Page 80 of Cream & Sugar

Both of them stare at me, not saying anything.

“What happened?” I blurt out, then to Rory, “Are you okay?”

Rory looks murderous, his face and neck puce. The officer edges out the door and gives an awkward little cough.

“I’ll get out of your hair, Mr. Young. We’ll be in touch if we catch them, but any questions, you have my number.”

“Thank you,” Rory says through gritted teeth.

The officer shoots me a glance I can’t read as she passes by. Rory won’t even look at me. Once she’s in her car and out of earshot, I repeat my question.

“What happened?”

Rory glares at me, a look I know well: like he’s holding himself back from knocking me senseless. The veins in his neck and temples look ready to burst, but there’s something else hiding behind his eyes.

“Get in,” he snarls at last, stepping aside to let me through.

I sidle past him into the house and my jaw drops.

The place is a tip, furniture kicked over and bins strewn over the floor. Everything valuable is gone. Rory’s PC, his games consoles, his sound system, all missing. The TV has been ripped right off the wall, leaving a ragged hole in the plasterboard! There’s no doubt we’ve been burgled. The entire living area has been picked clean.

“No…” The word slides off my tongue like a bitter pill. “No fuckingway.”

The front door slams behind me and Rory’s heavy footsteps thud closer.

“Yes fucking way,” he growls.

“They tookeverything?”

“Yes,” Rory confirms, and the pit forming in my stomach implodes.

My feet take off on their own.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he barks, but I’m already halfway down the hall.

Please be there, please be there…

Flinging open my bedroom door, I breathe an enormous sigh of relief. My guitar is right where I left it, propped up in the corner of the room. Untouched.

Relieved, I wander back through to the living room in a daze. Rory is standing by the breakfast bar, scarlet with rage.

“Sorry. Had to check something.” I try my best not to sound happy. The guitar is the most important thing I own, but sentimental value holds little weight with Rory. “What did the police say?” I ask.

“They think it’s a gang. Third house that’s been hit this week. All tech stolen,” his voice is unnaturally steady, “and they did a shit on my bed.”

It’s a testament to my willpower that I don’t crack a smile. I do a quick inventory of the missing items, totting up values. I lose count somewhere in the low thousands. “Insurance will cover it though, right?”

Rory blinks. “No. It won’t.”

“What?” I exclaim. “Why not?”

“Because they didn’t break in. No sign of forced entry.”

Confused, I squint at him. “How? Thatmeans—”

“It means they walked in through the front door.” The calmness in Rory’s voice turns sinister. “Because it was unlocked, Fred. After you left it that way.”

My stomach, already a twisted mess, plummets through the floor.