By midnight things were calm, as they were throughout Christmas morning, apart of course, from the hysteria that accompanied unwrapping parcels. Christmas lunch was a triumph, after which Jesse suggested a post-prandial walk in the gardens. Katie said that she’d rather die and on this one occasion, and no other, she would prefer to clear away. Sophie suggested that the menfolk should take this opportunity to bond with each other and, besides, if she tried to walk after eating that much turkey she would also die. Benz and Jake refused to look up from their iPads and Barbara retired to a sofa to doze and wait for the Queen’s speech. So, after pulling on numerous scarves and sweaters, Sam and Jesse strode out onto the back patio looking like the waxed-jacket brigade. Katie eased off her ring and placed it on the side. ‘I don’t want that falling into the dishwasher.’ She sighed at the pile of greasy plates. ‘Soph, I’ll do this. Why don’t you make some more coffee? They’ll need something to thaw them out when they come back in.’
‘OK. I’d better take the princess up for her nap first. She put the kettle on then scooped Laura up from the mountain of used wrapping paper that she was shredding and carried her upstairs. She was asleep almost as soon as her head touched down. Sophie checked the monitor then wandered through into her bedroom and over to the window that overlooked the water gardens. It was a stunning scene, snowier than snow, framed by the ice that was clinging to the outside of the window. The ground, the trees and shrubs were covered in a thick white layer of frost. She could make out two tall figures standing over by the frozen pond. It was impossible to tell them apart at that distance. They were both staring down into the frost-covered ice. It was all so white and still, no movement of the trees, not a bird in the cloudless sky. A moment outside of time. Spectacular.
Then something caught her eye, something moving slowly above the tree tops. The size of a large bird. She thought of the albatross in Coleridge’s poem. But it wasn’t an albatross. Then she noticed Sam or Jesse, she couldn’t tell which, pointing up at it, and then the pair of them running towards the house. What on earth was wrong? Her mobile rang in her pocket. It was Sam.
‘Sophie, where are you? Is Laura with you?’
‘I’m in the bedroom. Laura’s in her cot. What’s that flying thing?’
‘A drone. Sophie, listen, lock yourself in the bedroom, right now. And pull the sofa against the door.’
‘What’s happening?’
‘Just do as I say. Keep your phone on. Are you locking yourself in?’
‘Yes.’ She hurried over to lock the door into the lounge. She could hear Jesse issuing frantic instructions to Katie to take everyone into the panic room and stay there until he told them to come out, a confusion of questions and fear coming from Katie: ‘What’s happening? Jesse, the TV by the dining table’s gone crazy. Sophie and Laura are upstairs. There’s a flying thing outside the window…’
‘Katie, just get Barbara and the boys into the panic room.’
Then Sam: ‘Sophie, are you locked in? We’re at the house.’
‘Yes. What’s happening? The sofa weighs a ton. But I’ve done it.’
Jesse: ‘Get the shotguns. Cupboard’s unlocked. Where’s your gun?’
‘Upstairs. Loaded it last night. Jesus, Jesse, the front door’s open!’
‘Katie, are you and the boys in the panic room?’
‘Yes, and Barbara. There’s hardly any signal in here. What’s happening?’
Jesse or Sam: ‘There’s someone inside.’
Sophie felt terror. She ran over to the door to Laura’s room, pulled the key from the inside, locked it from the outside and threw the key behind the bed, ran back and pulled the big dragon chest over towards the lounge door. But as she was pushing it up against the sofa, there was a loud crack and the sofa jolted towards her. She could see the upright of the doorframe splitting along its length and then, just like in the worst horror movie ever, a gun in a gloved hand started to work its way through the crack. Sophie looked around in desperation. She could hear rough voices in the next room, Sam’s voice still coming out of her phone. Breaking up. Then the screen went black. She heard a sharp explosion, a gunshot, so loud it made the glass in the windows rattle. She backed away towards the bathroom. Another gunshot. Closer. And then with some massive force the sofa moved fast away from the door and two huge men were striding in past it, wielding guns and heading straight for her. She cringed against the bathroom door, fumbled to grab hold of the handle but one of the men had her arm and was pulling her towards the bed.
Sophie’s mind was a chaos of fears. About Laura asleep in her cot, about Sam, about whom the guns had been pointing at when they were fired, about the sweat-smelling man who was gripping her arm. About the other man who was pointing a gun at her. They were barking instructions at each other. She wanted Laura to be safe. She wanted Sam not to be hurt. Jesse not to be hurt. Another man was coming through the door: this man she recognised. It was the bald man with the beard. But now his beard was dripping blood, which was issuing from his ear.
‘Fuck, Joe, you been hit?’
‘Bastard winged me. Col’s fucked. Don’t know ’ow bad.’ He grabbed Sam’s white pullover from the sofa and held it against his ear. ‘Keep ’old of the bitch.’ He started to push the sofa back against the door. ‘Give us an ’and, Bill. Keep the two fairies out of the way. Fairies with fucking shotguns. For killing ickle wabbits.’
‘They shoot clays!’ Sophie couldn’t believe she had just shouted that, but whatever her brain thought she might achieve by doing so, what it actually achieved was a slap across the side of her face which was so hard that it made her teeth ache. She fell backwards onto the bed, watched the two men pushing the sofa but it began to move back towards them. She remembered how strong Sam was. She hoped it was Sam. Then Bald Man turned his gun towards the door and fired and now Sophie hoped it wasn’t Sam pushing the sofa. The bullet took a large chunk out of the thick wood. It might have gone through. Sophie didn’t understand about bullets. She heard Jesse’s voice.
‘The police are on their way. Sophie, are you there?’
‘Yes. Where’s Sam?’
‘He’s coming.’
The man holding her was about to hit her again, but Bald Man shouted that he didn’t want her unconscious. They needed the kid. ‘It’s not downstairs.’ He walked over and grabbed Sophie’s hair. ‘Where’s the baby?’
‘She’s downstairs in her playpen.’
He shot at the wall behind her. ‘Don’t lie to me. Where is she?’ But he needed to ask no more because a scream rang out in the next room. He let go of Sophie’s hair, hurried to push his weight back against the sofa and instructed Bill to knock Laura’s door down.
‘No!’ Sophie screamed. ‘Leave her alone!’ But at that very moment, as the big man’s shoulder impacted with the door and loosened it from its hinges, a deafening explosion caused the huge window to shatter into tiny, sparkling fragments. Like frozen snow. And suddenly Sam was leaping through the empty frame, a shotgun in one hand and a familiar handgun in the other. He spun round and fired the Glock towards Laura’s room. Bill’s large body fell to the floor, unmoving. The man holding Sophie turned his gun towards Sam. Sophie tried to push his hand sideways. But his arm seemed to be made of iron. A dull shot sounded and in that moment Sophie’s mind emptied of everything other than an image of Sam’s lucky St Christopher, which was around her neck instead of his. Sam’s shotgun fell to the floor. He staggered. She could see blood splattered across his arm and chest as he recovered his balance, leapt towards the man who was holding her and brought the Glock down on the side of his thick neck so hard that he fell to the floor like a lump of cement.
Sam turned to confront Bald Man but he had moved fast to grab Sophie and now had an arm around her neck and his gun pressed against her temple. She could feel the hard steel cold against her skin. Sam dropped his gun and held up his palms in surrender. ‘Don’t hurt her.’ Blood was dripping off his wrist. ‘What can you possibly gain by hurting her.’
Bald Man gripped her tighter and laughed. ‘Satisfaction.’
She heard the gun click then a loud explosion and saw Sam’s face drenched in blood and something else that looked like pink and red blancmange. She wondered if she was dead but the fact that she was wondering suggested she wasn’t. She felt Bald Man’s arm slide away from her neck. She was falling, being pulled down by him. She saw Sam’s hands move to catch her. Felt his one arm fail him, his other levering her to the bed. ‘Don’t look down,’ he said. But, of course, she did. Bald Man was slumped against the bed. The top of his head was missing and what was left of it looked like a bowl full of blood clots. One of his hands was twitching the way her decapitated frog had twitched in A Level biology class.
‘That was a fucking difficult angle!’ Jesse was standing in front of the sofa, shotgun in hand. ‘Are you OK, Sophie?’ He picked up Sam’s ruined sweater and threw it over Bald Man’s half-head. ‘Sam, let me have a look at your arm. And we’d better get all that shit cleaned off your face.’
‘Check the others first. Sophie, are you hurt? Just lie still.’
Sophie could feel her heart thumping in her ears. ‘Laura,’ she managed to say. Then everything ceased.