Bored, Arabella takes the nipper bus off

down the Woodstock Road to do a spot

of lifting in the department stores. Easy

if you’re a ghost. She slips, exhausted by her shop,

into the aptly-named King’s Arms for a swift

half (or five) with Bloody Mary chasers.

Snoozing it off in comfily upholstered

corner seat in the snug, in half-sleep, overhears

the preparations for the heist.