The Artful Dodger
WRITTEN BY FRAN TRACY
She had kept her secret from the whole village, but now this eager policeman had caught her in the act!
“Anything I can help you with, Madam?”
Sarah nearly jumped out of her skin at the sight of the police officer peering at her over the top of the letterbox. She hadn’t heard him approach. Stealthy, that’s what police officers were; so they could catch criminals in the act. Obvious, really. It must be in the training.
Sarah gulped, but didn’t reply.
Criminals. Like her? For a moment she considered placing her tools on the ground, really slowly, so she didn’t surprise him, but decided that was daft.
He hadn’t asked her to put her hands up, had he? He may not even be a police officer. It was Halloween soon. Most likely he was just trying out a costume for size ready to trick or treat with his kids. Halloween seemed to last for weeks these days. She peered into the darkness. His epaulettes looked the business.
She couldn’t make out the exact numbers and initials, but she thought they read BP598. Was he from the county force? She couldn’t see a squad car.
“Madam? Did you hear me?”
He wasn’t going away. If he was merely dressed up he’d have moved on by now, wouldn’t he? There was no point in her fleeing the scene. He was about a foot taller than Sarah, and by the sound of his voice, considerably younger. Even though she wore trainers there was no chance she’d outrun him, not carrying all her stuff. Leaving everything behind would risk it being impounded as evidence, to be used against her. In court. There’d be fingerprints and everything.
She gulped again.
Sarah had been lucky in her endeavours. Eighteen months ago she’d seen a news item on TV and had tried it, on a whim. Keeping it on the lowdown, she’d got away with it anonymously so far. It was surprisingly easy in their village to creep out once it was dark and do the deed. She always wore a hoodie, and there were no CCTV cameras nearby. There wasn’t much in the way of street lighting in Romney Green either, despite the occasional appeal to the Parish Council. So far, so good, she’d got away with it.
She was thrilled she’d made the front page in the local newspaper for the first time in her life. There were even photos of the scene of the crime.
Then there was the chatter in the local shop, which doubled as a post office. A few months ago she was tucked down an aisle, trying to decide which soup to buy for her tea, when she heard them discussing what she’d done at the counter.
“It’s happened again.”
“I know! Who d’you reckon it is?”
“We’ll only find out if they get caught in the act.”
“What do you reckon, Sarah?” Margie the postmistress had asked when Sarah popped both tins of soup on the counter.
“Could be anyone,” she’d replied with a non-committal shrug, grinning as she turned away from the counter, tucking the tins into her canvas shopping bag.
It could be lonely, mind. She was torn between the excitement of going solo, and wishing for a partner in crime. Sometimes she wondered if she’d bitten off more than she could chew, spending solo evenings plotting and planning, when it would have been nice to mull things over with Hilary or Denise, her besties.
That might have compromised them, though. They’d have been caught, like she was now.
I’m sorry, officer. It’s supposed to be a bit of harmless fun, but I won’t do it again…
“No, Madam, you misunderstand me. I’m offering my help. It looks tricky, stretching it over the top and holding it in place while you fix it.”
Was Sarah hearing things?
“I’ve seen you do it before,” he whispered, “as I passed through the village. I’m Ben, PC Pendleton.”
He was right. It was easier with help. With Ben holding things in place, the job was done in no time.
“Thank you,” Sarah said, once she’d taken photos of her work.
This time she’d crocheted a witch, ghost and pumpkin to go on top of the letterbox. For Halloween. The local kids would love them, she knew. Each and every one had been popular, drawing visitors from nearby villages.
“I’m happy to be your accomplice,” he told her. “Thank you for being our very own Banksy. Your secret’s safe with me.”
Delighted to have got away with it this time, Sarah packed away the tools of her trade: spare yarn, a needle and blunt nosed-scissors. She pulled her hoodie up tight and sauntered home, proud as anything to be the secret graffiti granny of Romney Green.
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Allison Hay
I joined the "My Weekly" team thirteen years ago and, more recently, "The People's Friend". I love the variety of topics we cover both online and in the magazines. I manage the digital content for the brands, sharing features and information on the website, social media and in our digital newsletters.
