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staring at him. He understood. He would have been staring too if he was where they were. ‘Except in Ireland.’ He felt like he was finished for now.
    â€˜Why’s that?’ asked Millsy.
    Anthony shrugged. ‘No idea.’
    â€˜Live round here, do you?’ Darryl asked.
    â€˜No.’ Anthony blinked. ‘I don’t think I do.’
    â€˜You saying you don’t know where you live?’ asked Millsy. But before Anthony could answer a sly thought sprang into his head and he added, ‘Check your wallet.’ Darryl and Millsy glanced at each other. In that instant the plan was set:
drunk bloke gets out his wallet, we grab it and scarper
.
    â€˜Wallet!’ exclaimed Anthony. What a brilliant idea. Why hadn’t he thought of it? Everything in his head was very mixed up. He started patting his pockets. He had many. Eight in his baggy cargo pants alone. He looked glum and shook his head. ‘No wallet.’
    Darryl and Millsy were disappointed. ‘Mobile?’ asked Darryl. It was better than nothing.
    Anthony checked his pockets again, this time pulling out the contents. It was mostly worthless junk.
    â€˜Biro, blue. Box of matches. Another box of matches. A sock.’ Anthony paused to give the sock a quick sniff. It reeked so he shoved it back in his pocket, but he could still smell it. The smell was lodged in his nose. He knew it would creep slowly into the back of his throat and then he’d be able to taste it too. Yeah, there it was. He stuck out his tongue, breathing out to try to expel the bitter sting ofold sock. He continued to itemize his possessions. ‘Another box of matches. God! I must smoke a lot. A poker chip. Hmm, interesting.’ Anthony couldn’t remember being in a casino, though he ran through the rules of blackjack in his head and was surprised to discover that he did know how to play. He carried on searching. He pulled out a Pez dispenser in the shape of Scooby-Doo. ‘Ooh! Pez.’ He took one, popped it in his mouth to combat the taste of the sock and held it out to Millsy and Darryl. ‘Pez?’ he offered.
    They shook their heads, both becoming a little impatient. This guy was clearly just an old tramp and they wouldn’t get anything worthwhile from him.
    â€˜Ooh, hello. What’s this?’ said Anthony, ferreting deep down into a pocket somewhere around his knee. He drew out his hand and opened it to reveal a gold cigarette lighter. Millsy and Darryl perked up: at last something worthwhile. They knew a bloke in the open market who would buy anything gold. No questions asked. Probably wouldn’t give them what it was worth, but it’d be better than nothing.
    â€˜That real gold?’ asked Millsy.
    â€˜I think so,’ replied Anthony.
    All three of them looked down at the lighter sitting in the palm of Anthony’s hand for a few moments and then suddenly Darryl’s hand shot out, like a rattlesnake in one of those BBC documentaries launching itself at an unsuspecting rodent. Darryl’s hand was a blur of movement, but by thetime it reached Anthony’s palm the lighter wasn’t there any more. It had vanished before their very eyes.
    Anthony opened his other hand to reveal the cigarette lighter. He looked like a bemused magician.
    â€˜How’d I do that?’ he asked aloud.
    â€˜Give us it ’ere!’ snapped Darryl, anger rising in him as he suspected Anthony was making fun of him. He threw himself at Anthony’s other hand, grabbed his wrist and prised open his fingers. The lighter had vanished once more.
    Anthony shook his head. ‘I really don’t know how I’m doing that,’ he said.
    Millsy jumped into the fray to help his friend. What happened next was confusing for all involved. Anthony twisted his body and whirled around Millsy, who stumbled forward. He ended up in the arms of his friend. They looked as if they were about to kiss. The two boys jerked back