She tried again: ‘I, didn’t, uh …’ She stared straight ahead. Perhaps if she didn’t look at Noah she could pretend this wasn’t happening. For a moment, she wondered if being arrested might be preferable. At least a security guard or a policeman wouldn’t know her, or live in her street.

  ‘You’ve got to put the scarf back,’ Noah said, as firmly as he could. ‘And, if there’s anything else you’ve taken, you’ve got to put that back too. He’s waiting for you to go outside so he can stop you and arrest you. That’s how they work.’

  ‘I … I … don’t know what to do,’ she stuttered. She felt she was on the brink of tears, but didn’t want to cry in front of Noah.

  ‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘Just go back over to the scarf table and take it out of your pocket and leave it there. If you go out the shop and you haven’t taken anything, it’s not shoplifting, is it?’

  Ruby shook her head.

  ‘So I’ll wait here for you and then we’ll leave together, OK?’

  Ruby nodded. ‘OK,’ she whispered. She wasn’t convinced that she could do it. Maybe, she thought, if I pray really hard, or click my heels three times, or say a magic word, I can make myself disappear instead.

  Chapter 7

  Noah watched as Ruby walked back through the shop to the table on which the scarves were neatly piled. Her head was bowed, her steps an uneven shuffle. He hadn’t seen Ruby appear so fragile, or so lacking in confidence, at least not since they were little. She looked crestfallen, just like she always used to when they were about six and her dad told her off for lying or being cheeky. He couldn’t explain why, but if he tried not to think about the fact she was a thief, her vulnerability made her even more attractive. It made him feel stronger too, like he was in control for once, like he mattered to her. He felt he wanted to protect her.

  Ruby had almost reached the table when he saw the security guard, heading straight for her, his radio to his ear. He realised with alarm that Ruby, her back to him, still had the scarf in her pocket. He had to do something. He had to do something fast. ‘Think! Think!’ he repeated under his breath. He launched himself across the shop with such speed that he was able
to double back on himself and block the security guard’s path to the table. ‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘Can you tell me where the nearest cashpoint is?’

  The guard stopped. ‘Um, uh, yeah, it’s across the road,’ he said, distracted, trying to peer past Noah. For once, Noah was glad of his height and the span of his arms.

  ‘Where exactly?’

  The security guard sighed. ‘Come out of the shop, cross the road and turn left,’ he said. ‘It’s about fifty yards away. You can’t miss it.’ He started walking away.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Noah. He turned around to see Ruby coming towards him, looking nervous. Please Ruby, he thought, as she approached, please have put the scarf back. He stared directly at her, opening his eyes as wide as they would go. Comprehending, she nodded.

  But before she could reach him, the guard stopped her. ‘Can I see your pockets please, miss?’

  ‘Sure,’ she said, forcing a smile. Noah wondered if the guard could tell how nervous she was. She emptied her coat pockets for him, showing him what looked like some chewing gum and an old receipt, and then turned the linings inside out so that it was clear she was concealing nothing.

  He nodded. ‘Now please open your bag for me,’ he said.

  Ruby did as she was asked. Noah could see that her hands were shaking, even though she must have known he wouldn’t find anything there. Unless she’d taken something else, something he hadn’t seen? Had she?

  The guard peered inside. ‘Thank you,’ he said, sounding disappointed. ‘You’re free to go.’ He glanced suspiciously at Ruby and then at Noah. Perhaps, Noah thought, he was beginning to wonder whether he had been duped. Noah stood still as the guard sized him up, evidently trying to work out if Ruby could have passed him whatever it was he’d seen her take. Were they in it together? Noah didn’t carry a bag and he was wearing just a fitted jumper and jeans; there was simply no way he could have hidden anything.