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evaporated, argued that he was using the episode as a research project for his book (Rick: ‘Which book now?
101 Greatest Horticultural Thefts
?’) and Jasper kindly pointed out in dramatic thespy tones that I had wielded the saw and was therefore the ringleader. At which point Rick added in the moronically slow voice he uses when he’s not doing radio ads that the final buck lay with Flatmate Fred and me as the stolen property had come to rest in our flat. The others swiftly agreed and sidled off home.
    Bastards.
Thursday 20th January
    Came back from work to find Flatmate Fred waving a piece of paper excitedly in my face.
    â€˜What are you doing, you mad freak? And why are you wearing my dressing gown at eight in the evening?’
    â€˜Because mine’s in the wash. But listen, Jack, I’ve cracked it. I’ve worked out how to save ourselves from going to prison.’
    â€˜Why would we be going to prison?’
    â€˜For stealing the Prunus subhirtella. They’d bang us up, and then we’d get banged up the bum by big black men called Ron.’
    I briefly wonder whether Flatmate Fred might quite enjoy meeting big black Ron. He’d just have to remember not to pick up the soap in the shower — given his current hygiene regime, it wouldn’t be too much of a problem.
    â€˜No, seriously,’ he continued. ‘Read this: it’s an anonymous letter to the local residents’ association. It will put us in the clear.’
    Here is Flatmate Fred’s epistle in full:
    Dear Flower People,
    In a moment of madness last Friday evening, we cut down one of the winter-flowering cherries in the private garden in Onslow Mews. Like the forbidden fruit, it is an item of great beauty. We should have left it well alone.
    In a spirit of utter remorse and shame, we now return the item to you. While it may have temporarily brightened our lives, it has blackened our souls for ever.
    To ease this process, we are enclosing some money. We shall also be donating a small sum to a suitable charity. Alcoholics Anonymous would seem an appropriate choice under the circumstances.
    Yours sincerely,
Stupid White Men
    â€˜Fred,’ I said, after rereading the
chef-d’oeuvre
that has taken him four days to compose, ‘that’s lovely. But we’re not at school any more. You can’t just write an apology note to Matron and hope it’s all going to be OK. And how exactly do you intend to hand over the
Prunus subhirtella
and the cash anonymously?’
    â€˜It’s simple. What comes down goes up. Swings and roundabouts. Circle of life. We’ll take it back down to the gate and leave an envelope full of cash.’
    â€˜Like bollocks we will. It weighs a ton and some tramp will nick the cash.’
    â€˜Some South Kensington tramp?’
    â€˜Yep, or a bunch of filthy-rich yuppies on their way home from a night out.’
    It’s staying in our kitchen and that’s that. Sod the flower people. There are better anonymous gestures than a mouldy tree and a lump of cash. I think I’ll pluck some of the rose-pink flowers and leave them on Leila’s desk.
Friday 21st January
    Felt like a prize plonker stepping on to the underground in the morning with a bunch of stolen flowers tucked under my suit. I think the person sitting opposite was sniggering at me over his copy of
Metro.
    He would have sniggered even more if he’d known what was going to happen later. By some nasty quirk of fate I walk into the lift at exactly the same time as Leila. There are just the three of us: Leila, me and the drooping
Prunus subhirtella
.
    â€˜Are you going down?’ she asks.
    Don’t say, ‘Only if you press the right buttons.’ Don’t say, ‘Only if you press the right buttons. Don’t say, ‘Only if you press the right buttons.’
    â€˜Only if you press the right buttons.’
    â€˜I’m sorry?’
    â€˜Sorry?’
    â€˜I