Free The Daydreamer by Ian McEwan Page A

‘Yes. I saw you there just as I was climbing in. I wondered when you were going to recognise me.’
    ‘But you were burgled last week …’
    She gave him a look, pitying his stupidity.
    ‘You made it up, so no one would suspect it’s you … ?’
    She nodded cheerily. She seemed much happier as a burglar. ‘Now, are you going to let me get on with my work, and keep your mouth shut afterwards. Or am I going to have to kill you?’
    Even as she was asking this important question, she was advancing into the room, looking around. ‘Not much here, really. But I will have that.’
    She plucked from a shelf a scale model of the Eiffel Tower that Peter had bought in Paris once on a school trip. She slipped it into her pocket.
    It was at this moment that Peter remembered his plan. He picked up his camera from the bedside table. ‘Mrs Good- game?’ he said mildly. As she turned from her study of Peter’s toys the flash went off in her face. And then again, flash … flash. Immediately after the third, Peter began rewinding the film.
    ‘Hey, give me that camera, boy. Straight away.’ Her voice rose to a shriek on these last two words. She stretched out a hand that shook with anger.

    Peter slipped the film free. As he handed the camera to her, he leaned over the edge of the bed and rolled the canister of exposed film into the mouse-hole.
    ‘Boy, what are you doing there? This camera is empty!’
    ‘That’s right,’ Peter said. ‘The pictures of you are right down there. You’ll never get them out.’
    With a creak of knee joints, Mrs Goodgame crouched down and looked. Then with short, ill-tempered gasps she got to her feet. ‘Oh dear,’ she said, absent-mindedly. ‘You’re right. It looks like I will have to kill you after all.’ And with these words she pulled out a gun and pointed it at Peter’s head.
    He pressed himself back against the wall. ‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ he said. ‘But if you insist, there’s something you ought to know first. It’s only fair I tell you.’
    Mrs Goodgame gave a yellow, humourless smile. ‘Make it quick then.’
    Peter spoke quickly. ‘Somewhere in this house is an envelope marked “To be opened in the event of my sudden death”. Inside, it says that in this mouse-hole are pictures of the burglar who is also a murderer. They’ll need a crowbar and a sledgehammer, but I’m sure they’ll take the trouble.’
    It took at least a minute for all this information to be digested by Mrs Goodgame, and all the while she kept the gun levelled at Peter’s head. Finally she lowered the gun, but she did not put it away.

    ‘Very clever,’ she snapped. ‘But you haven’t worked it out very well at all. If I shoot you, the photos will be discovered and I’ll be caught. But if I don’t shoot you, you’ll hand the pictures over to the police and I’ll still be caught. So I might just as well shoot you for the fun of it. And as a punishment for making my life so difficult.’
    She released the catch on the gun with a loud click and raised it once more towards Peter. He was scrambling off the bed while trying to hold his hands above his head. It was not easy. He really did not want to be shot. His birthday was only weeks away and he was hoping for a new bike.
    ‘But Mrs Goodgame,’ he stuttered. ‘I’ve thought about all that. If you’ll promise to stop thieving, and to return all the things you’ve taken, I’ll try and fish the photos out and give them to you. Honest, I will.’
    Her eyes narrowed as she considered. ‘Hmm. Getting all this stuff back won’t be easy, you know.’
    ‘You could go round in the middle of the night, and leave it on people’s doorsteps.’
    Mrs Goodgame put her gun away. Peter lowered his arms. ‘You know,’ she said in a wheedling voice, ‘I was hoping to get all the way to the end of the street. Couldn’t I just …’
    ‘Sorry,’ Peter said. ‘It’s got to stop now. That’s my offer. If you don’t like it, then go ahead