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‘That’s my house,’ I say. ‘Were they in the car?’
‘No. But I think you should probably come with me.’
A minute later, Betsy and I are in the back of a police car, siren wailing, speeding towards Lyme. I comfort Betsy as best I can, but she has picked up that something is wrong.
‘You know like that time you hid under the bed,’ I whisper into her hair, ‘after you cut your fringe with the bathroom scissors and you were worried I’d be cross?’ I feel her head nod against my lips. ‘Well, Sam is hiding somewhere because he’s worried people will be cross with him.’
It strikes me that this is in fact the truth. That it could be. Please God, let this be the truth.
The MG is parked diagonally across the road at the end of my drive, as if by someone drunk. There are cones a few metres either side of it, a fluorescent hazard sign. Jacobs parks on the far side. We get out and walk towards my front door. I open it and get Betsy into the warm.
‘Does he have a key?’ Jacobs asks me.
‘To my house? Yes. For emergencies.’
‘What about his gran’s house?’
‘I don’t know. They sold it. I’m not sure if they’ve exchanged yet. He might do.’
Jacobs radios a colleague to check Joyce’s house. ‘The fugitive may have reached the Moore property. He may have a spare key.’
‘Fugitive?’ I say. ‘Really? He’s terrified, you know that, don’t you? He’s just found out the kid he thought was his is not his and his wife’s run off to God knows where. He’s not a fugitive, he’s a victim.’
At this point, as far as I’m aware, this is all Sam knows. It is only later that I find out he has read Naomi’s letter, with all it contains, and that it has pushed him over the edge of reason.
Another unit arrives. A man and a woman get out, both in the by now familiar black and silver. They open the back of the van to release two Alsatians. Above, a helicopter passes overhead. Shit, I think. A helicopter. Dogs.
Sam, where are you?
Needless to say, Sam is not in my house. Nor is he at his grandmother’s former residence, as the other cop puts it. But he is somewhere in Lyme with the child.Alive, hopefully, is how Jacobs puts it, and my body fills with heat. Is that what I really thought when I pictured the end of the Cobb? That he had thrown himself and the child over the edge? Maybe I did, but this feels different, as though earlier it was just fear; now it is a real possibility.Oh, Sam. Sam, my darling.
‘If he was going to throw himself in the sea,’ I say, ‘he’d park by the harbour. Otherwise, I can’t think where… Wait.’
Of course, I think. I have already feared the most drastic outcome, but I have not thought about how he would…
Sam does not know that I know. Joyce told me in confidence. I am torn. Should I tell these people, who don’t even know him, about his most private moment? A moment so shameful he has not felt able to tell me himself?
If it could save his life, yes.
‘I think I know where he might be,’ I say. ‘We need to get back in the car.’
A female officer tells me to leave Betsy with her. I am reluctant, but Betsy is thrilled with the idea of being allowed to eat a honey sandwich and stay up late with the nice lady, whose hat she asks to try on. I kiss her and let her go, turn away before I have to watch her disappear into my house with a police officer.
Five minutes later, we are parked in the lane beneath the sinister arches of Cannington Viaduct. I have not been here since Joyce told me about Sam that dreadful night. Now I know why. The thought of him alone up there contemplating the unthinkable is too much. I begin to cry.
‘Oh, Sam,’ I whisper. ‘Please God, don’t have done that. Please don’t.’
From the ground, there is no sign. The police torch shows no evidence of footprints, though the ground is grassy and dry. Myself and two cops scramble up the bank, half running, calling his name, that we’re here to help, that he’s not in trouble. To please make himself known.
‘Sam!’ I yell at the top of my lungs. ‘Sam, love! It’s me, Miranda.’
Every few seconds I crane my neck and peer up to the impossible heights, but I can see no one. We reach the ridge and walk through the brambles to the entrance. The barbed wire is intact. Beyond, completely overgrown.
‘He’s not gone through there,’ Jacobs says. ‘No way.’
‘Thank God.’ I press my fingertips to my eyes, to another bout of sobbing.
‘Is there anywhere else he might have gone? Anywhere you can think he would go if he was afraid?’
