Lifted by Hilary Freeman Page A

of what I stole was air, which is free anyway, so you could say it was only half a crime.
    I might have been just nine, but I knew it was wrong to steal and that there was a chance a great big flash of lightning would appear from the heavens and strike me down dead. That was part of the thrill, I guess, seeing if I could dodge the lightning, finding out whether what my gran, and my mum and dad, and my teachers had all told me was true. I already had an inkling they were lying, just like they’d lied about the tooth fairy and about Father Christmas. Still, I took comfort from the fact that it was asunny day and I was wearing trainers with rubber soles.
    It was a Sunday morning and I’d only recently been allowed to go to the local shop on my own. I revelled in the sense of freedom I felt, just to be able to walk a few metres from home with all that air around me – only me – and the sun on my face. I felt so grown up, fearless, as if I could do anything I wanted. I had a pound coin in my pocket, my weekly sweets allowance, which was generally enough to buy me a chocolate bar, a packet of crisps and some penny chews. I walked into the shop, swinging my arms happily – buying sweets is quite exciting when you’re nine – and Mr Shah said, ‘Hello, my little friend,’ like he always did. I grinned at him, picked some salt and vinegar crisps out of the box by the door, and skipped over to the chocolate counter to make my selection. In those days, I used to run my fingers across all the bars, one by one, as if I was playing an arpeggio on the piano. I liked the smoothness of them, the grooves where the segments were welded together, the slip of the shiny wrappings. It took me ages to choose, even though I nearly always picked the same thing, a milk chocolate bar filled with liquid caramel, which balled up at the corners of my mouth and made my teeth stick together.
    The Wispas were right next to the caramel bars, piled high in a neat rectangle, with one extra bar balanced on the top. It seemed lonely, out of place. I picked it up, fully intendingto try to squeeze it into the display with the other bars, when instead, I had an instinct to take it for myself. I looked around me. There was no one else in sight, and Mr Shah was behind his counter right round the other side of the display. Could I do it? Should I do it? What might happen to me if I did? The more I considered taking it, the more I wanted to. Don’t ask me what I was thinking; I was nine for God’s sake, I didn’t analyse things, I just followed my gut. And my gut whispered to me, ‘Take it, take it.’ So I took it. I stuffed it into my pocket and, as calmly as I could, I walked up to the counter to pay for my other goodies.
    There was no lightning strike. Just a firm hand on my shoulder. ‘What is that in your pocket?’ asked Mr Shah.
    My heart rate tripled, I could hear it pulsing in my ears. ‘Nothing,’ I said, smiling bashfully like children do when they’re hiding something. Most kids are terrible liars; only grown-ups know how to do it properly.
    ‘Show me,’ he said, holding out his hand to me.
    ‘Nothing, I swear.’ I covered my pockets with my palms, protectively. Pathetic, I know. Anyone who looked could have seen that the outline of a chocolate bar bulged through the thin cotton of my jacket.
    ‘Don’t you lie to me. I know you took some chocolate. I sawit in the mirror.’ He pointed up at the convex mirror above the counter, through which he could view the whole shop. I hadn’t noticed it before. It made the room look like it was floating inside a bubble, and when I stepped closer to it, my face grew larger. That, and my nerves, made me want to giggle. I smirked, inappropriately.
    ‘It is not funny,’ said Mr Shah, sternly. ‘Stealing is a very serious matter.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ I mumbled. Now I felt like I was going to cry. Defeated, my eyes downcast, I took the Wispa out of my pocket and handed it to him.
    He placed it on