as I’ve had this thought, I realize I’ve got it. She isn’t even thinking about what she’s doing; she’s posing in front of her friends, most of whom are guys, I notice. They’re all well dressed and calling out names like “Archie!” to each other. Jake would love them.
“So, I wanted somewhere nice to give you this,” says Seb, interrupting my thoughts. He hesitates, then reaches into a Tesco canvas bag and pulls out a parcel. It’s medium-sized, quite light, quite nondescript. No branding or gift bag or anything like that—just plain brown paper. I have no idea what it is.
“Open it!” says Seb. “Just my little thank-you,” he adds casually.
“Well, you didn’t need to,” I say, smiling with mock disapproval as I tear open the wrapping paper. “There was really no need. But I’m very—”
My words dry up on my lips as the paper comes off. I’m staring at the object in my hands, my head spinning in disbelief.
“My hairbrush?” I manage at last.
“Safe and sound,” says Seb, looking satisfied. “Restored to its rightful owner.”
I turn it over in my hands, my throat tight. I’m flashing back to the day Mum and Dad gave it to me, on my sixteenth birthday. The way it looked in its presentation box, all smart and new.
“I thought I’d never see this again,” I say dazedly. “I thought I’d— Wait.” A new thought grips me. “How? How did you get this?”
“Good vigilantes never tell,” says Seb in mysterious tones. “This will go with me to the grave.”
“No. No.” I shake my head vigorously. “You can’t turn up with this, with this”—I brandish the hairbrush at him—“and not tell.”
“OK.” Seb capitulates at once. “Actually, I’m longing to tell. Our story begins when you let slip the name of your hairbrush’s abductor,” he says in dramatic tones. “Sarah Bates-Wilson. At once I knew I could track this villain down. She still lives in a ground-floor flat,” he adds more conversationally. “Which was handy.”
“Did you break-and-enter?” I stare at him, aghast. “Oh my God.” My gaze drops to his foot. “But you couldn’t have!”
“I knew my injury would hamper me,” Seb continues in his dramatic voice. “I therefore enlisted an accomplice: my faithful sidekick Andy. We hatched a plot in which I would distract Sarah B-W at the door, asking her questions about her political views, while he crept round the back. Her bedroom window was open; the hairbrush was on the chest of drawers. It was a matter of mere seconds for him to reach in and pinch it,” he ends with a flourish.
I’m silent for a moment, digesting this.
“What if the window hadn’t been open?”
“We would have tried again another day. We were lucky,” adds Seb, in his normal voice. “We’d only gone along to case the joint. Getting the hairbrush first go was a bonus.”
“I don’t know….” I stare at the hairbrush, feeling suddenly conflicted. “I mean, this is amazing, but…you broke the law.”
“She broke the law first,” points out Seb. “She stole your hairbrush.”
“Yes, but…you broke the law!”
I’m clutching stolen goods in my hand, it occurs to me. Oh my God. If Dad taught us anything besides Family first, it was Stay on the right side of the law.
“I didn’t break the natural law,” says Seb with assurance. “Think about it, Fixie. All those companies legally siphoning off money offshore to avoid paying tax. All those executives legally awarding themselves mammoth pensions while their workers get nothing. All abhorrent. I go to jail for restoring your hairbrush to you—and they don’t?”
He sounds so certain, so honest, so good, that I feel a bit of confidence seeping back into me.
“The law doesn’t always know what it’s doing,” he adds for good measure. “Humans have a far greater instinct for what’s right in life than lawyers do.”
“The law is an ass,” I volunteer. I heard that once, and I’m not sure where it comes from but it seems appropriate.
“The law is a wuss, if you ask me,” counters Seb, “but that’s another story. Or maybe it’s politicians who are wusses.” He grins at me disarmingly, his green-brown eyes shining. “Don’t let me get onto my hobbyhorse. You’ll die with boredom.”
“I won’t!” I laugh.
“Oh, you will,” he assures me. “Many have.”
“Well, anyway…thank you,” I say, giving the hairbrush a loving pat. “Thank you for breaking the law for me.”
“Anytime.” He grins. “It was fun.”
A thought occurs to me and I reach into my bag. I pull out the coffee sleeve, and Seb