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‘I know, love.’
‘I wanted to say goodbye. He’s not mine. He’s not my son.’
‘I know, I know.’ In the dark, I find his hand and hold it tight.
‘He never was mine. He was never evenhers. It was all… it was all a lie.’
‘I know.’
We are both crying now.
‘I thought…’ he sobs, ‘I thought Iknewit, you know?’
‘I know you did. It’s not your fault. Why wouldn’t you think that? He’s your double.’ But even in the torchlight, I can see this is not true. His colouring is Sam’s, yes, but his features are all Harry’s, in miniature.
The tunnel darkens. At the entrance, I can see Jacobs and his colleague. I hold up my hand: wait. Turn back to Sam, who flinches.
‘It’s OK. They’re good guys. Let’s get this little one into the warm, eh?’
It takes Sam a long time to get up. Finally he sniffs and nods: I’m ready. Stooped low, we make our way in shuffling steps out to the river.
‘It’s OK,’ I say, over and over. ‘You’re doing great. That’s it, one foot in front of the other. Nice and easy. I’m right here. It’s all going to be OK.’
All he says is sorry, over and over again.
The cops help us up the bank. On the silent lane, DC Jacobs is kind as he makes the arrest. Dust and tears carve tracks down Sam’s face; his clothes are streaked with mud. He has no shoes on. When he holds out his wrists for the cuffs, Jacobs shakes his head and tells him it’s OK, there’s no need for that, let’s just get this little fella home.
In the back of the car, we sit close. The other officer starts the engine while Jacobs calls ahead, presumably to a colleague at the house.
‘Found him,’ he says. ‘If you can let the Baxters know… Cheers, yeah… ETA half an hour… Yeah, yeah, he’s unharmed but call an ambulance anyway.’
Tommy sits on my knee. I try to hold him to me, but his arms reach out for Sam.
‘Sam-Sam.’ He begins to wriggle and groan and strain. ‘Da-da, Sam-Sam.’
‘It’s all right,’ Sam says quietly and lifts Tommy from my lap onto his. ‘Hey, little man,’ he whispers, adjusting his position, holding him close, arranging his blanket over him. ‘Let’s get you home, eh? Let’s get you home to Mummy and Daddy.’
I think this is the bravest thing I have ever witnessed.
‘Car,’ Tommy says brightly, and Sam tells him yes, this is a car. Unharmed, unaware of the drama or of the pain his question might inflict, the child asks: ‘Where Noo-noo? Where Mummy?’
‘Mummy’s at home,’ Sam whispers. ‘Noo-noo is on holiday.’ Roughly he pushes aside tears, sniffs deeply. Turns to me in the darkness. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’
I find his free hand and squeeze it. ‘We’ll get through this. We’ll get through it together.’
CHAPTER 61
Gently DC Jacobs lifts Tommy from Sam’s arms and takes him into the house. Sam plunges his face into his hands and sobs. Jacobs tells me he’ll have Betsy brought straight out – the female officer has already brought her back round to the Baxters’ at Jacobs’ request. I stay in the car with Sam and the other cop, silent in the front seat, but I guess in my role as storyteller here I need to let myself drift into the Baxters’ home and imagine the emotional reunion taking place in that cosy modern living room with its grey sofas and nice cushions. Harry and Cheryl breaking into shrieking sobs and cradling their child between them.Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. We thought you’d… we really thought… Oh God, the relief. He’s safe he’s safe he’s safe, honestly, Officer, there are no words to express our thanks. Thank you, all of you, so much.
If I sound distant from their emotions, it is because I am. I am pleased for them obviously, but any feelings I have for them and their little boy are drowned by my fathomless sorrow for Sam.
‘I…’ Next to me Sam’s voice is as small as a child’s. ‘I don’t know how I can carry on.’
‘You can. You will. I’m here. Me and Bets are right here. We’ll look after you, I promise.’
What else can we do for our friends? Perhaps I should have intervened, told him to get away from that woman, that if she reduced him to a suicidal wreck the first time, she would do it again. But he didn’t ask for my opinion and it was not my right to give it. It was not my place to criticise the love of his life, no matter what my feelings were for her – or for him. All I could do was hope my misgivings were unfounded, and if not, be there to pick up the pieces. Which is what I’m doing. All we can do is be there, isn’t it? Be there, wait, be there again on the other side.
Betsy appears on the driveway of the Baxters’ house. Spying me through the window, her face lights up.
