‘I don’t know. Have you got a heart to be warmed?’
‘Bastard,’ she said, but laughing now.
She’d never talked like this to a man. It was as if, sheared of all expectations, freed by the darkness, they could be totally honest with one another. Could say anything.
‘And now you’ve got that off your chest?’ he prompted.
‘Okay. A memory. Let’s see.’
She dredged her mind for something that would satisfy him-something big-and, without warning, she was back on the streets, scouting locations for the documentary. ‘At the beginning of the year I took my colleague Daisy on a worldwide recce to find locations where we could film our documentary.’
‘The one about street kids.’
‘Right. We’d been all over. It was all done and dusted and we were on our way home from the airport when Daisy told the taxi driver to stop-wait for us-and dragged me down a side alley.’
She could still see it. Smell it.
‘We were in one of the richest countries in the world, metres from the kind of stores where women like me buy handbags that cost four figures, restaurants where we toy with expensive food that we’re afraid to eat in case we put on a pound or two. And there was this kid, a little girl, Rosie, digging around in a dumpster for food that had been thrown away.’
He let slip the same word that had dropped from her lips. Shock, horror…
‘I’d known such things happened,’ she said. She shook her head, for a moment unable to say another word. ‘I’d known, but blocked it out. To see it with my own eyes…’
‘It isn’t your fault.’
‘Isn’t it? Isn’t it the fault of everyone who looks the other way? Blocks it out?’ Even now, her throat tightened as she remembered the shock of it. The horror. ‘I felt so helpless. It was freezing cold and I wanted to pick her up, carry her away, wash her, feed her, make her safe, but Daisy…’ she swallowed as she remembered ‘…Daisy just walked over and joined in, helping her look for the best stuff. It was the most horrible thing I’d ever seen in my life but she’d been there, lived it. Knew how to connect with her. And it was that child’s story that touched people, had the country in an uproar, demanding that something be done. Her thin, grubby, defiant little face on the cover of magazines, looking out of the screen, that won us our award.’
‘And you feel guilty about that?’
‘Wouldn’t you? Where was she when I was picking it up at a ritzy awards ceremony decked out in a designer dress?’
‘What were you going to do, Miranda? Take in every kid that you saw on the street? Your job was to focus on what was out there, raise public awareness. You helped all those kids, not just one.’ Then, when she didn’t say anything, ‘What did happen to her? Do you know?’
She shook her head. ‘As you can imagine, thousands of couples wanted to give her a home. Adopt her.’
‘But not you?’
‘No,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘Not me.’ Then, ‘Have you any idea how tough it is to take in a feral child? To make her believe that you’ll never let her down, no matter what she does. Because she’ll test you…’
She faltered and Jago let go of one of her hands and wiped a thumb over her cheek. It came away wet, just as he’d known it would.
‘Something that you’d know all about, right?’ He didn’t need or wait for an answer, but pulled her into his arms and held her. ‘Tough as marshmallow.’
She dug an elbow in his ribs.
‘Ouch!’
‘Well, what do you expect?’ she demanded through a sniffle. ‘Marshmallow! I don’t think so!’
‘No? Maybe not,’ He said, remembering his earlier thought that she was like those sugar-coated, melt in your mouth chocolates. All hard shell on the outside…‘Turkish Delight?’ he offered, tormenting her to block out the image.
‘How about seaside rock?’
‘No way.’ His head and shoulder hurt when he laughed, but the very idea of her as a stick of bright pink mint- flavoured candy with her name printed all the way through was so outrageous that he couldn’t help himself. ‘I’ll bet the majority of your wardrobe is black.’
She didn’t deny it, but countered with, ‘Liquorice. I’ll settle for liquorice. That’s black. But it has to have been in the fridge.’
‘Now you’re talking,’ he said and his stomach approved noisily too. ‘Maybe we should stop talking about food.’
‘I’ve still got three mints left.’ She turned her head to look up at him. ‘They’re yours if you want them.’
‘With my three that makes a feast, but let’s save them for breakfast.’ Then, because he hadn’t eaten since early the previous morning and needed a distraction, ‘When we get out of here, you should go and find her. That little girl.’
‘It wouldn’t be fair, Nick.’
‘You’ve thought about it, then?’
She didn’t deny it, but shook her head anyway. ‘It’ll be tough enough for her to move on, for her new parents, without me turning up and bringing it all back.’
‘Maybe you could keep an eye on her from a distance. It would put your mind at rest. And you’ll be there in case she ever needs a fairy godmother.’
‘Kids don’t need fairy godmothers, Nick. They need real mothers who are there for them every day, rain or shine, doing the boring stuff. Parents who earn love the hard way every day of their lives.’
He knew she was right. Knew she was talking about more than a little girl whose life she’d changed.
‘You think I was hard on my parents, don’t you?’
‘Yes. No…I don’t know.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘I don’t know anything, Nick. I’m just imagining what would happen if one of them was sick. If your mother needed you. Your father wanted to make some kind of peace…’ He thought she’d finished, but then, very quietly, she said, ‘Suppose you’d died here without ever having told them how much you love them-’
‘I don’t!’
‘Of course you do, Nick. It only hurts if you love someone.’
Her words seemed to echo around the chamber, filling the space, filling his head, until, almost in desperation he said, ‘We’re not going to die. Not today.’
CHAPTER TEN
MIRANDA drew a breath and for a moment he thought she wasn’t going to let it drop. Instead, with a little shake of her head, she said, ‘Is it still today? It seems a lifetime since I walked up that path, wishing I was somewhere else.’
‘You should be careful what you wish for.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, fishing the phone from her pocket and turning it on to check the time. ‘I’ll remember that for next time.’ Then, with a sigh of relief, ‘No, it’s tomorrow. Just. How long before it’s going to be light?’
He glanced at the screen. ‘A few hours yet.’ He felt her shiver but not with cold. Shock, hunger and thirst were doubtless taking their toll on her reserves. ‘Why don’t you check your messages?’ he suggested in an attempt to reconnect her to reality, the outside world.
‘The battery…’
‘We’re not going anywhere until daylight,’ He assured her, overriding any protest. ‘Read them. Text back. Tell them what you’re feeling.’
‘I don’t think so! Besides, what’s the point if there’s no signal?’ Then, catching his meaning, ‘Oh. I see. You’re suggesting I send them a last message. Something for them to find if we don’t make it?’
Did he mean that? Maybe…
