Free Too Much Trouble by Tom Avery

barbecue. Into the bag and out; grasping something hard and smooth.
    I didn’t look at the object, but thrust it into my pocket. I turned and walked towards Kieran, who was watching and waiting. He was smiling at me. I gave him a thumbs-up sign. His smile got even bigger.
    When I was a few steps away from him he said, ‘What have you got then?’
    I pulled the object out of my pocket and found myself proudly holding a brown hair-brush. Kieran burst into laughter, then imitated my thumbs-up sign. I started laughing too. My first ‘real’ steal was a hair-brush.
    â€˜Come on, let’s get some lunch,’ Kieran said.
    Strangely, we didn’t steal our lunch. We paid for it out of the money from stolen wallets. Jamal said it was because we couldn’t work over our lunch breaks. I guess that made sense.
    Prince’s morning had been much more successful than mine. He had picked a wallet and a phone. He was beaming with pride. Jamal sang his praises as he told us about the two steals. Kieran clapped him on the back to congratulate him.
    We all laughed over my hair-brush.
    That afternoon I pinched two phones and the tips that had been left on a restaurant table. At the back of my mind it still felt wrong, taking other people’s things.
    ***
    Father used to tell us what was right and what was wrong, and not just when we got into trouble. Usually when we were out, walking or running, Father would stop to look at something and talk to us about it. If we saw someone wasting water, or litter on the ground or even just a plane in the sky, we’d stop and my father would tell us the right and wrong of it.
    I remember one day when we had gone into town. Prince was little and had stayed at home with our mother, so it was just me and Father.
    The market was busy. Some people were selling and buying but most people were chatting andlaughing. We kept stopping. Lots of the men wanted to talk to my father. They asked him questions and he usually made a joke. They would clap each other on the shoulders and laugh, then say goodbye and we would walk on, trying to find the items my mother had sent us to buy.
    We found the first item, a ball of string at a market stall covered in useful-looking things. Scissors, rope, hammers. Some things were worn and old-looking, others new, like the scissors that glinted in the sun. I moved my head back and forth so the gleam of light shone in and out of my eyes as my father talked about the price of the string. It took a long time.
    When we walked on, the string in my hand, I asked my father, ‘Why did you have to talk about the price, Dadda?’
    My father scratched his nose and replied, ‘You see all these things, Emmanuel?’ He stretched out his arms to take in the whole market.
    I nodded and said, ‘Yes, Dadda.’
    â€˜All these things have a price, Emmanuel, they are all worth something.’
    I nodded.
    â€˜Sometimes we don’t want to pay the price, we think they are worth less than the price. You understand?’
    I nodded again.
    â€˜And sometimes we can’t pay as much as the price. So we have to talk, we have to come to an agreement.’ My father finished there but I had another question.
    â€˜What if you can’t pay the price, Dadda, and you can’t come to an agreement? What do you do then?’ I said.
    â€˜Then you must walk away empty-handed and maybe work a little harder. Everything has a price and we must work to meet that price. You have to work hard, Emmanuel, then you can have all the best things you can think of. If you don’t work hard, then you must go empty-handed. That is why you must carry all the things we buy - and then I will give you a sweet.’ My father laughed. ‘That is the price,’ he said. ‘Do you agree?’ He offered his hand to me.
    â€˜What if I carry half of the things?’ I replied with a smile, and offered my hand in return.
    He grabbed my hand and pulled me