No wonder she had turned to her old habit of stealing things for stress release.

Tully was eleven the first time she shoplifted. Mum was convalescing at home, having broken her wrist playing squash, and Tully and Rachel were delighting in playing nursemaid. When they realised they’d run out of bread, Tully had practically fallen over herself to be the one to run to the milk bar to get more. It wasn’t a long walk to the shops, less than five minutes each way, but she did have to cross a main road. She was about halfway there when she realised she hadn’t made this particular trip without Rachel before. Tully had been no stranger to anxiety, even then, and she felt it creeping from somewhere deep within, but she continued on. She just had to get the bread and return home; it wasn’t that hard.

The bell dinged as she entered the shop and the man behind the counter looked up from a little television set and then immediately looked back down.

Tully was feeling sick to her stomach by then. She made her way to the bread and selected a loaf, intending to get out of there as quickly as she could. Then a packet of Nerds, on the shelf beside the bread, caught her eye. She didn’t remember ever making the choice to take the Nerds. Probably because, for her, there was no choice to make. It felt like swimming to the surface for air after being held under water. Her body was doing what it needed to do. She was as powerless to stop it as the body that needed oxygen.

The stupid thing was, she had enough money to buy them. Mum wouldn’t have minded, especially if she shared them with Rachel. But she didn’t want to pay for them. She didn’t even want the Nerds. She wanted escape.

On the way home, Tully shoved the Nerds into her neighbour’s letterbox, too horrified to eat them and wanting to get rid of the evidence. She knew what she’d done was wrong. And yet, the peacefulness remained. She felt cushioned from herself. Buoyed. She’d found a way to escape from herself. But the sense of calm didn’t last long. By that evening she was lying in bed in the throes of a panic attack, waiting for the police to appear on the doorstep. But by the next morning, she knew she’d do it again. She had to. She had no choice.

At the boom gate, Tully glanced into the back seat again for a glimpse of the things she’d taken. There were too many to fit into her handbag; she was going to need to get creative. This was the problem with flexible working arrangements. COVID-19 had a lot to answer for, in Tully’s opinion. In the old days, Tully was free to bring home her goods during the day, knowing they could be safely hidden or disposed of by the time Sonny got home at 6 pm. Now, if he wasn’t in court, Sonny was often at home, which was highly inconvenient for someone with a habit like hers. She thought about the picnic blanket in the boot of the car. That would work. She’d pull over before she got home and cover everything up with it.