Million Love Songs(78)

‘Yes,’ he manages. ‘Yes, please.’

‘Take a few deep breaths.’ I hear him trying to calm himself down. ‘Nice and easy.’ When he’s got his crying a bit more under control, I say, ‘Now. Tell me where you are.’

‘I’m not really sure.’

‘OK. Describe to me what’s around you.’ Which he does. ‘I think I know where you are. I’ll be ten minutes. Hang on there. Try to stay calm. I won’t be long.’

‘Thank you, Ruby.’ Tom’s crying again, but his sobs aren’t quite as heartbreaking. ‘I didn’t know what else to do.’

With one last look longingly at my lovely foam bath and my big glass of wine, I head out into the night to find him.





Chapter Seventy-One





It turns out that Tom’s description of his location is pretty good. As I speed down the main grid road towards the city centre, I spot him sitting on the broad grass verge at the roadside. There’s not much traffic about, so I pull up in the nearest layby, then jump out of the car to dash back to him. He’s in one of the less salubrious areas and I wonder what he’s doing up here.

‘Tom!’

He stands up when he sees me and I feel relief flood through me even though I can see from here that he’s got a black eye, a split lip and there’s blood all over his T-shirt. I feel myself turn white. When I reach him, I hold him by his thin shoulders, looking him up and down, trying to assess the damage.

‘What on earth’s happened?’

‘I’ve been mugged.’ Tears run down his face. ‘They took my bike, my money.’ The floodgates open and he cries again.

Taking Tom in my arms, I rock him, making shushing noises. He feels so slight, insubstantial and it makes me realise that for all his attitude and posturing, he’s still just a boy. ‘It’s all right,’ I say. ‘We’ll sort it out.’

I don’t want to panic him, but I really need to see where he’s been hurt and how bad it is. When I’ve comforted him for a few minutes, I risk holding him away from me and ask, ‘Where are you bleeding from? Can you show me?’

Tentatively, he lifts his T-shirt. His body is all white and angles. There are long scratch marks all over his skinny ribs and he looks like he’s been attacked by a flipping tiger or something. The grazes are oozing blood, but, thankfully, they look much worse than they are, I think. His T-shirt must have ridden up during the attack or something as sharp nails have done this. I have another good look and they seem to be superficial and not deep. Though I’m hardly a medical expert.

‘One of them threatened me with a screwdriver. They took my bike and my money. I’ve only got my phone because they dropped it.’ The information comes out in gulping sobs and he shows me the phone. It’s as battered and bruised as Tom is, the screen is completely shattered. ‘They jumped me as I cycled through the underpass.’ Our city is criss-crossed by a fabulous network of dedicated cycle paths which means that you can avoid the main roads, but they’re not such great places at night – particularly for a kid on his own.

‘How many?’

‘Three of them.’ He brushes fresh tears away with his arm. ‘They pulled me off my bike and grabbed my stuff. They were punching and kicking me. I kicked them back, but I couldn’t stop them.’

I think that he’s probably been quite lucky if he was outnumbered like that. What if one of them had drawn a knife? I shudder at the thought. ‘We should take you to the police station.’

‘I want to go home,’ he says.

I’m torn. If I was in his position I’d probably feel exactly the same. ‘You might have vital evidence to help them to catch who did it.’

‘I picked my phone up with a tissue I had in my pocket,’ he says. ‘In case there was a fingerprint on it.’

‘Blimey. Good work.’

‘I’ve also got a photo of them,’ Tom says, helpfully. ‘It’s not the best. I took it as they rode off.’

‘Seriously?’ I’m not sure I could have managed such quick thinking in the same situation. ‘You beauty!’

Tom shows me the phone again, but it’s hard to see the image through the craze of broken glass. The lads who did this to him look as if they’re in their late teens and you wonder what sort of people they are to do this.

I ruffle his hair gently and say, ‘Good on you. Super sleuth.’

He laughs, but it’s weak and watery. Then he cries again and sinks into my arms. ‘It was horrible, Ruby. I didn’t know what to do.’

‘You’ve been really brave. To me it sounds as if you’ve handled it quite well,’ I tell him as I stroke his hair from his eyes. ‘But this is serious, Tom. We should definitely call the police.’

‘Dad will kill me.’

‘I think that’s the least of your worries. Can I ring them?’

Tom nods, reluctantly. ‘OK.’

So I punch in 999 and the call-handler tells me that they’ll have a car with us straight away which makes me think that I’ve done the right thing.

‘I shouldn’t even have been up here,’ Tom says, shamefaced – which comes as no surprise to me. ‘I’m supposed to be looking after Daisy while Dad’s at work.’