Whiteout - Ken Follett [112]
Although he felt bewildered, he was also intensely happy. He had never felt so close to a girl. He was bursting with love and tenderness and joy. When he heard the noise from the kitchen, they were talking about how far to go.
She said, “Do you want to go the whole way?”
“Do you?”
“I do if you do.”
Craig nodded. “I really want to.”
“Have you got condoms?”
“Yes.” He fumbled in his jeans pocket and took out the little packet.
“So you planned this?”
“I didn’t have a plan.” It was half-true: he hadn’t had much of a plan. “I was hoping, though. Ever since I met you I’ve been thinking about, well, seeing you again, and so on. And all day today . . .”
“You were so persistent.”
“I just wanted to be with you like this.”
It was not very eloquent, but it seemed to be what she wanted to hear. “All right, then. Let’s do it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Now. Quickly.”
“Good.”
“Oh, my God, what’s that?”
Craig had been aware of people in the kitchen below. He had vaguely heard the murmur of voices, then someone had clattered a saucepan, and he had smelled bacon. He was not sure what the time was, but it seemed early for breakfast. However, he had taken no notice, confident that no one would interrupt them here in the attic. Now the sounds could not be ignored. First he heard Grandpa shout—an unusual event in itself. Nellie started barking like a fiend; there was a scream that sounded remarkably like Craig’s mother; then several male voices yelled at once.
Sophie said in a frightened voice, “Is this normal?”
“No,” he replied. “They have arguments, but not shouting matches.”
“What’s going on?”
He hesitated. Part of him wanted to forget the noise and act as if he and Sophie were in a universe of their own, lying on the old sofa under their coats. He could have ignored an earthquake to concentrate on her soft skin and hot breath and moist lips. But another part of him felt that the interruption was not entirely unwelcome. They had done almost everything: it might even be nice to postpone the ultimate, so that there was something else to look forward to, a further delight to anticipate.
Below them, the kitchen went quiet as suddenly as it had burst into sound.
“Strange,” he said.
“It’s spooky.”
Sophie sounded frightened, and that made up Craig’s mind. He kissed her lips once more, then stood up. He pulled up his jeans and stepped across the attic to the hole in the floor. He lay down and looked through the gap in the floorboards.
He saw his mother, standing up with her mouth open, looking shocked and frightened. Grandpa was wiping blood off his chin. Uncle Kit had his hands in the air. Three strangers were in the room. At first he thought they were all men, then he realized one was an ugly girl with a shaved head. The young black man was holding Nellie’s collar, twisting it hard. The older man and the girl held guns.
Craig murmured, “Bloody hell, what’s happening down there?”
Sophie lay beside him. After a moment she gasped. “Are those things guns?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“Oh, my God, we’re in trouble.”
Craig thought. “We have to call the police. Where’s your phone?”
“I left it in the barn.”
“Damn.”
“Oh, God, what can we do?”
“Think. Think. A phone. We need a phone.” Craig hesitated.
He was frightened. He really wanted to lie still and shut his eyes tightly. He might have done that, were it not for the girl beside him. He did not know all the rules, but he knew that a man was supposed to show courage when a girl was frightened, especially when they were lovers, or nearly. And if he was not feeling brave, he had to pretend.
Where was the nearest phone? “There’s an extension beside Grandpa’s bed.”
Sophie said, “I can’t do anything, I’m too scared.”
“You’d better stay here.”
“Okay.”
Craig stood up. He buttoned his jeans and buckled the belt, then went to the low door. He took a breath, then opened it. He crawled into Grandpa’s suit cupboard, pushed