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A second epiphany. And just as I sensed in the dead of night that he was in difficulty, so it comes to me now where he is. Where he might be. Where I hope to God he might be.
CHAPTER 60
We reach the Higher Mill gardening project a little after 2 a.m. The lane is silent, the garages a white row of teeth in the dark mouth of the driveway.
DC Jacobs parks up. ‘Is this the property? This one on the end?’
‘Yes.’ I follow them out of the car.
Flashing torches, they run up the steps to the house, bang on the door, ring the doorbell.
‘No one in,’ Jacobs says after a moment, striding to the side of the house. He reaches over the top of the gate, feeling for the lock. ‘It’s bolted.’
‘There’s another way.’ I move towards them so that we are standing close enough to murmur. ‘But I think we should stay super quiet. If he’s there, he’ll be frightened out of his wits. Is it possible to let me go alone? If he’s in there, and if they’re alive, I don’t want to frighten him into doing anything stupid. Not that he will.’
They agree to let me go ahead but accompany me silently down to the riverbank, where they switch off the torch. There is enough light from the street lamp on the lane. After a dry week, the river is low. The grass slope is easy enough to clamber down. I see the sandstone archway in the bank and my heart constricts. I hope I am right. I hope I am not too late.
Dipping my head, I enter the tunnel. Inside, it is pitch-black.
Singing. I can hear singing. So faint, it barely reaches me:
… little star, how I wonder what you are…
I stop, breath held in my chest.
… Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky…
Sam. Oh, Sam.
I switch on my iPhone torch. The singing stops.
‘Sam?’ I call gently. ‘Sam, love. It’s me. It’s Miranda, sweetheart. It’s OK, darling. I’ve got you. Everything’s going to be all right, I promise – I just need to talk to you, love.’
A sob. As my eyes acclimatise to the shadows, I see the shape of a man hunched over a bundle of blankets. He is rocking, weeping, and my heart almost stops.
‘Sam? Is the baby OK? Is Tommy OK, Sam?’
I hear the child.
‘Da-da,’ he says. His tiny fingers reach up to Sam’s face. ‘Sam-Sam. Da-da.’
My throat aches with tears.
‘Sam,’ I say, so gently. ‘It’s OK. I’m right here. I’ve got you, darling.’
I move slowly towards him, praying the two officers don’t burst in all macho aggression and cries ofyou’re under arrest. My friend is frightened, I try to communicate to them by sheer force of will. He needs us to be very careful with him.
‘Sam? Sam, darling? It’s OK. You’re not in any trouble.’ I bite my lip. He is. But I need to get him and the baby out of here safely.
I reach him and sit next to him on the hard stone floor. It’s cold in here but dry at least. He does not look at me. He is crying, his head bowed low. In his arms, Tommy coos and babbles softly. I hold the child’s hand in mine. It is still warm; they have not been here long. Thank God. Thank God, thank God, thank God.
‘You’re a hard man to track down, Sam Moore,’ I say. ‘What do I keep telling you about not having your phone?’ I lean my head against his shoulder.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispers. ‘I was going to come back. I’m so, so sorry.’
‘Don’t be. Tommy’s safe. This is not your fault, my love.’
‘I just wanted a few more minutes. Just a few more minutes with him.’
