Elle （Past）
ELLE
PAST
I went back to St. John’s Wood the following Saturday, this time without Jaz. He’d refused to come with me, asking me what I hoped to achieve by going back.
“I just want to see him up close,” I said. “Make sure that he is the man I saw driving the car.”
“I thought you were convinced that he was?”
“I am. But there’s no harm in making doubly sure.”
I arrived around ten in the morning and walked slowly past number twenty-four, keeping to the path on the opposite side of the road. Both cars were parked in the drive, so I guessed that both he and his wife were home.
The week before, when I’d spoken to Brett Parker’s son, I’d been casually dressed in jeans and a puffer jacket, my blond-streaked hair loose around my shoulders.
This time I wore a black coat and tan boots, and had tied my hair in a ponytail.
There was always the possibility that I might bump into the son going in or out of the house and I didn’t want him to recognize me.
There was no one around so I walked a little farther down the road and found a tree to shelter under, keeping one eye on my phone so that it would look as if I was waiting for someone, and the other on the house.
Twenty minutes later, I got lucky. The silver car pulled out of the driveway and as it passed by, I saw a fair-haired woman at the wheel and the boy I’d spoken to in the passenger seat.
If I could have been sure that Brett Parker was alone inside number twenty-four, I might have gone to the gate and rung on the bell.
But it was possible that he had other children with him and I didn’t want to ask him about Bryony in front of them.
Not wanting to draw attention to myself—I had loitered under the tree long enough—I walked to a bench helpfully placed on the corner of the Parkers’ street and the famous Abbey Road, and sat down.
I’d thought to bring a book with me and digging a large scarf from my tote, I wound it around my neck and settled in for what might be a long wait.
An hour and a half later my patience was rewarded when the silver car came back along the road.
Blowing on my frozen hands, I waited until it had pulled into the drive before walking back toward the house.
The boy and the woman were already out of the car and standing on the front step.
The woman had her back to me as she unlocked the door and the boy stood behind her, his body turned to the side, a tennis racket in one hand and a sports bag in the other.
He was too busy swinging his racket back and forth to take any notice of me as I walked past. I continued to the underground station, satisfied with what I’d achieved.
“Well?” Jaz asked, when I arrived back at the flat. “Did you see him?”
“No, but I saw his wife—I presume she’s his wife—and the son. He had a tennis game this morning. Maybe it’s a regular thing.”
Jaz folded his arms. “And what are you going to do with that knowledge?”
“I’m going to go back next week and if his wife and son go out again, I’m going to ring on the bell.”
“And say what?”
“I won’t mention Bryony in case there are other children there. I’ll pretend I’m lost or something. I just need to see him up close, make sure that it’s him.”
“Babe, you can’t.” Jaz was horrified. “If it is him, you could be putting yourself in danger. He saw you at the window, remember?”
He was so adamant I shouldn’t go that I ended up promising him I wouldn’t. But the nearer Saturday got, the more I knew I wouldn’t be keeping my promise. I told Jaz I was going shopping and instead I went to St. John’s Wood. I hated lying but the need to see Brett Parker up close ate away at me.
Every kid in the foster families I’d stayed with had had some sort of activity on Saturday mornings.
I’d even had dance lessons myself for a while, so I was pretty sure that the son’s tennis outings were a weekly occurrence.
Remembering that his mum had left with him at around ten fifteen, I aimed to be waiting in the road around that time.
I’d just arrived at the tree I’d sheltered under the previous Saturday when the black gates opened and a car—this time the black one—pulled out from the driveway with the boy in the passenger seat and Brett Parker driving.
I stared at his profile as he drove past. It melded perfectly with the one in my memory, of the man who had driven off that day in June, with Bryony Sanders beside him.