Dan kicked the empty Coke can into the kerb, swung again with his right foot and admired the smooth arc of its flight down the centre of the road. A horn blasted him as the car tore past – an open-topped Mercedes – rich bitch driving, two spotted dogs in the back, automatically he raised two fingers and hoped he’d been seen in the rear mirror.

You didn’t get cars like that in his part of town, they wouldn’t dare park. He knew his cousin sometimes got his hands on classy gear, but even he wouldn’t touch a car like that. Dan never saw any of the stuff, and when he asked, Rick just tapped the side of his nose and said, ‘I’ll show you everything you need to know, but not yet kid, you’re too young.’                                                                                     Well, he was ten years old today – not that anyone had noticed. Mum still in bed, with one of her ‘therapy clients’, he’d noticed the hoody at the bottom of the stairs, and empty bottles of booze. He’d wanted cornflakes but the milk was off.

Dan’s eyes followed the can; it was then that he realised where he was – Lombard Road. He’d travelled miles without even noticing, surprising where a Coke can could take you. He glanced about him with interest, big trees, big lawns, big houses, but no one seemed to live in them, the area was deserted. On his estate there were rows of tower blocks and hundreds of tiny houses, gardens buried under rubbish and barely big enough for the bins, thousands of people scraping some sort living. These grand houses sat alone in the sunshine, so neat and quiet. ‘How do you get to live here?’ Dan wondered.

He peered down the long drive of a huge house, with colourful clumps of flowering things all over the place. Then he saw it. The glint of sunshine on the handlebars had caught his eye, it was sleek, silver, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He recognised it straight away – Premier Demon Eye, it was almost £500 in Halfords. Dan’s mouth was dry, he was barely aware of his feet taking him down the drive. He stood in front of the machine his gaze lingered on the frame, its glowing metallic sheen, the leather saddle, the special edition tyres, complete and utter perfection. He leant down and lifted the bike, twirled the handlebars, he wheeled it a short way, the precision engineering meshed like silk. He glanced up at the windows of the house, nothing stirred, every pane was blank – no one was at home, he was sure of it.                                                                                                                                                                                                                 ‘Happy Birthday, Dan,’ he breathed, this would more than make up for the lack of presents this morning, and Rick would be well impressed. He looked back to the gate – only a few yards, then off like the wind down Lombard Road, and home. The sound of wheels crunching on gravel interrupted his thoughts; a Volvo was turning into the drive. He dropped the bike and ran full pelt into an open porch at the side of the house. He could hear his heart thumping in his chest, he pressed his hands behind him, damp palms slipping on the glossy door.  Carefully, he peered out, the bonnet of the car inched between the gateposts, he swallowed scanning the driveway for an escape route. There wasn’t one, he would have to leg it as fast as Rick had, that night the cops were after him. 

The note of the engine changed, cautiously Dan looked round the edge of the porch. The car was in reverse, it was only turning round. He grinned and punched the air before slumping backwards, dizzy with relief. Dan lolled back against the door then felt it give way behind him. He sprawled onto a floor of black and white tiles. He was in a hall, at the end of the room a dim corridor led deep into the house.  He stood up and set off to explore. If he came across anyone, he would be ready with his story –‘he’d noticed the bike, it was one he dreamed of, he wondered if he could have a proper look at it, but he didn’t need a story, the house was as empty as his Mum’s kitchen cupboards.

He walked along the passageway on the balls of his feet. Warily, he passed the control panel of a burglar alarm. He held his breath, but the silence was solid. He’d go back with some pricey stuff, armloads of it, Rick would have to think again – so much for ‘too young kid.’   He opened a panelled door and glanced around the room – cream sofas, looped curtains, huge pictures and gold framed mirrors; it looked like a house in a film. He checked the area for valuables, massive TV, loads of digital stuff, but he would need proper transport not a Demon Eye. He’d overheard Rick say, ‘Cash, that’s what you want.’  Dan started opening drawers – writing paper, decks of cards, board games – this room was a dead loss. With growing confidence, he explored the rest of the house. Whoever they were, these people had masses of great stuff but nothing he could pop into his pocket. 

The last room he entered, seemed to be a sort of library, far bigger than the book cupboard at school, the best place to find your dreams. He looked at the rows of books, ran his hands along the shelving, half expecting a panel to swing back and reveal the treasures of the house – jewels, gold, and a suitcase full of money. Enough to live on forever, to get Mum a nice place to live, it didn’t have to be as grand as this, but she wouldn’t need to do her therapy work every night and he wouldn’t have to fight and run away from school like he had today, because some kid had called his mum a slag.  He glanced at the titles of the books, who would want to read all this ancient rubbish? Then he saw them – a row of Michael Morpurgo books, it must be all of them! He reached out for one. It was a hard-back, the cover was torn but it was still War Horse. There was an armchair near the window, he sank into the cushions and was soon lost with a horse in war-torn France.

‘Who are you and what are you doing in my house?’ a loud female voice leapt into Dan’s brain. In front of him stood a blonde woman on spiky heels, her clothes were elegant, she didn’t look like the women he knew, her skin glowed and her nails flashed scarlet, diamonds glinted on her fingers and in her ears.                                                                                                                                                           ‘I asked you your name.’ she tapped her foot impatiently, ‘And where do you live?’                                                                       He gulped, ‘Adam Baker, 3 Forest Close,’ without hesitation he gave the name and address of the boy he had fought at school.                                                                                 ‘Well, Adam Baker, explain yourself.’                                                                                                                                              Thinking quickly, Dan held up the book, ‘It’s my favourite, War Horse – thought I’d just read ‘til Carly turned up.’                                                                                                   ‘What are you talking about?’                                                                                                                                                         ‘She said if she wasn’t home, to go in and wait for her.’ 

The woman stared at him, he saw suspicion in her eyes as they flicked round the room and returned to him. She wasn’t at all sure about him, and no wonder, he thought as he glanced down at his dirty T-shirt and frayed jeans. Immediately, Dan pushed home his slight advantage. ‘Carly not tell you I was coming round after school?’                                                                                                                                                        ‘There is no Carly, not in this house.’                                                                                                                                              Dan scrambled to his feet, his heart was light, he was on a home run, ‘Oh no,’ he groaned, ‘I’m sorry, I must have got the wrong address, I’m sure she said…’ 

The woman ushered him from the room and followed him down the passageway, her heels tapping on the black and white tiles. She stopped at the porch, folded her arms and watched as he walked self-consciously down the drive.                                                                ‘Adam!’ her voice hit him in the back of the neck.                                                                                                                            He turned – ‘what now' - he’d nearly made it to the gate.                                                                                                                                                  ‘Don’t forget your bike!’                                                                                                                                                                  Dan raised a trembling hand in acknowledgement, he had almost passed the beautiful silver machine, he took a deep breath and turned towards it, he hesitated – but for only a second - then seized the bike, wheeled it carefully over the gravel, then flew as free as a bird down Lombard Road.

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