The house was as Raven described it. An end terrace surrounded by a wooden gate painted in garish red paint. The lock felt still in Alissa’s hand as she pulled it to the side, and stiffer as she used both hands to re-secure the gate behind her.
The door had one of those lion-shaped metal knockers that went out of fashion about thirty years ago. It also had a bell, so Alissa pushed it, hoping it was the less abrasive option to announce her arrival.
A woman, presumably Connor’s mother, answered, “Hello?”
“Is Connor in?” Alissa asked in her polite ‘speaking to parents,’ voice.
“He’s out,” she answered abruptly, then stood, staring down Alissa with arms folded across her chest.
‘I must really look a mess,’ Alissa realised.
“Any idea where I might find him?” Alissa p
