Lifted (6 page)

After science, there was English, and after lunch, history and maths. Ruby got through them all on
autopilot, by half listening and half concentrating, while she, Hanni and Amanda passed silly notes back and forth, discussing the teachers and the boys in their year. As long as they didn’t giggle too much the teachers didn’t appear to notice them. Who cared if they were actually learning anything?

Throughout that week, everybody in the year was being called out of class to go to see the careers adviser, Miss Duncan, about their work experience placements. Ruby looked forward to her appointment all afternoon, not because she was keen to discuss her placement, but because it would break up the day and ease the monotony. It was almost three-thirty by the time she was called in. She’d never met Miss Duncan before and she was surprised to see how young she looked, not much older than a sixth former. What a weird job careers adviser was, she thought. Miss Duncan spent her days helping other people decide on their future careers, when she’d almost certainly never tried any of them herself. In all likelihood, Ruby decided, Miss Duncan had become a careers adviser because she hadn’t worked out what else she wanted to do.

‘So, Ruby,’ said Miss Duncan. ‘Any idea of where you might like us to place you?’

‘Nope, sorry.’

Miss Duncan sighed. ‘Right. Do you know what you might like to do when you leave school, after sixth form?’

‘Not really.’

Miss Duncan seemed disappointed, although not surprised. She looked through Ruby’s school record. ‘You get decent marks. I assume you’ll be thinking about university. How about law or business?’

Ruby shook her head. She didn’t want to spend her placement bored out of her brain in a stuffy office with a bunch of people in suits, filing paperwork. She wondered what would happen if she was cheeky and said, ‘Do you know what? My ultimate ambition is to be a careers adviser at this school’, but she didn’t think Miss Duncan had much of a sense of humour.

‘OK, then. So what do you like doing, Ruby?’

Ruby thought about it. She liked hanging out with her friends, surfing the web and watching TV. Oh, and reading magazines. ‘I like reading,’ she said, because it sounded better.

‘Hmm,’ said Miss Duncan, leafing through a pile of paperwork on her desk. ‘I don’t think we have anything suitable.’ She chewed her pen. ‘Anything else you enjoy?’

‘Going shopping,’ said Ruby. She qualified it: ‘I like fashion.’

‘Ah, retail.’ Her voice sounded brighter. ‘Yes, we might be able to find a work experience placement for you in retail.’ She scribbled something on a list. ‘Thank you, Ruby. Leave it with me and I’ll get back to you.’

Ruby hesitated. Was that it? Her future career decided? Because she liked shopping? She hovered above her chair, hoping that Miss Duncan would
suddenly remember she had an exciting placement that might be perfect for her, doing something she’d never thought of, but at which she’d excel.

‘You can go back to your form now, Ruby.’

‘Oh, right, um, thanks.’

A girl called Lily Lawton, whom she vaguely knew from her French class, was sitting in the waiting area outside Miss Duncan’s office. She gave her a sympathetic smile.

‘Was it OK?’ Lily asked.

‘Sure,’ said Ruby. ‘It was pretty much how I thought it would be. Here’s a tip: I’d make up a really bizarre hobby, like witchcraft or something, if I were you.’

On her way back to the classroom Ruby passed the noticeboard where you could sign up to audition for the school choir. She stopped to look at it. Maybe Noah was right. Maybe she should put her name down. Singing was such a brilliant way to let off steam and it would be good to have a big concert to look forward to, something that both her parents would have to come to together. She might even get to sing a solo. Inspired by a sudden burst of enthusiasm, she picked up the pencil, which was attached to the board by a piece of string, and read down the list of names, intending to add hers to the bottom. But when she realised she didn’t know a single person who’d signed up, and thought about what her friends would say, she changed her mind and walked away, leaving the pencil swinging forlornly.

Now she felt flat and empty, like there wasn’t any point to anything. She looked at her watch. It was virtually the end of the day, but she couldn’t face going back to class and she didn’t feel like hanging out with her friends after school, especially if Ross was going to be there. Instead, she fetched her coat from her locker in the cloakroom, swung her bag over her shoulder and brazenly exited the school through the main doors. There was no one around to question or to stop her; they were either still in lessons or had already left.

She couldn’t be bothered to walk, so she caught the bus from the end of the road, but got off two stops early, on the high street. She wandered up and down for a while, looking aimlessly in shop windows, as if she couldn’t make up her mind where she wanted to go or what she wanted to do. And then, on a mannequin, in the window of the department store, she found what she was looking for. It was a long, sparkling chain made up of interlinking sections. The necklace was so colourful and so enticing, it seemed the perfect antidote to her boring, grey, pointless day.

Once she was inside, it didn’t take her long to find the object of her desire. It was hanging from a hook on the wall in the accessories section, alongside three other necklaces. Carefully, she took it off the hook and held it up to the lights, and it sparkled red and green and pink, as if the metal had a rainbow running through it. She didn’t look at the price, although she knew it must be
expensive. Excitement welled up within her. Her heart was pounding so fast and so loud that she felt dizzy. It was a wonder that nobody else could hear it.

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.

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.

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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 more; 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.