Yes. “No.”
“Autumn Abernathy, that is alie. I wasn’t always a thief, you know.” He kneels. Warrick’s trousers fall over his narrow hips as he carefully cuts in around the oak beam on the windowsill. “I wanted to be a musician, truth be told. I’ve always had a gift for it – I’m one of those people who can pick up any instrument and figure it out. My mammy said I had the voice of an angel. My pappy said music was a waste of time, and I was never going to be a rockstar.”
I think of all the creative ideas Warrick talked me out of over the years, and a ball of fury churns in my stomach that Rafe had been told to give up something he enjoyed. “I’m sorry he said that to you. Not everyone can be a rock star with millions of fans and a career, but everyone should get the chance to enjoy making something and giving their songs to the world.”
In the empty shop, my words echo strangely, louder and more certain than I expect.
The air between us hums, as if it’s filled with a swarm of bees. When Rafe speaks, I get the sense he’s choosing his words carefully.
“Pappy was trying to be sensible. Life never dealt him a good hand, and he had no reason to believe any different for me. He was a gardener, like the Widow Hardcastle. His garden was his pride and joy – he could feed our family of six with the vegetable patch and the fruit trees, and used to win awards every year. He even had a display at the Chelsea Flower Show once. He made a little extra money from it on the side, propagating exotic plants for collectors. My sisters were smarter than I, so they were focused on schoolwork, and Pappy viewed the garden as men’s work, so he made me help him.”
“You garden?” I look at Rafe’s long fingers, imagining the softness of his skin. I can’t believe that man’s ever had dirt under his nails.
“I was hopeless,” he admits. “I don’t have the patience, and I don’t find digging my fingers into fresh compost quite the joy that others do.”
“Why, I’m shocked.” Digging into fresh compost is one of my absolute favourite things. It’s like baking a complicated recipe you’ve never tried before, and then pulling an absolutely perfect cake out of the oven.
One of my bees walks along my earlobe.
Don’t think about the compost.
“But I liked the flowers Dad grew,” Rafe continues. “Rare things, expensive. I always wanted things I couldn’t afford. That’s why I became a thief. It’s the same reason all young men become ratbags.Wanting.”
“Howdidyou end up on the wrong side of the law?” I ask.
“You want my villain origin story?” He makes a purring noise in the back of his throat. Without turning around, his tail moves the paint bucket closer so he can dip his brush.
“I didn’t mean?—”
He whirls around, his lips curled back into a wicked grin as he catches me staring. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours, Supreme Commander of the Bees.”
“I don’t have a villain origin story.” My heart races. “I’ve never even got a parking ticket.”
Two bees on the windowsill buzz in lazy circles.
“I find that hard to believe.” Rafe shoos one of the bees away so he can paint around the window frame. “But I’m not ashamed of being hired by one rich toff to steal from his mate down the road. It’s pure Keynesian theatre. But you asked how I got into crime. I quit school at sixteen, and I was working as a forklift driver in a warehouse. I used to take my lunch breaks with a rough crew from the garden centre next door. Those guys always had the latest stuff – brand new iPhones, fancy sneakers, bought their lunch every day instead of having to eat ham, cheese, and pickle sandwiches from home – all theshit you care about when you’re a poor kid. They were always whispering to each other, talking about ‘jobs’ that I gathered weren’t jobs at the garden centre.
“I wanted them to think I was cool, so I told them all about this unique rose Pappy was debuting at that year’s flower show – he named it the Bianca rose, after Mammy. He already had several orders at over £200 for each cut flower, with cuttings £5000 each. The guys seemed interested. They asked so many questions, and I was an idiot and only too happy to brag about the rose I ‘helped’ create and how much money we were going to make.”
“I came home from work one day, and some bastards had trampled through the garden and taken every last specimen. Pappy was devastated. He had to cancel his spot in the flower show. All that money my parents were counting on…gone. They wanted to send my sister to a fancy music school – she was a talented pianist, much more than me. But they couldn’t afford it now. Pappy had no idea who did it. But I did, and I knew it was my fault.”
“That’s terrible.”
Rafe nods. “I figured they’d be hiding the flowers in one of the greenhouses out the back of the plant centre. I snuck over the fence one night and found one greenhouse that was hidden between two of the large ones. It had this intense security system, but I’m good with computers, so I cracked it in no time. Inside were Pappy’s roses and all these other plants besides. I loaded all of them into my Mini and took them home.
“Pappy cried when I gave him back the Bianca roses. He didn’t ask where I got them from, or why I’d filled his greenhouse with a bunch of rare orchids. I started putting them up online, in the plant forums Pappy loved, and I made so much money that summer, I brought myself a pair of Maison Margiela fusion sneakers.” He laughs. “They were so ugly. I loved those shoes. I cried when I grew out of them.”
“What did those guys do when they found out their greenhouse had been emptied?”
“It didn’t take the crew of illegal plant dealers long to figure out I was the one who stole their stock, especially since I had my details onthe plants I was selling online. They cornered me when I left work one day. I thought for sure I was a dead man, but they didn’t want to do me over. They wanted me to work for them. They were impressed that I’d broken in, and that I’d figured out the plant business on my own, but they said I couldn’t just stick up orchids on the internet, that the National Wildlife Crime Unit were probably already looking at me, and the only reason I hadn’t been arrested yet was that the local coppers were busy dealing with a poaching ring. They had a proposal for me. I’d take down my listings, give them back their plants, they wouldn’t disintegrate my kneecaps, and we could go into business together. The arrangement was simple – I’d do the thieving to order, and they would do the selling. I’m fond of my kneecaps, so I agreed.”
I realise that my roller has been hovering in the air for several moments while I’ve been fixated on his swishing tail.
“And that’s how I became a cat burglar. I’ve been living it up ever since. The last couple of years, I worked for a new guy who took over the business. He’s intense in a scary way, but he pays a lot better. I’d been thinking about retiring from my life of crime, that maybe I’d write and record an album with my sister. This job for the Widow Hardcastle was going to give me the funds I needed to keep me in the manner to which I’ve become accustomed for a year while I gave the music thing a serious shot. And then this happened.” He grabs his tail and shakes it furiously.
“Was it scary? Breaking into places?”
He shrugs. “Sure, but that’s why it’s fun. It’s a thrill. And stealing plants is less hassle than jewels and artwork. People don’t put the same care into their plant security systems as they do with their homes. I’ve had a few close calls and one unfortunate dog bite. Honestly, I’ve had more close calls being a cat. I estimate I’ve lost at least three of my lives – one to Mrs Ellis’ walker, and two to altercations with Mr Muffins.”
