I knew the kind of kid he was as soon as he entered my coffee shop. Obnoxious. Loud. Cocky. The kind of kid you’d cross the street to avoid, not because you were scared of them but because you don’t need the hassle.

“Got any muffins?” he demanded while stood in front of a display of six different varieties of muffin - homemade of course.

I waved at the selection under his nose. “Of course, sir,” I said, giving my best ultra-polite, customer-is-always-right patter. “We have vanilla, chocolate chip, double chocolate, blueberry, cranberry, and caramel surprise.”

He nodded, surveying my wares. “One of each. Not cranberry, though. That’s rank. Gimme another double chocolate.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, loading his choices into a cake box. “That’ll be eighteen pounds, please”

The teen jerked his head up, indicating the drinks fridge behind me. “Coke.”

I placed the cake box on the counter and turned to retrieve his drink. I knew I shouldn’t have done it.

As I turned back I just caught sight of a Reebok classic trainer trailing out of the door at speed, the counter lacking muffin box and money.

“Hey!” I yelled, darting around the counter and leaping for the door.

Out on the street. The dark clouds that had been threatening all morning chose that moment to fulfill their purpose, and cold, heavy drops beat onto dry concrete. The teens feet pounded the concrete too as he made his escape south.

I launched myself after him, fueled by a small lifetime of local kids trying to rip me off. Not this time.

The kid turned the corner, disappearing from view. I sped up, determined not to lose him.

As I rounded the corner, he was lost in a sea of people, a queue snaking out of the bookstore - a book signing today. “Crap!” I scanned the street, looking, hoping for any sign, trying to see anything through a rapidly expanding barrier of unfurling umbrellas.

Nothing.

No use.

Then a face watching me. The kid, peering over a car on the other side of the road. “You! Wait!” I cried out.

The kid darted away, glancing back at me every few seconds as I tried to keep pace. The kid was fast, faster then I was, at least in a flat sprint. But he was measuring his pace, keeping ahead of me and making sure he kept something in reserve.

He turned into a park, the open green space taking over the diesel-stained masonry of the city. The kid jumped and juked as he ran over the hill - nimbly avoiding the dog mess left by inconsiderate owners. I was not so lucky, my slick shoes skidding on filth. No matter, I had to catch him.

At the end of the park he vaulted a low wall, I clambering breathlessly over a few seconds later. Despite the delay I was still keeping up, like he wanted me to go with him.

That was it! He wanted me to follow him, wanted me out of the shop. No doubt his accomplices were raiding the cafe now, loading up on sweet treats and the contents of the register. I was almost impressed with his ingenuity.

All the more reason to catch him.

He turned again, this time heading for a block of flats. Of course the little scumbag lived here. He disappeared up a passageway, re-emerging on the stairs. I followed, channeling my anger into my burning thighs as I ascended.

On the fourth floor he turned off the steps, flying down to a blue wooden door at the end of the row. A dead end. I had him.

I slowed, knowing he wasn’t going anywhere, my lungs protesting and preventing any kind of speech. As I stepped towards him, he looked to the door next to him, banging hard on it with his fist. He was panicked, cornered, looking for an escape and knowing he had none.

“Come on, hand them over,” I managed to squeeze out. The teen reached back to something in his back pocket. I froze. A knife? Six muffins were not worth dying for. I raised my hands defensively.

The boy whipped his hand back and thrust it forward…

A twenty pound note.

“Here you are, mate.”

I stared at the folded note in his hand. Was this a trick?

The door next to him swung open. A woman, about my age, stepped out. “Did you forget your key again?” She turned to me, looked at my apron, sweating forehead, soaked hair and clothes. “Who’s this? What did you do now?”

She looked familiar but couldn’t place her face.

The kid nodded to the woman. “This is my mum. Her name’s Laura. Laura Kensington.”

Laura Kensington. Of course! We had been in school together, had hung around together a few times until she was pulled out of school suddenly. Rumour was that she had gotten pregnant. By the age of the boy, I quickly calculated that the rumours were probably true.

The boy looked back to his mum. “I told I would find him for you, mum,” he said, handing her the box of muffins. “Happy birthday.”

Laura smiled that same beaming smile I knew from all those years ago. I didn’t realise until now just how much I had missed it.

That was a bloody smart kid.