Chapter Twenty-Eight

Cassie was on Dreamcatcher, heating up some leftover pizza for her tea when she heard a shout and a commotion from the towpath. Racing up above deck she was met by a shocking sight: Gaz wrestling a younger guy onto his back on the path.

‘What the fu—?' she said.

‘Tea leaf,' said Gaz, who was surprisingly wiry for a guy in his sixties. He pinned the guy down by his shoulders. ‘Caught him peering in through your windows' – sounding a bit breathless.

‘Gaz, it's OK, I know him,' she said apologetically.

Gaz looked almost disappointed: maybe he missed the touring life when roadies would pile into the crowd to break up fights. Standing, he extended a hand to the lanky figure on the ground. ‘Next time you come visiting someone on the canal, you hail the person by name,' he growled.

‘No worries. Sorry, man,' said Ethan. Cassie noticed he was breathing heavily and had to lean a hand on one knee to lever himself upright.

After Gaz had gone they stood looking at each other a long moment.

‘You'd better come inside,' she said and he clambered on board with some difficulty.

Below deck, she peered at his face ‘What happened to you? That's not fresh enough to be Gaz's handiwork.'

He touched the flesh around his eye socket, swollen red but not yet bruising, then his cut lip. ‘Couple of guys in the pub read about me strangling Bronte on social and decided I needed some Camden justice.' He looked more weary than angry. ‘I've had blokes take a pop at me in pubs before but no one's ever called me a murderer before.'

‘Oh Jesus, Ethan.' Her hand to her mouth.

He pulled up his T-shirt to examine several developing bruises on his stomach. She averted her eyes quickly, but not before registering his six-pack with a jolt of surprise – she'd have put Ethan down as a dedicated exercise-dodger.

‘Sit down' she said, pointing to the banquette dining table. Going to her medicine box she pulled out some TCP and cotton wool and handed it to him. ‘The skin is broken here .' Touching the side of her own temple.

‘That's where I hit the sink going down,' he said ruefully.

‘They jumped you in the gents'?' A wave of fury came over her. ‘The fucking cowards. You should report them to the cops.'

He shook his head. ‘What and see my mug all over the press again ?' He pulled a grin that emphasised the long lean lines of his face before holding up the cotton wool with a helpless expression ‘Would you .?.?.?'

As she leaned in to clean his wound she felt his breath warm on her cheek and it struck her this was the second time today she'd been in an intimate situation with somebody she was attracted to. Half undressing in front of Flyte, and now performing first aid on Bronte's undeniably hot boyfriend.

‘You should have gone to hospital,' she told him. ‘You could have a concussion, or even a skull fracture.'

‘I did. Someone found me on the floor of the bogs and took me to A & E. But I changed my mind.' At her querying look he added, ‘I caught people giving me the evil eye in the waiting room.'

‘These idiots spreading crap on social media,' she fumed. ‘Electing themselves judge and jury when they know fuck all. Why don't they leave it to the cops?!'

He sent her an amused look. ‘Do you trust the Feds?' he asked lightly.

‘No .?.?. Yes .?.?. Some of them?' – visualising Flyte's serious expression. ‘Look, no question some of them are monsters, but we can't shut the whole thing down. That just ends up in .?.?. chaos.' She blinked, startled to find herself defending the police, picturing Flyte raising an ironic eyebrow.

She put two Steri-Strips across the cut on his temple. ‘There. That should minimise the scar.'

He touched his busted lip. ‘What about this, Nurse?'

‘You can do that yourself' – passing him the TCP. Too intimate .

She got up to take the pizza out of the tiny oven. ‘What are you doing here anyway? And how did you know where I lived?' – fixing him with a challenging look.

He shrugged ‘You said you lived on a boat and there's only a few on this part of the towpath. I just looked through all the lit windows.'

‘Why?'

He gave an embarrassed shrug. ‘It was nearby and I guess I'm worried about going to my own place. Tomorrow I can go to my mate's over in Holloway Road.' The look in his liquid brown eyes was suddenly boyish, vulnerable. ‘But tonight, I need shelter.'