Free May Contain Nuts by John O'Farrell Page A

encouragement all over again, so I decided to walk. We only lived five minutes from the high street, or fifteen if you were in the car, but it suddenly struck me that I never made this journey on foot after dark. And as I took my first brisk steps between the towering 4x4s and the shadowy hedges, I realized that it was not just habitual laziness that prompted me to climb into the car every time I needed so much as a pint of milk. It was fear. I was nervous of walking down my own street after dark.
    â€˜Make Fear Your Friend,’ I kept repeating to myself as I hurried past a couple of suspicious-looking wheelie-bins, which to my great relief did not have a couple of muggers waiting to pop out as I passed. ‘Make Fear Your Friend.’ Why did I have to have such noisy shoes? Their hasty clattering seemed to broadcast the message: ‘Wealthy lone female taking mobile and bulging purse out for late-night walk. Probably wearing a Rolex. Help yourself.’ A recent neighbourhood-watch leaflet had reported that the last local resident to have their briefcase stolen had managed to take a photo of the fleeing muggers with his new mobile phone. I’d thought this was rather inspired, until I read that the thieves had then turned round and nicked his phone as well. I clutched the prize bootymarked ‘Blockbuster video’ tightly to my chest as I imagined members of the criminal underworld trying to unload a stolen copy of Barney and Friends for the price of a hit of crack cocaine. Fragments of broken car window glistened in the gutter; in the distance I could hear a police siren rushing to the scene of some other routine crime.
    Then ahead of me from out of the shadows emerged two figures. A couple of teenage boys, both tall with their hoods up, had come out of a doorway and started to walk up the road towards me. This was it. Fear wasn’t my friend at all – he always made me feel awful. My pace slowed while my heart was racing. For a second I carried on walking towards them, thinking that turning round now would be too obvious, that it would concede defeat too easily, surrendering myself as a willing target. I could see them more clearly as they passed under the orange sulphur glow of a flickering street light: they were both black, and looked lanky and sullen. They walked a couple of yards apart so that I would have to walk directly in between them. That would obviously be the moment when they’d strike. One of them was a giant, maybe six foot six; would he be the one who would hit me while the other demanded my purse? Would they want more than the usual? I’d read somewhere about a robber cutting off a woman’s finger to take her wedding ring. Maybe they’d read the same article in the Mail and had decided to try this out? They were only twenty feet ahead of me when I suddenly turned and started to rush back towards the safety of my home. Without actually breaking into a run, I scurried back up the street, adrenalin pumping, my heart in overdrive. I heard them laughing close behind me and now I ended any pretence and just dashed to the electronic security gate that we’d had fitted at the end of the path. My hands were shaking as I entered my code on the keypad. Ninefour nine six – Jamie’s date of birth and the four-digit code number I used for everything. A tiny red light flashed at me and a defiant beep told me that this code had now expired. I had paid for the best system available, which meant having to change our security code every two months. I had had this gate fitted to protect me and my family from criminals and now it had trapped me outside with them: stranded and about to be mugged by two dead-eyed youths. I was frantically pressing the buzzer but it was too late. I glanced round and they were upon me.
    Would they say anything first or would they just do it, I wondered as my eyes were squeezed shut and my shoulders hunched up. ‘No!’ I squealed. Then