locked, the cushions were neat on the sofa, plugs turned off, and say goodnight to his guppies in their tank. He made two cups of tea and headed for the stairs. Tonight, their routine would be shattered beyond repair. Tomorrow, there would be no routine. There would be no half an hour of reading before turning the light out, no goodnight kiss, nothing. Just a void where their previous life was replaced by an empty feeling of fear.
As George made the tea he listened to the sounds from the outside: a few sheep bleating from a nearby farm, a dog barking, and a car horn beeping. It was comforting; everyday life still going on outside the confines of their small cosy cottage.
He walked up the stairs carefully, a mug of tea in each hand.
‘Can you hear that?’ he asked upon entering the bedroom.
‘What?’ Mary was already in bed, a closed Colin Dexter paperback on her lap. She was rubbing cream vigorously into her hands. She took her usual mug from George and cupped her hands around it. ‘Blimey George, you’ve squeezed the bag a bit too hard. I’m not a builder.’
‘There’s a car beeping outside.’
‘Well, there would be.’
‘It’s been going on for a while.’
‘Maybe it’s an impatient taxi driver waiting for a fare. You know what they’re like.’
George placed his mug on his bedside table and went to the window. He parted the thick blackout curtains and poked his head through the gap.
‘Can you see anything?’ Mary asked, only half interested.
‘No. Those new solar powered lamp-posts are bloody useless aren’t they?’
‘Ignore it and come to bed.’
‘I can’t ignore it. It’s in my head now.’
‘Put Radio 4 on low. That’ll cover it.’
‘Wait. Listen.’ He was silent for a moment. He pulled his head out of the gap in the curtains and looked at his wife. ‘Do you hear that?’
‘I hear the beeping, yes. That’s because you’ve drawn my attention to it.’
‘No. Listen. It’s rhythmic.’
‘It’s what?’
‘Rhythmic. There’s a pattern to the noise. That’s not just beeping. Someone’s signalling. It’s Morse.’
‘What?’
‘Morse code. Listen. The beeps are dots and the silences are dashes. Sshh, listen.’
A long minute of silence passed while they both concentrated on the sound of the car horn in the distance.
‘I can just hear beeping.’
‘No. It’s SOS.’
‘What?’
‘SOS in Morse code: three dots, three dashes, and three dots. Listen, beep, beep, beep, quiet, beep, beep, beep. Then a gap, then it starts again. Someone’s in trouble.’
George turned on his heels and headed for the bedroom door.
‘George, where do you think you’re going?’
‘To have a look. Someone could be injured.’
‘Then call the police.’ She followed him down the stairs, struggling into her dressing gown.
‘You don’t call the police over a car beeping.’
‘Call the non-emergency number. What is it, 111?’
‘101. Anyway, it’s always busy. You can never get through. I may as well go and have a look myself.’
Fear was growing in Mary’s voice. It was already etched on her face. ‘George, don’t go. It’s dark. You said yourself those lamp-posts are no good. You won’t be able to see anything.’
He opened a drawer in the hall table and took out a torch. He flicked it on and off to check it worked. It did.
‘You don’t know who’s out there, George. It could be a trap.’ Her voice had risen an octave. She was scared.
‘I can’t just ignore it, Mary.’
‘Yes you can. It’s nothing to do with us.’
‘It’s people saying things like that why this country’s in the state it’s in. People don’t take an interest in others anymore.’
‘It’s called being safe.’
‘It’s called being ignorant. Where are my walking boots?’
‘Oh God, George. Please don’t go.’
‘I won’t be long. I promise.’
‘Then put your heavy coat on, at least. It’s cold. Wait.’ She ran upstairs and quickly came back down. She was out of breath. It was years since she had run anywhere. ‘Take your mobile. You see anything you don’t like the look of call 999 straightaway. Do you hear me, George Rainsford?’
‘Loud and clear.’
He unbolted the door, took the chain off, and unlocked it. ‘Lock this door behind me. Don’t open it until I come back.’
‘I love you George, you silly sod.’
‘I’ll be right back.’
As George reached the end of the garden path he turned around. Mary was watching through a gap in the living room curtains. He gave her a little wave and she waved back. He hated seeing her frightened, but he couldn’t stand by and leave a distress call go unanswered.
The beeping was louder outside, and George was more convinced than ever that it was Morse code for SOS.
From the end of the garden path he looked left and right wondering which direction the noise was coming from. He opted for left but only went a few paces before he changed his mind and headed right.
Quiet Lane didn’t have any pavements. It was a steep winding road where drivers should travel with caution, but the national speed limit signs did not promote a safety-first action.
He zipped his coat up fully. The sky was clear and the moon full; an infinite number of stars helped to brighten the dark sky. It was cold. George could see his breath forming as his breathing became more erratic with nerves. With each step, the beeping grew louder. He was heading in the right direction.
Where Quiet Lane turned into Wood Cliffe Cottage Lane there was a junction. Clough Lane was a very narrow road full of cavernous potholes and broken tarmac. The beeping was coming from down this road.
Surrounded by empty fields and leafless trees, Clough Lane was in complete darkness. He took the small torch from the pocket of his coat and turned it on. Pointing it at the ground, he edged along the road into
