Bite size bits.

WILMORE CLOSE - CHAPTER 23

THE GREAT KNITTING NEEDLE HEIST

July 4th

Well, George, your Edith’s gone and done it now. Graduated from would-be graffiti artist to full-blown armed robber. Though I use the term ‘armed’ loosely.

After two days of some needed, but unwelcome rain, I marched into Bobby Swift’s bookies, my heart pounding like a drum. The place hadn’t changed in decades – still somehow had that musty smell of cigarettes and broken dreams. I made my way upstairs, my weapon of choice clutched tightly in my hand.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. What kind of criminal mastermind robs a bookie with knitting needles? This kind, apparently.

Bobby Swift Jr was behind the counter, looking the spitting image of his father. When he saw me brandishing my jumbo-sized needles, his face was a picture - caught somewhere between amusement and utter confusion.

“What the bloody hell are you doing, Edith?” he asked, eyebrows nearly touching his hairline.

I tried to look menacing. Probably came off more constipated than anything. “This is a stick-up, Bobby Swift! Hand over the cash!”

He stared at me for a long moment, then burst out laughing. “Oh, Edith.. It’s always a bit quiet on Thursdays. Come on, love. Let’s get you a cuppa.”

Before I knew it, I was being ushered into his office. My great heist had been foiled by the offer of tea. Marvellous.

“How about a little brandy in that?” Bobby asked, already reaching for the bottle.

“Oh, go on then,” I said, my criminal persona crumbling faster than a digestive in hot tea. “Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.”

As Bobby handed me the tea, he sat down across from me, concern etched on his face. “Now, what’s all this about, Edith? You’re not exactly the armed robbery type.”

I sighed, feeling deflated. “It’s this winter fuel allowance business, Bobby. I’m looking at a choice between heating and eating. Thought I might be better off in prison, if I’m honest.”

Bobby listened patiently as I poured out my worries. When I finished, he leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful look on his face.

“You know, Edith, I’ve heard all sorts over the years. Sob stories, ‘if onlys’, some painful, some pitiful, some downright hilarious. But I’ve got to say, no one’s ever tried to rob me with knitting needles before.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, I always did like to be original.”

Bobby grinned, then his face turned serious. “Listen, Edith. How about this - I’ll pay your fuel allowance. In return, you promise no more robbery attempts. Deal?”

I stared at him, gobsmacked. “Bobby, I couldn’t possibly-”

He waved away my protests. “Consider it an investment in keeping our local criminal masterminds out of prison.”

“How about I come and see you if I really need to?” I suggested.

As we shook on it, Bobby’s eyes twinkled. “You know, your George would be bloody proud of you. My dad thought the world of him. Did you know George once placed a bet that he’d marry you?”

I shook my head, surprised.

“Oh yeah. Dad gave him 50 to 1 odds. Your wedding day was a painful one for my old man.” Bobby chuckled, raising his own glass of brandy. “Here’s to George. And here’s to you, Edith.”

As I sipped my spiked tea, I couldn’t help but smile. Oh, George. What would you say if you could see me now? Your Edith, would-be armed robber, foiled by a cup of tea and a kind heart.

I left Bobby’s with a lighter step. My life of crime had been short-lived, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. After all, if I could take on a bookie with nothing but knitting needles and moxie, who knows what else this old bird might be capable of?

Watch out, Victoria Harlow. You might not see me coming, but I’m here, and I’m just getting started.