Keep My Secrets by Elena Wilkes (large ebook reader .txt) 📗

and self-assured; they pushed boundaries without a care for authority. Martin was a man, not a boy – a man with ideals and principles, taking risks to do good.

He looked back at her and kissed her nose. ‘Not too far. I heard about an old guy who lives not far from here. He’s on his own now, his wife died a few weeks ago. The bastards stopped his pension while they sort out his single allowance. He’s got no one now and nothing to live on.’

‘He will have tonight.’

‘Yeah, he will have tonight,’ he grinned back.

‘Wouldn’t it be fantastic to see his face, though? To see his expression when he comes down to all the goodies laid out on his table like Father Christmas has been? Wouldn’t it be brilliant to see that, just once?’

‘It’s not for us.’ Martin was still smiling, but there was a seriousness in his tone that made her falter. ‘The government doesn’t care. The welfare people don’t care, the charities and the do-gooders don’t give a toss really – they’re all operating within the system; they’re part of the system and therefore part of the problem. We’re not. We’re the outsiders. We don’t play by their rules. We steal from the rich and give to the poor – how activist is that?’

She felt breathless. The words he spoke were like magic: they were incantations, spells, drawing her in. Whenever he spoke, she believed in him, totally. He was more than a man: he was someone she knew she would give her life for.

‘Are you ready?’

His eyes were bright with excitement and purpose. She nodded.

‘I found a gap here in the hedge. See?’

He glanced around him once and then crouched down, quickly lifting the leaves to reveal an arched hole where the branches hadn’t grown. He gestured quickly and she knelt, crawling through the dirt, slipping like a feral cat down through the shadows. They slunk in the darkness round to the back of the house, huddling conspiratorially for a moment. She glanced up, checking and mapping. Every window of the house was striped with diamonds of security shutters in the moonlight.

‘I like your style,’ she whispered, smiling. ‘You’ve worked out my favourites.’

Any bars or grills on doorways or windows were a fantastic bonus. Perfect for hand and footholds, and very sturdy ones at that.

Martin pointed upwards soundlessly. ‘Up there,’ he mouthed.

She looked to the third floor. There was a tiny fanlight, probably to a bathroom, which was open about two inches.

‘If you can get up there and slip your hand through, there’s a bigger window next to it. You should be able to get to the main catch.’

She assessed all the access points. It wasn’t going to be easy.

‘I just was wondering if—’

‘Don’t worry your head,’ she whispered. ‘This is my bag, not yours. You just leave it all to me.’ She half stood, half crouched for a second, assessing and then looked around.

‘Now… Come on.’

They followed the line of shadows to where a huge sea of dark lawn and trees lay in front of them. Down the other side of the garden, there were clumps of whippy-looking trees dotted about, the first cluster about six feet away from the side of the house wall.

He followed her gaze.

‘But they’re not strong enough!’ he hissed.

‘Not for you, no.’ She tiptoed quickly over, glancing around to make sure she hadn’t been spotted. Dipping down, she crawled under the first tree, crouching to peer upwards into the branches. She parted the bottom twigs and signalled to him with a thumbs-up. ‘Yep, perfect. Piece of cake.’

Before he could say another word, she’d reached up, swinging herself through the lower sections like a tiny monkey. Keeping close to the trunk, and winding her way as though it was a staircase, she scaled higher, and then paused to get her bearings. Peeping through the leaves she could make out where the first level window grills jutted out but they were at least four feet away; she’d never make the leap. Her brain zig-zagged, re-calculating… Then she had an idea. Climbing another two branches up, she peeked out again. If she was clever and quick, she could actually do this.

Testing the flexibility of the branch as best she could, she began to work her way along it. Concentrate, Frankie. Concentrate. Gritting her teeth, she inched, hand over hand, letting it bend with her weight until she got within striking distance of the window. One reach further and she should be able to feel just how much it would bend and bow – if she went a stretch too far she knew the thing would snap completely. There would only be seconds, but seconds were all she needed.

Taking a breath, she gathered herself and shifted all her weight forward. The branch groaned and creaked alarmingly. Gathering her knees up, she altered her centre of gravity and suddenly found she was dropping far quicker. The window grill flashed for a second in front of her eyes, and in that instant she let go of the branch. There was the swift and scary whistling whip as its leaves skimmed past her face, but she managed to land tiptoed on the sill, her fingers immediately grabbing for the wrought iron. Breathing heavily, she signalled an okay sign to Martin’s upturned face and without pausing, began her climb to the next storey and the bathroom window. This bit was simple. Crouching on the ledge, she slipped her hand into the gap and unhooked the catch on the bigger window levering it wide.

She was in.

The only sound was the ragged air leaving her lungs. She collected herself for a moment, wrinkling her nose at the smell. The bathroom reeked of old lady soap and mildewed towels. Wishing she had a torch, she felt her way across towards the door where the moonlight lit up the landing. The house sat in its musty stillness, the floral carpet leading her to the top of the stairs. Slipping swiftly down, she