Joe

‘I’m gonna go now,’ I say to Mum as she puts the shirt over her arm and starts walking towards the tills. ‘Where shall I meet you?’

‘Back at the car,’ Mum says. She looks at her watch. ‘Ticket runs out at one, so make sure you’re back by then.’

‘OK.’

‘Can I go round town on my own as well?’ Kate says, all of a sudden not dragging her heels behind Mum. ‘Please.’

Mum shakes her head. ‘Not yet, Kate. We need to get you some shoes.’

Kate sighs heavily.

‘I’m confused,’ Dad says. ‘I thought buying shoes was the reason women lived.’

Kate sighs again.

I smirk and head out of the shop. What a waste of time. I have no idea why Mum needed me to be there for that. All we did was go to one shop and find the first shirt that had a reduced sticker on the price label. A plain white shirt. As though I don’t have a load of those at home already. It wasn’t even as though she made me go into the changing rooms to try it on. All she did was hold it up against me. A waste of my time.

I don’t mind coming shopping usually. I mean, I don’t like walking round with Mum and Dad and Kate, but walking round the shops I want to look in is all right. Even if I never have any money to spend in them. Today, though, I’d rather not be here. I want to go and see Ash. I want to talk to him about what we saw last night. About what we found last night and what we’re gonna do with it. I keep changing my mind. I know what I should be thinking: hand the bag over to the police. It’s what we should do. But is it the right thing to do? I mean, if we took the bag to the police, what would happen to it? Would they actually find who it belongs to? I don’t know what to think.

I head to the other end of town, where there are some shops I like looking in: music shops, skate shops, computer games shops. I have my hands in my pockets as I walk, feeling the fifties that Ash gave me yesterday between my fingers. And just the thought of having two hundred pounds in my pockets makes me smile to myself.

First I stop off at the skate shop. Not that I have a skateboard, but I like the music and the clothes that go with skating. There’s some punky music playing really loudly in there. I think it’s that band Ash keeps on about. Clustered around the counter are a load of skater kids, all dressed in uber cool clothes. They’re the kind of kids that make me feel uncool just by looking at them. The kind of kids that look as if they were born looking like that. I start looking through the T-shirts. They’re all really expensive. Thirty, forty, fifty quid. But they all look great. I’d love to turn up to the rec wearing one of them. Just for a change. I feel the fifties in my pocket and think about buying one of the T-shirts. But I resist.

Instead, I walk over to the trainers and take some high-tops down from the rack. I sneak a look at the price. £84.99. I put them straight back. They look great. But I can just imagine what Mum and Dad would say if I spent that much on some trainers. They made enough of a fuss about paying forty quid for the ones I’m wearing now. I keep browsing through the sale trainers. As I turn away from them, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror: scruffy T-shirt, faded jeans and scuffed-up, out-of-shape trainers. It’s kind of depressing. I look tragic.

‘Can I help you, mate?’

I jump. It’s the guy that runs the shop. ‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘Just looking.’ It’s what I always say when someone in a shop talks to me, like an automated response. The shopkeeper’s just about to walk away when I change my mind. ‘Actually,’ I say, ‘can I try some of those on?’ I point over at a pair of trainers in the sale.

The shopkeeper smiles. ‘Course,’ he says. ‘Size?’

‘Eight.’

He goes off to get the trainers and I sit down on a bench. And I start feeling panicky and paranoid. Can I do this? Can I really spend the money we found? Won’t Mum and Dad work out that something’s going on?

But before I can make a decision, the shopkeeper comes back in, holding a shoebox. ‘Size eight. Last pair,’ he says. He hands one of the trainers to me.

I take off my skanky old trainers and immediately wish I had a better pair of socks on. Mine have holes in them.

‘These are a good little pair of trainers,’ he says. ‘Look, you’ve got loads of support around the ankle and the foot. Ideal for skating. Do you skate?’

I shake my head as I pull the trainers on. ‘Not really.’

‘They look good as well,’ the shopkeeper says with a smile. ‘What do you think?’

I stand up in them and look in the mirror. They look great. I nod. ‘I’ll take them,’ I say, before I have time to think twice about what I’m doing.

The shop assistant smiles. ‘Good choice. I’ve got a pair of them myself.’

A minute later I’m standing by the counter next to the impossibly cool kids as the shop assistant rings up the sale. And I’m feeling kind of nervous. Stupidly nervous. Like he’s gonna see the fifty that I’m gonna use to pay and he’s gonna know where I got it from. It’s stupid, I know.

‘That’s thirty-nine ninety-nine,’ the shop assistant says.

I nod and smile and put my hand in my pocket. I breathe deeply. I need to stay calm. It’s just like Ash says about talking to girls: act confident, like this is nothing out of the ordinary, and the assistant will think this is normal.

I pull the fifty out of my pocket and hand it over.

Beside me I can sense the cool kids look at me. One of them whistles. ‘Jeez, man,’ he says, ‘you must be loaded.’

I look at him and smile. I can feel myself blush. I try and think of something cool to say back, but my mind’s blank.

‘Can you lend me some?’ one of the others says, then laughs. ‘I’m skint.’

I smile again. I feel hot and flustered. I can feel my heart racing. I want to get out of here. I grab the bag with my new trainers off the counter, mumble ‘Thanks’ and walk as fast as I can to the door.

Out in the street, I take a deep breath. I can’t believe how uncool I was back in there. I nearly gave myself away. All I had to do was hand the money over and I went to pieces. I start walking, not even thinking about where I’m going next, but a few seconds later I hear someone behind me.

‘Oi, mate!’

At first I just ignore it, but then, with a sinking feeling, I start thinking maybe it’s someone after me. I turn round to see it’s the shopkeeper. Shit. I knew it. He’s sussed me.

He runs over to me. He holds out his hand. ‘You must be seriously loaded,’ he says. ‘You didn’t take your change.’

I look down at his hand. There’s a receipt, a ten-pound note and a penny lying there.

I hold out my hand and take the money off him. ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘Sorry. My mind’s somewhere else.’

The shop assistant smiles. ‘Know that feeling. Enjoy the shoes.’ And he heads back towards the shop.