Outside, seven-year-old Katie is playing with the dog.
I slip into her bedroom and grab the fat-faced pig with its carefully hoarded coins. What will she think when she discovers?
While Katie sings happily to herself, I’m trying to control my shaking. The money is all that matters. It must be mine.
Fighting humiliation and disgust, I swing the hammer, smashing the pig.
I gather the meagre haul, kick the shards under her bed, and sneak out.
Minutes later, the bartender is staring as if he knows what I’ve done.
Flushed with shame, I spread the coins and order a scotch.