Keep My Secrets by Elena Wilkes (management books to read .txt) 📕

headed for the front door. Sliding the bolts back, she opened it to find Martin grinning widely as he stepped into the hallway, swinging his rucksack forward and pausing to grab her hand and kiss her cheek.

‘Clever girl.’ He looked around him. ‘Down here, I think.’

Pulling a torch from his pocket, he led her down a hallway that opened up into a wide, square kitchen. In the centre was a big wooden table and old-fashioned solid units and cupboards lined the walls. The torchlight bounced around.

‘Right – the plan of action is these cupboards first; any packet or dried goods, or tins, whatever you can find, and then we’ll look for cash. We don’t touch anything else, no matter how tempting.’ He gave her a look. ‘There should be enough here anyway.’

He pulled open a large dresser on the wall. Stacked on the shelves was all kinds of stuff: cereals, vegetables, soup, baked beans.

‘Bingo!’ he said softly.

‘Why are we whispering?’ she giggled back. Her voice sounded unnaturally loud and she giggled again. ‘We can actually make as much noise as we like! Look—’ she opened the fridge door and closed it with a bang.

Martin nearly dropped the light. ‘Shh!!’ he hissed. ‘Stop that! We never take those kinds of chances!’

She felt her face colour and burn and was thankful that it was so dark he couldn’t see how much of a kid she felt. He didn’t seem to have noticed; he was too busy loading the rucksack and filling his pockets. She chewed her cheek, embarrassed. Now she’d made herself look stupid. She desperately wanted to make amends and show how capable she was. She opened the fridge door again and pretended to look inside.

‘Martin.’

‘What?’ He didn’t stop loading his bag.

‘There’s all kinds of stuff in here.’

‘Yeah. Good.’

She picked up a half-full carton of milk and unscrewed the top, bringing it up to her nose.

‘This is fresh.’

‘Uh-huh.’

She didn’t think he was really listening. She frowned.

‘How long did you say these people have been away?’

‘Why?’

A crack from above their heads and they both snapped up. Neither of them moved, breath held, hands stilled at the definite creak of footsteps. There was the squeal and clump of a door opening and then the sound of someone walking down the stairs.

Martin’s eyes looked huge in his face as he blinked rapidly. Suddenly grabbing up the bag, he swung it onto his back.

‘The front door’s open. It’s my only way out,’ he breathed. He sounded scared. ‘I’m going to have to chance it. That’ll draw them away from the stairs. See if you can get out the same way as you got in. No one will imagine you’d do that. Okay?’

She nodded frantically. Her heart was in her mouth. She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.

He jerked forward and kissed her on the forehead, then, just as suddenly, he was gone. She stood motionless, not knowing if she should make a run for it now, not knowing whether to hide or run or—

A woman’s voice called out, shouting and tremulous, echoing through the hallway. Frankie couldn’t make out the words, but it was enough to get her feet moving. Slipping quickly along the passageway, she listened as the voice grew louder and more urgent as the woman shrieked with anger. Frankie peered through a gap in the door. There were the stairs. A cold blast of air whistled past. An elderly lady was standing in the open doorway, brandishing a stick and clutching her dressing gown to her throat as she yelled into the darkness. Her fingers were fumbling with what looked like an alarm around her neck. Frankie watched as she shambled her way out onto the front step, her slippers crunching on the gravel, still bellowing loud enough to have the whole neighbourhood come running. There would only be seconds to spare if she was going to make those stairs.

She took her chance.

Keeping tight to the wall, she sneaked as fast as she could along the hallway and rounded the first few steps, not daring to pause or to look back, all the time waiting to hear a barking order telling her to stop right there! – but it didn’t come. She threw herself along the landing and ran to the bathroom where the window sat exactly as she had left it. Jumping onto the windowsill, she glanced around, realising the tree was the absolute worst option. The old woman’s voice wavered out into the dark. She was stuck. She’d break her neck if she tried to jump. Her brain went into overdrive. There was a drainpipe, that was the most obvious choice, but she knew it was inches out of reach – she’d never make it. Then she had a thought.

Unbuckling her belt, she pulled it through the loops and slid the buckle over the window latch, pulling it hard and winding it around her fist. As long as she kept the tension on it, it might just give her the extra reach she needed.

With a little levering swing… With one more push… Her shoulder jerked sideways, and she made a grab for the downpipe, feeling the cold iron under her fingertips at the same time as her foot left the wall. There was a nanosecond as her toes searched for the bracket – and then they hit home.

Breathing hard, she let the belt go, the rubber soles of her trainers squealing as she manoeuvred her way down the pipe until she got to the metal grille. Every muscle shook with relief as she squat-landed heavily onto the ground just as the wail of sirens echoed shrilly into the night. In a flash, she hunkered down through the shadows along the side of the house, and then dipped to where she thought was the hole in the hedge – but immediately froze. The old lady was out there with her stick and a torch, smashing and poking the shrub-line, stooping right down and peering hard, almost as though she knew what