“What time is it now?”

“Will you stop asking me what time it is, for Christ’s sake? Haven’t you got a watch?”

Dake shook his head. “I use the clock on my cell phone.”

“So use it.”

“I can’t, can I?”

“Why not?”

“The battery’s dead.”

Jenner sighed, giving Dake a withering glare. “You’re unbelievable . . . you really are. I mean, you knew we were doing this today, didn’t you?”

“Yeah . . .” He shrugged. “So what?”

“So why didn’t you make sure your phone was fully charged this morning? That’s what.”

“I did. I plugged in the charger last night.”

“Yeah? So how come it’s dead now?”

“I don’t know . . .” Dake paused, looking a bit sheepish. “I suppose I might have forgotten to connect the cable . . .”

Jenner rolled his eyes in exasperation. “You might have forgotten . . . ?”

“Yeah . . . I mean, I’m not saying I did . . . not for sure . . . but it’s an easy thing to do, isn’t it?”

“For a moron it is, yeah.”

“I’m not a moron.”

“No?” Jenner sneered. “You could have fooled me.”

Across the room, Shirley and Grace were just sitting there, slumped against the radiator. Both of them were staring down at the floor, and both were thinking about their sons. There were tears in their eyes, and they both wished they could stop thinking about their sons, stop imagining the worst, just for a while, but they knew they couldn’t — not now, not ever.

Wishes never come true.

“Yeah, so anyway . . .” Dake said.

“What?”

Dake grinned. “What time is it?”

Gordon hadn’t escaped from the police car yet, and he was beginning to wonder if he ever would. But the funny thing was that although he was still perfectly aware that this was a seriously bad situation, and although the thought of getting caught (and losing everything) still filled him with a sickening dread, he had to admit that part of him — an unfamiliar part — was actually really enjoying all this.

He still wanted to get away from the police car, though.

He thought he’d succeeded five minutes earlier just as he was approaching the moors. A long bend in the road had momentarily put him out of sight of the police car, and when he’d seen the track on his left, he’d immediately hit the brakes and swung the skidding Corsa off the road and onto the track. The snow was thick here, and the ground beneath it was rutted with tank tracks. Gordon just about managed to keep the car going, and as it lumped and bucked across the uneven ground, he leaned forward, moving right up close to the windshield, and squinted out to see where he was going. There was just enough light from the pale scythe of the moon to see a locked gate up ahead, barring his way, and the warning sign fixed to it — TANKS TURNING.

He swung the Corsa to the left, taking it off the track and onto what he hoped was the flatter surface of the moor land next to it, and then — just as the headlights of the police car were appearing around the bend in the road — he quickly turned off the engine.

The police car sped past — lights and siren still blazing — and Gordon watched as the flashing blue light raced away across the moor, leaving an electric-blue trail behind it, until finally he couldn’t see it anymore. He waited another minute or two, just to be on the safe side, then he started the engine, gave it a few revs, and hoped to God that the Corsa wasn’t stuck in the snow.

It wasn’t.

The wheels spun for a few heart-sinking moments, the car sliding uncontrollably to one side, but when Gordon put his foot down, cautiously giving it a bit more power, the wheels suddenly got a grip and the Corsa lunged forward.

Gordon was feeling pretty pleased with himself as he reached the end of the track and rejoined the road — he’d outwitted the cops, he’d saved himself from a very tricky situation, and now, at last, he was on his way home.

You need to think about what you’re going to tell Mother, he told himself as he turned right onto the road. You can’t tell her what really happened, can you? She’d go ballistic. You’ll have to make something up. Tell her that —

“Damn!”

A distant blue light had appeared in the rearview mirror, and when Gordon twisted around and looked out of the rear window, he saw the flashing blue light and the glaring headlights of the police car cresting a rise in the road about a hundred yards back. The siren started whooping, and Gordon could see that the patrol car was really moving, streaking through the snow like a rocket.

He swore again, this time using a word he’d never used before in his whole life.

He was so surprised at himself that for a moment or two he was too stunned to do anything. He just sat there, his mouth half open, unable to believe not only what he’d just said, but the passion with which he’d said it. And then, quite suddenly, he broke into a manic smile and reached down to turn the radio on.

The song booming out of the speakers was Band Aid’s “Do They Know It’s Christmas?,” and as the Corsa raced away, its wheels spinning and its back end sliding from side to side, Gordon threw his head back and sang along with all his heart.