Chapter Twenty-One

She sipped at the vodka-free tonic she'd requested – determined to keep her wits about her – before asking, ‘It must be upsetting, all this coverage in the press and on social?'

He nodded, taking a drink of his JD and Coke. ‘It's not nice being portrayed as the bad guy by a bunch of dickheads who don't even know me.' She noted that even though they were sitting inside he had put on shades and chosen a table in a corner with his back to the room. ‘I mean this business about me getting Bronte into gear. It's factitious. Pure fantasy. Bronte had already done pills – and even smack – when I met her. One of her band members was a bit of a junkie.'

Factitious . Cassie liked an educated guy, and he used the word without any pretension.

‘Her mother thinks she got into it cos she was "fragile"?' she said.

He considered the idea, a frown line between his near-black eyebrows. ‘Bronte was a tough cookie but also really vulnerable at the same time, if you know what I mean?'

Oh, I know , thought Cassie, remembering how her own nickname in her squatting days had been ‘Teflon' – when most of the time she'd felt like she was made of sugar glass. Casting her mind back to school, fragile was the last word anyone would use to describe Bronte, at least not until the events that saw her suddenly leaving. Maybe she and Bronte had been more alike than she'd thought at the time.

‘Drugs and booze are a great way to take the edge off,' she said with a wry look. ‘In the short term, anyway.'

‘Yeah, exactly that.' Ethan looked into her eyes, a moment of shared understanding. ‘We're all fucked up, one way or another, right? Especially musicians, writers, etc. You gotta have a screw loose to be creative, to have a gift.'

It struck Cassie that what she thought of as her gift – her bond with the dead – might also have come at a price: an inability to let the living get too close. Pushing away the image of Archie's uncomplicated smile.

‘You know Bronte had a twin brother who died when he was small?' asked Ethan.

‘Wow.' Cassie tried to imagine what it would be like to lose a twin – like having a shadow walking alongside you through life.

‘Bronte had health problems, too. There was a ton of things she couldn't eat – bread, pasta, any kind of curry. Which meant her mother was always turning up with home-made dishes or a bottle of some old wives' remedy .?.?.' He rolled his eyes. ‘Kind of sweet, but it drove her nuts.'

Cassie remembered Bronte's lunch box at school, strictly curated by her mother. Having lost one child, with another child sickly, no wonder Chrysanthi had been so overprotective – or controlling?

‘Bronte loved her mum, don't get me wrong, but she tried to keep her at arm's length. Chrysanthi just wouldn't let her be , you know?'

‘What about George?' It had crossed Cassie's mind that Bronte's mental health problems could be a sign of childhood abuse.

‘Oh, she adored her daddy. He was the total opposite of her mum – adventurous, party-animal type of guy. She said that from the time she could talk, he told her she could do whatever she set her mind to. Apparently, George is a total pussy-hound, but I got on all right with him.'

He pulled out a packet of Camels. ‘Is it OK if we pop out? I'm dying here.'

‘I thought you'd never ask,' she said.

Again, Ethan chose the least public table – on the edge of the terrace, facing a wall. He lit her cigarette first, his fingers brushing hers as he cupped the flame, which sent a little frisson through her. Watch out , she told herself.

‘Bronte used to say that her childhood was like growing up in a war zone,' he said, blowing out a plume of smoke. ‘Her mum and dad always had separate bedrooms but they stayed under the same roof until Bronte went to uni. Even then you know they never actually got divorced?'

‘Because of Chrysanthi's religion? – she would probably think marriage is for life.'

Cassie had barely smoked since Archie moved in and the cigarette was making her dizzy – in a good way. On impulse, she asked him, ‘Bronte went to school in Camden didn't she? Did she ever talk about it?'

He squinted through the smoke, making the laughter lines scrunch around his eyes. ‘She described it as a "pit of vipers".'

That was like a slap. One you deserve.

‘She begged her dad to take her out,' he went on. ‘Eventually, he did. She said that after that place even the convent boarding school she went to was a picnic.'

A female member of the pub staff came over and cleared Cassie's empty glass. Pulling an apologetic expression, she said, ‘I'm sorry but you can't smoke anywhere on the premises.'

‘Oh sorry,' said Cassie, immediately dropped her fag end and ground it underfoot but Ethan's face contorted with anger.

‘You're joking right?! We're in the open air !' he snapped at the girl, whose eyes widened as she made herself scarce.

Cassie was taken aback by how easily he'd lost his rag, but after a moment staring at the girl's departing back, Ethan sent her an apologetic look. ‘Sorry, about that. I'm not usually such an arsehole.'

‘Listen,' she ventured, ‘feel free to tell me it's none of my business, but were you and Bronte .?.?. back together before she died?'

He pulled an ‘It's complicated' face. ‘Yes, no, off and on.' He sent her a cheeky look. ‘Break-up sex is the best, isn't it? But it does makes things .?.?. confusing.'

She broke the gaze. True.

‘She was clean, by the way,' he went on. ‘Although the last time I saw her she was in a bad way about something, but she wouldn't say what. So when I heard the news, I could see her doing it, you know.' Dropping his head, he took a savage drag on his cig.

She let the silence simmer: years of dealing with the bereaved had proven it a useful way of finding out what was really on someone's mind.

‘So do the police think there's anything funny about it?' asked Ethan at last, his tone offhand.

She made a blank face.

‘I mean have they found anything to suggest she didn't top herself?'

‘I'm just a technician, Ethan,' she said, apologetic. ‘That kind of thing is above my pay grade.'