Maddy turns the pram around and hurries back to the high street. It feels colder than earlier and Sam won’t stop crying. It’s a shrill sound which sets her nerves on edge. She puts her head down and pushes the pram as fast as she can up Belmont Road, stopping by a bench to catch her breath. Sam’s crying so much she feels her own tears welling up. She lifts him out and gasps at how burning hot he is. She digs into his nappy bag for her mobile. Where is it? She can’t have left it behind. She tries every pocket but it’s not there. Sam’s cries become more shrill. What’s wrong with him? She lifts him out and her phone clatters to the ground. Shit! Thankfully the leather case has saved it from being damaged. She dials the house number, jogging Sam on her hip.

It seems to ring forever. Max must have gone back to sleep. Worse still, what if he’s left? She dials again and is about to give up when he answers.

‘It’s me,’ she gasps.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘It’s Sam. He’s sick.’ A sob escapes her lips.

‘Where are you?’

‘Belmont Road, near the school.’

‘I’ll be there in two minutes.’

Maddy bounces Sam up and down on her lap, trying to make him stop crying, but his cries become louder and louder and all she wants to do is make him stop.

Chapter Seventy-Two

As soon as Max pulls onto the drive, Maddy eases Sam out of his seat. She holds him tightly and runs indoors. As quickly as she can, she strips the clothes off his hot little body, lays him on a towel in her lap and sponges him down with tepid water.

‘We’d better get him to the doctors.’ Max looks at his watch. ‘The surgery should be open.’

Maddy ignores him. ‘Hold him for me,’ she says. Max sits on the side of the bath with Sam on his knees, facing him. Maddy wets a sponge under cool water and dabs the pink skin on his back, drawing out the heat. ‘He’ll be fine as soon as I get this temperature down.’ She repeats the process while Max chatters to him in a silly voice. Soon, Sam stops grizzling.

‘That was almost a smile,’ Max says.

‘You see, he’s feeling better already.’

‘He’s still burning up. We ought to get him checked out.’

‘He’s staying here with me.’

‘What about this rash? What if it’s…’

Neither of them can say meningitis but she knows they’re both thinking it. She wipes her forehead. He’s going to be fine. She will not lose another child.