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

her fingers and she breathed in the scent of the skin of his cheek for a second. She felt completely intoxicated.

‘Where, though?’

‘Oh there’s loads of places. Tons of all-nighters going on.’ The cut-through led them straight onto the main road.

‘Just stay out, you mean?’

‘Why not?’ He laughed at her expression. ‘We’ve just got to get you back home before anyone’s awake, that’s all.’

Nothing mattered apart from being here with him, right now. She didn’t care – she felt free and light and excited.

‘We’ll have to get some booze then. Is there somewhere near here?’

‘Already sorted.’ He dived into the rucksack and pulled out a bottle of wine. ‘Courtesy of the old lady’s larder.’

‘I thought it was all for the old guy?’ she frowned.

‘Aw, I left him the whiskey,’ he grinned. ‘I’m sure he’ll appreciate a tot of the hard stuff far more than a cheapo bottle of this crap. What do you think? Or do you want me to go back?’ He paused and waved the bottle towards the house.

‘No, no, god, no!’ she laughed pulling at his arm. ‘Waay enough drama!’

They began to walk down the road. ‘Jesus, when that copper came over…’ She shook her head.

‘He had no idea though, had he?’

‘Who would’ve thought of standing outside a house after blagging it? That was inspired,’ she grinned.

‘Yeah, what house-breaker would do that? It messes with their heads, see?’ Martin laughed and tapped his temple.

She felt as though she was brimming with good things: the excitement and magic of tonight; the joy of Martin. She squeezed his arm tighter.

‘Always hide in plain sight. That’s the thing; the more obvious something is, the less people see it.’ Martin chuckled as they saw a bus trundling around the corner. ‘Let’s grab this one. I think it’s going more or less where we want to go.’ She knew she’d go anywhere he asked her to. He swung the rucksack off his shoulder in readiness. ‘I once met a guy who’d just come out of the nick for breaking and entering, and he told me—D’you know the very best place to hide a key?’

She shook her head. Just listening to him talk was enough.

‘In a box full of keys.’ He laughed as the bus drew up and the doors hissed open. ‘Clever, eh?’

They found a seat on the bus and he slid the rucksack in between them. She reached down and gripped his hand, making him look round at her.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘What for?’

‘My life. I didn’t have one before I met you.’

He smiled and kissed her cheek. ‘That goes both ways, you know.’

‘Maybe,’ she said, although she knew that wasn’t true.

‘You don’t believe me?’

She could feel the weight of his look on the side of her face.

She gave him a faltering smile. ‘I’m not as strong as you. I don’t know stuff.’

‘Never underestimate yourself, Frankie, you hear me?’ He gave her hand a little shake, bringing it up to kiss her knuckle. ‘You’re far more capable than you think. There’ll come a day when you’ll be asked to show it.’

‘I can do anything if you’re by my side.’ She turned their linked hands over and pressed the back of his hand to her lips. ‘I will do anything.’

‘Be careful,’ he grinned. ‘I might just hold you to that.’

Chapter Five

They could hear the party as soon as they got off the bus. The buzz-thump of music came at them in waves. Frankie looked around. She thought she might know this area. The Victorian houses here were imposing but studenty and run-down: their blackened rooflines disappearing into the September evening sky. The downstairs windows were open and she could see silhouetted bodies lounging and sitting out on the ledges. Behind them the ceilings were strobed with coloured lights.

They picked their way along the path as a scatter of voices rose and fell and a gaggle of girls emerged from the shadows. They were all clearly pissed.

‘Come on, my weave’s getting blown about!’ There was the clackety-scuff of heels as one of the women with ironed, straw-like hair shoved at the front door. There was a sudden tumble of light and noise and the hallway opened up. It was thronging with people and unbelievably loud. Groups of beautiful twenty-somethings crowded up a magnificent carved staircase that spiralled high into the sweet fug of dope smoke. A dusty chandelier overhead twinkled through the garlands of fairy lights and lanterns.

A young man in a dishevelled open shirt threaded his way down touching hands with each person he met. Everyone seemed to know everyone; they oozed chic self-assurance. Frankie blinked into the dim haze. There was a girl sitting on the stairs gazing at her through the struts of the bannister. She was dressed all in black and had long blonde hair that was held back with a red hairband. Her kohl-rimmed eyes blinked languidly. Frankie immediately felt out of place and ugly; a silly, nail-bitten kid in a room full of wonder and enchantment. Her clothes felt wrong, her hair felt wrong; she knew her make-up was hard and garish. She glanced up at another couple of lads coming down the stairs. One boy with a white buzz-cut picked up a lock of the girl’s hair and ran his fingers through it as he passed. She glanced up at him and smiled, holding her hand out to meet his and he caressed her fingers.

‘Drink?’ Martin mimed the action, nudging her elbow, but all the while his eyes lingered over the girl.

‘Yeah. Great. Whatever,’ she hollered back, but she saw how his eyes kept flitting that way, landing like a butterfly towards the stairs again and again. There was an immediate and overwhelming rush of jealousy.

She watched him pushing his way through the elbows and backs to get to the kitchen, suddenly feeling very alone and itching inside her own skin. She was acutely aware of being totally invisible and horribly conspicuous at the same time. But no one was looking. They were all too busy focussing