“I can’t do it Ads,” I blurted out.
We were on our way to King’s Cross, to kick start the “Glorious Life of Crime” we’d been planning for weeks now.
Except I’d just had a Road to Damascus moment.
A moment that somewhere in the back of my brain I knew was the saving of everything I might be, as wussy as that sounds. So I was certain backing out, even now, was the right decision. And I was proud as.
Except now Ads, my best mate ever since I can remember, was staring at me like I’d just crawled out from under a rock. He looked calm, but I knew by the tic under his left eye that he was mad as a cut snake and there was a big blue coming.
“Don’t get your grundies in a twist,” he said. “We’ve been planning this for ages. It’ll be a piece of piss.”
It wasn’t just shitting bricks about getting caught that changed my mind though. I was a bit spooked about that, but we’d planned this so well the chances were we’d get away scot-free.
I knew Ads was feeling pretty rooted right now, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what my Ma had told me about my Da yesterday.
“I’m really sorry Ads,” I said, really meaning it. I knew I wasn’t just quitting our “Glorious Life of Crime” now, but kind of our friendship too.
“Oh rack off,” he spat back. “I didn’t think you were going to cark it on me. Thanks heaps.”
And with that my best bud walked off up William Street. And I felt lost as.
