Joe wasn’t a thief. He just borrowed other people’s valuables and never gave them back. Mostly he borrowed them when no-one was looking. He told himself that one day, when he won the lottery, he would repay them. He would be a Robin Hood character and everyone would love him.
He didn’t actually do the lottery, as it was a pretty safe bet that he would lose. But right now he needed some cash. He didn’t much care about food, or even drink or drugs. He wasn’t bothered about what he wore. But he had been given a tip about a horse that was an absolute no brainer. He had to get to the betting shop. Oh yes, and he only had three fags left.
He wandered along the street, an ordinary suburban row of boxes with windows. No good going to the posh streets. They had alarms and safes, and they were out of his league. He just needed a careless person to leave their back door open when they put the cat out.
He had learned how to spot an empty house, even when the TV was left on, or there was a car in the drive. He didn’t need much, just a tenner to put on Pink Beret at the 4.20 at Chepstow. Not much to ask. And when it won at 50:1, he’d move on to the next town and luxuriate in a hotel room for the night.
No he wouldn’t. Not worth running away for a tenner. But maybe he would get lucky and find expensive jewellery or a stash of cash. It could happen.
The street was quiet and Joe wandered up and down paths trying door handles. If anyone challenged him, he would say that he was taking a trip down memory lane. He was born in one of these houses but wasn’t sure which one as his family had moved when he was a baby. That usually seemed to go down well, while people tried to remember who lived in that house all those years ago.
Meanwhile, Pink Beret was getting her final groom and warm-up before the big race. She had about as much chance of winning as a rocking horse, but Joe always believed the tips he was given by his pal Archie, even though most of the nags he had backed were still running. One even dropped dead mid race.
Time was short, so Joe persevered and bingo, he found an unlocked back door. Nevertheless, he knocked, just in case. Nobody came. Then he did his usual call. “Hi Auntie Hazel, it’s me Trevor’. Well, anyone could get the wrong house.
Auntie Hazel did not appear, so he peered around the door into the tidy kitchen. There was nothing but biscuits in the biscuit tin. He moved clumsily through all the rooms, opening cupboard doors and drawers, but there was nothing small and saleable. He didn’t want to stagger out with the telly. Someone might notice. Just half an hour left before the big race.
He was about to leave empty handed when he opened a small drawer in a hall table.
He couldn’t believe his eyes. It was a sign! A pink beret. This was no coincidence. He picked it up and stuffed it in his pocket for luck. There were coats hanging on the wall rack, so he quickly felt in the pockets. At last his luck was changing. He found £6 in change in one coat and a five pound note in a jacket.
That was it. He was off to make his fortune. He ran all the way to the bookie’s and placed his £10 bet just in time.
He considered putting the pink beret on his head for luck as he watched the race on the TV, but thought better of it. Not a good look in this macho environment. But he couldn’t help running the soft material through his fingers and waving it about in excitement.
Pink Beret was a handsome horse, sleek and shiny. She made a slow start but, bit by bit, she overtook the other riders and, to the dismay of most of the punters and bookies, she actually won!
Joe threw his newly acquired pink beret into the air. This morning he had nothing. Now he was in line for £500. The woman behind the glass screen didn’t look too pleased. Ya boo, sucks to you, Joe thought. You’ve had enough of my money. Time for you to fork out.
“Is the pink beret your lucky mascot?” she said. “That was amazing.”
Joe grabbed the beret and thrust it through the gap in the glass. “You can have it, lovely lady,” he said. “It doesn’t suit me! Maybe it will bring you luck.”
“Oh, it already has,” she said, looking towards the door, where two policemen were standing.
The woman held up the beret so that her name could clearly be seen on its rim. “I left it in my hall drawer this morning.”
Image: Clarence Alford, Pixabay
He didn’t actually do the lottery, as it was a pretty safe bet that he would lose. But right now he needed some cash. He didn’t much care about food, or even drink or drugs. He wasn’t bothered about what he wore. But he had been given a tip about a horse that was an absolute no brainer. He had to get to the betting shop. Oh yes, and he only had three fags left.
He wandered along the street, an ordinary suburban row of boxes with windows. No good going to the posh streets. They had alarms and safes, and they were out of his league. He just needed a careless person to leave their back door open when they put the cat out.
He had learned how to spot an empty house, even when the TV was left on, or there was a car in the drive. He didn’t need much, just a tenner to put on Pink Beret at the 4.20 at Chepstow. Not much to ask. And when it won at 50:1, he’d move on to the next town and luxuriate in a hotel room for the night.
No he wouldn’t. Not worth running away for a tenner. But maybe he would get lucky and find expensive jewellery or a stash of cash. It could happen.
The street was quiet and Joe wandered up and down paths trying door handles. If anyone challenged him, he would say that he was taking a trip down memory lane. He was born in one of these houses but wasn’t sure which one as his family had moved when he was a baby. That usually seemed to go down well, while people tried to remember who lived in that house all those years ago.
Meanwhile, Pink Beret was getting her final groom and warm-up before the big race. She had about as much chance of winning as a rocking horse, but Joe always believed the tips he was given by his pal Archie, even though most of the nags he had backed were still running. One even dropped dead mid race.
Time was short, so Joe persevered and bingo, he found an unlocked back door. Nevertheless, he knocked, just in case. Nobody came. Then he did his usual call. “Hi Auntie Hazel, it’s me Trevor’. Well, anyone could get the wrong house.
Auntie Hazel did not appear, so he peered around the door into the tidy kitchen. There was nothing but biscuits in the biscuit tin. He moved clumsily through all the rooms, opening cupboard doors and drawers, but there was nothing small and saleable. He didn’t want to stagger out with the telly. Someone might notice. Just half an hour left before the big race.
He was about to leave empty handed when he opened a small drawer in a hall table.
He couldn’t believe his eyes. It was a sign! A pink beret. This was no coincidence. He picked it up and stuffed it in his pocket for luck. There were coats hanging on the wall rack, so he quickly felt in the pockets. At last his luck was changing. He found £6 in change in one coat and a five pound note in a jacket.
That was it. He was off to make his fortune. He ran all the way to the bookie’s and placed his £10 bet just in time.
He considered putting the pink beret on his head for luck as he watched the race on the TV, but thought better of it. Not a good look in this macho environment. But he couldn’t help running the soft material through his fingers and waving it about in excitement.
Pink Beret was a handsome horse, sleek and shiny. She made a slow start but, bit by bit, she overtook the other riders and, to the dismay of most of the punters and bookies, she actually won!
Joe threw his newly acquired pink beret into the air. This morning he had nothing. Now he was in line for £500. The woman behind the glass screen didn’t look too pleased. Ya boo, sucks to you, Joe thought. You’ve had enough of my money. Time for you to fork out.
“Is the pink beret your lucky mascot?” she said. “That was amazing.”
Joe grabbed the beret and thrust it through the gap in the glass. “You can have it, lovely lady,” he said. “It doesn’t suit me! Maybe it will bring you luck.”
“Oh, it already has,” she said, looking towards the door, where two policemen were standing.
The woman held up the beret so that her name could clearly be seen on its rim. “I left it in my hall drawer this morning.”
Image: Clarence Alford, Pixabay