a bit shaken up.’ I try to give her a smile. ‘You weren’t supposed to follow me.’
‘I was worried. Someone has to keep an eye on you, especially after the week you’ve had.’
She explains that she followed me all the way from the junction out of my little estate, slipping into traffic behind me and keeping her distance all the way to Rectory Park. Watching as I waited for a rendezvous that didn’t happen, then tailing me all the way to Hillingdon. It helped that people carriers were pretty much ubiquitous in this part of commuter land.
‘It was like being in Charlie’s Angels,’ she says, clearly still buzzing with the thrill of the chase. ‘Almost lost you when you were speeding but it turns out I’m really good at following people. Discreet.’
‘Apart from that last bit, with the squealing tyres.’
‘Sorry about that. I lost you on the high street then had to check every single floor of the car park. When I realised he’d got you on the top floor I freaked out a little bit. God, I was worried about you, and when I saw—’
‘Listen,’ I say, ‘you need to do something for me right now, I will tell you why in a minute. You need to call Noah’s school, and the nursery.’
The smile slides off her face, muscles slackening in alarm.
‘Why?’
‘Just do it, just check they’re all OK.’
‘You’re scaring me, Ellen,’ she says, blinking fast. ‘What’s happened, what are you talking about?’
‘Just to be safe. Call them.’ I put a hand on her arm. ‘Do it now.’
She’s torn between asking me more questions and making the calls. But after a moment she turns away from me, dials a number and puts the phone to her ear. I watch her talking urgently, waiting, pacing the concrete deck as the wind whips around us. Then she’s nodding, but I can’t quite hear what she’s saying. I hate myself for giving my friend this scare and I hate that everything seems to be spinning out of control, but I can’t ignore the threat.
When she turns back to me, her face is pale. She wraps her arms around herself.
‘They’re fine,’ she says quietly. ‘Noah’s about to go into lunch, Lucas and Charlie are having outdoor play. They’re all fine. What’s going on, Ellen? Should we call the police? Are they in danger?’
I explain to her what Dominic said to me, that he knew her boys’ names and where I was staying.
‘Then we should tell DI Gilbourne,’ she says. ‘You’ve got to report this, he’ll know what to—’
‘No,’ I say quickly, Dominic’s angry words still ringing in my head. ‘Not yet.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m not sure who we can trust right now. Let’s just get back first, pick your boys up and take them home.’
Tara’s eyes are wide, phone still clutched in her hand as if she’s expecting it to ring at any moment. She looks at her watch.
‘Does this guy know where the school is? The nursery? Oh my God, was he the one who abducted you, the one with the gun?’ When she sees me nod, she adds, ‘We should definitely call someone.’
‘I’ll do it,’ I say. ‘I’ll speak to them. But let’s get out of here.’
‘I’ll pick up Lucas and Charlie first.’ She moves towards her car. ‘Then Noah.’
‘Come on,’ I say, reaching for my car keys. ‘Let’s go together.’
*
I dial Gilbourne on the hands-free as we’re driving back but get his voicemail. I remember the look of concern in the detective’s eyes last night and it occurs to me that he will probably be upset with me for going to the meeting on my own. Or for going at all. I also remember the fresh, clean smell of his aftershave, the way it felt when his hand was on my arm. The warmth of his touch.
I shake the thoughts away and concentrate on keeping up with Tara as she weaves in and out of traffic on the way to the boys’ nursery.
Little Charlie has to be roused from his post-lunch nap when we finally get there. As Tara carries him out he flops like an exhausted baby monkey, his head against her shoulder, unaware of any break in the normal routine. Lucas is delighted to be picked up from nursery early and even lets me hold his hand as we walk out to the car park. We make the five-minute drive to Noah’s infant school in three minutes and park up on the street next to the playground.