How to Rob a Bank. Tom Mitchell

      ‘You okay?’ asked Mum. ‘You were swearing ever so much … the neighbours …’

      He patted my back.

      ‘Good job, son,’ he said. ‘What a team. Sorry about the swearing.’

      ‘The aerial’s still just hanging there,’ said Rita.

      Dad ignored her.

      We went back to the sofa. Dad brought through a beer from the kitchen. A length of denim trailed from his right leg like a snake had its fangs caught in his ankle. He offered me a beer, but I turned it down. It’s best your parents don’t think you drink.

      ‘Close shave, Dylan,’ he said. ‘Close shave. Should get these bad boys framed.’ (He meant his jeans.) ‘Put them on the wall like footballers do their shirts. I could’ve died out there. Funny how life turns on insignificant details. Like the type of trousers you’re wearing. There’s a film in that. The Right Trousers.’

      He pulled open his beer can. Foam rose and he took the can to his mouth quickly, his eyes rolling.

      ‘Let’s watch something,’ he said, when he’d finished gulping. ‘Take our minds off things.’

      As he’d just escaped death, I couldn’t say no.

      Office Space was funny. In a not-laughing-out-loud, grown-up comedy way. The main character, Peter, gets hypnotised to cope with work stress. But the hypnotist dies of a heart attack before breaking Peter’s trance. As a consequence of his altered state, Peter doesn’t care about anything and goes through his days only doing stuff that makes him happy. (A bit like Rita.) He gets promoted at work. He gets a sexy girlfriend (young Jennifer Aniston). I guess there’s a life lesson there, but, anyway, although it’s never made entirely clear, the main character and his friends essentially work for a bank. And what do you do when you work for a bank? You conspire to rob the bank.

      ‘Are there loads of films about robbing banks?’ I dare to ask Dad.

      ‘It’s a whole genre,’ he says, without turning from the screen. ‘The heist. It’s human nature to want something without having to work for it. Like you and your GCSEs.’

      As the end credits rolled Dad asked if I fancied another film. The night was yet young. Rita was out drinking. Mum was exercising. We could easily fit another movie in.

      I grunted something noncommittal thinking, Fine as long as it was nothing with Emma Stone.

      As he scrolled through the options, I thought about Office Space. Or, more particularly, Peter’s plan for stealing money. Even though the film was set in 1999, before Chelsea or Man City won stuff, Peter didn’t use a gun or a note. He used computer code, programmed to take tiny amounts from all the financial transactions managed by the company’s servers. The money taken at each calculation would be too small to be noticed. However, because of the huge amount of transactions, the amount of ‘stolen’ cash would soon grow. This was a film and fictional thieves can’t get away with breaking the law, so it turns out the code is faulty. Loads of money is taken over a single weekend and the three robbers are screwed, but—

      Dad asked if I preferred the Coen brothers or Wes Anderson. But what if a code like the one in Office Space actually existed? What if it could be bought online, on the dark Web, for example? Wouldn’t that be an easy and effective way of robbing a bank? Isn’t everything electronic these days? You wouldn’t even need a balaclava or ski mask.

      ‘Do you think it would work?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘A computer code? To rob a bank?’

      ‘Can’t see why not. If they can download pictures of naked celebs from the naked celebs’ phones, they can install shady code on a cash machine. Probably happens all the time.’

      ‘Hmm,’ I said. ‘Hmm.’

      Because he was right.

      Mum appeared. She was wearing sports clothes, but was also completely sweat-free. In her right hand was half a glass of white wine.

      ‘Can I get my boys anything?’ she said. ‘Are you about to watch something? Shove up, let us join. What a day!’

      She forced herself down on to the sofa, a sofa designed for two, a sofa on which I was now squashed between Mum and Dad.

      Plan: I’d pretend to need a slash but wouldn’t return. In my bedroom, I’d get on the computer and search the dark Web for code to rob banks. Here was a path forward, and it made me feel light-headed like I’d had a glass or two of Mum’s wine.

      The MGM lion roared.

      ‘Quick question: what are you going to do about the aerial, Kay?’

      ‘It’s not going anywhere,’ said Dad. ‘Chill.’