are shelves of alphabet spaghetti, Pedigree Chum and Ambrosia Rice Pudding. There are packs of toys like blow-football and play-money that never sell ’cause they’re too crap. A Slush Puppy machine makes cups of snow in felt-pen colours, but not in March. Behind the counter are cigarettes and shelves of beer and wine. On high shelves are jars of Sherbert Bombs, Cola Cubes, Cider Apples and Navy Tablets. These come in paper bags.
‘Wow,’ said Hugo. ‘Thrillsville. I’ve died and gone to Harrods.’
Just then Kate Alfrick, Julia’s best friend, breezed in, and got to the counter at the same time as Robin South’s mum. Robin South’s mum let Kate go first ’cause Kate just wanted a bottle of wine. She can buy alcohol ’cause she’s turned eighteen.
‘Ta very much.’ Mr Rhydd handed Kate her change. ‘Celebrating?’
‘Not really,’ said Kate. ‘Mum and Dad are coming back from Norfolk tomorrow evening. Thought I’d have a nice dinner ready to welcome them home. This,’ she tapped the bottle, ‘is the finishing touch.’
Kate studied Hugo through her Russian secretary glasses. ‘The one called Hugo.’
‘Only three hours in Black Swan Green,’ Hugo did a funny stagger of amazement, ‘and I’m being discussed already?’
I told Hugo it was to Kate’s house Julia’d gone to revise.
‘Oh, so you’re that Kate.’ He gestured at the wine. ‘Liebfraumilch?’
‘Yes,’ Kate said, in a what’s it to you? voice. ‘Liebfraumilch.’
‘Bit sweet. You look drier. More the chardonnay type.’
(The only wines I know are red, white, fizzy and rosé.)
‘Could be you don’t know your types as well as you think you do.’
‘Could be, Kate,’ Hugo combed his hair with his hand, ‘could be. Well, we mustn’t keep you away from your revision any longer. Doubtless you and Julia are hard at it. Hope we’ll bump into each other again, some time.’
Kate did a frowning smile. ‘I shouldn’t pin your hopes on it.’
‘Not all my hopes, Kate, no. That would be rash. But the world can surprise you. I am a younger man, but this much I do know.’
At the door Kate looked over her shoulder.
Hugo had this cocky See? expression ready.
Kate left, cross.
‘How,’ Hugo reminded me of Uncle Brian, ‘appetizing.’
I paid Mr Rhydd for the coffee. Hugo said, ‘That’s never real crystallized ginger you have in that jar, right up at the top?’
‘Certainly is, Blue.’ Mr Rhydd calls all us kids ‘Blue’ so he doesn’t have to remember our names. He blew his cracked Mr Punch nose. ‘Mrs Yew’s mother was partial to it, so I’d order it in for her. She passed away with a new jar barely touched.’
‘Fascinating. My Aunt Drucilla, who we’re staying with in Bath, adores crystallized ginger. I’m sorry to send you up your ladder again, but…’
‘No bother, Blue,’ Mr Rhydd stuffed his hanky into his pocket, ‘no bother at all.’ He dragged his ladder over, climbed up and groped for the far jar.
Hugo checked nobody else was in the shop.
He eeled forwards on his chest, over the counter, reached between the rungs of the ladder, just six inches under Mr Rhydd’s Hush Puppies, took a box of Lambert Butler cigarettes, and eeled back.
Numb, I mouthed at him, What are you doing?
Hugo stuffed the cigarettes down his pants. ‘Jason, are you okay?’
Mr Rhydd shook the jar down at us. ‘This’d be the badger, Blue?’ His nostrils were sockets stuffed with hairy darkness.
‘That would indeed be the badger, Mr Rhydd,’ said Hugo.
‘Jolly good, jolly good.’
I was shitting myself.
And then, as Mr Rhydd eased himself down the ladder, Hugo snatched two Cadbury’s Crème Eggs from the tray and dropped them in my duffel coat pocket. If I’d struggled now or even tried to put them back, Mr Rhydd’d’ve noticed. To top it all, in the moment between Mr Rhydd’s foot touching the ground and Mr Rhydd turning round to face us, Hugo swiped a packet of Fisherman’s Friends and stuffed that in with the Crème Eggs. The packet rustled. Mr Rhydd wiped dust off the jar. ‘What’ll it be, Blue? Quarter of a pound do you?’
‘A quarter of a pound would be excellent, Mr Rhydd.’
‘Why d’you’ (Hangman blocked ‘nick’ then ‘steal’ so I had to use the naff ‘pinch’) ‘pinch the fags?’ I wanted to scarper away from the crime scene as quick as possible, but a slow queue of traffic’d built up behind a tractor so we couldn’t cross the crossroads yet.