Later that evening the children lay on foldaway beds in the station interview room. Katie was asleep but Sam was lying still, staring at the ceiling, when he heard the door creak open. A tall silhouette peered through the frame. It was Samantha, asking in a whisper if he was still awake. He propped himself up on his elbows. Their father was on the phone.
Katie rolled over to face the wall when Sam tried to wake her. ‘He doesn’t care,’ she said. ‘He’s not coming back.’ She pushed the pillow to her ear.
Sam didn’t want to leave her, but he was just going to the next room, and it was quiet and safe now. He rose from his cot and followed Samantha out into the office, shielding his eyes from the light.
The room was emptier than it had been during the day. The television was off, and when his eyes had adjusted it seemed like the yellow walls had darkened to a pale orange. The phone was off the hook on the front desk, and as they crossed the floor he remembered the old cassette tape he had found in the laundry cupboard. The one with him and his father singing ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’. On it, his father’s voice had seemed flintier than he recalled, and it had been difficult to align it with the image he tried to keep of him, larger and more sonorous, in his mind. But now his father was close again. Just on the other end of the phone. Waiting.
Samantha wheeled over a chair for Sam to sit on, and then lifted the receiver to speak.
‘Hello?’ she said. ‘Yes, sorry about that. I’ve got Sam here. I’ll just put him on.’
She winked and passed Sam the phone. As he took it, he squeezed so hard the plastic squeaked.
‘Hello? Hello, are you there?’ It was his father’s voice. But it sounded even thinner than it had on the tape. ‘Is anyone there? Hello?’
Sam made popping sounds with his lips into the receiver. He felt the muscles in his throat tightening, trying to talk. He wished, once again, that he could whistle.
‘Am I on hold—? I think they’ve put me on hold.’ His father was talking to another voice in the background. A female voice.
Still popping, Sam tapped on the mouthpiece.
‘What’s that?’ his father said. ‘Hello? Is someone—Sam? Oh, it’s you, buddy. Of course. No one was talking so I thought they’d—’ He cleared his throat. ‘Hey, how are you? Eh, buddy? I’ve been worried sick. They couldn’t tell us anything. Are you all right? How’s your sister? Is she there?’
Sam was nodding, shrugging, clicking his tongue; trying to make any noise. He had the phone pressed so hard to his ear that it hurt.
‘Sam, I said, are you all right?’ His father’s voice sounded distant through the crackle on the line. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ he said. ‘You knock once for yes, two for no. Are you good?’
Pausing a moment, Sam looked up at Samantha’s face as she smiled back down. He thought of Dettie, being held somewhere else in the building, dishevelled and suddenly aged. He thought of Katie, quieter, more insular than she had ever been before. And Jon—who knew where?
‘Are you good, buddy?’
His father clearly wanted the lie. But Sam was done with lies. He tapped the receiver with his knuckle, but before he could tap a second time, his father let out a lengthy sigh that filled up the line like static.
‘Oh, that’s fantastic, mate. That’s just great. That’s good to hear.’
Sam didn’t bother correcting him. There was no point. He wasn’t listening anyway. And there was nothing left to say.