Chapter Thirty-Two

Mrs Knowles had taken something out of her desk drawer and handed it to her: ‘Here, you're bleeding' – nodding at Cassie's lip, concern in her eyes.

Cassie dabbed at her piercing with the sterile wipe, tasting iron-rich blood on her tongue. After a moment she went on. ‘That was it. Sophia didn't grass on Kylie, nobody got into trouble, and the next day she'd just .?.?. disappeared. She never came back to school.'

‘So that was why her parents sent her off to that private Catholic school. I often wondered.'

Cassie nodded. ‘Closest thing to Greek Orthodox, I suppose.'

‘And you? How were you afterwards?' she asked.

‘ Me ?! I wasn't the one publicly humiliated and .?.?. tortured by bullies.'

‘No, but you carried this with you – the feeling that you should've done something different. Something you couldn't put right.'

Cassie gave a miserable nod. ‘I was brought up to do the right thing – my grandmother went to jail for standing up to a communist regime for Chrissake! But I acted like a cowardly little bitch. And I didn't even get punished.'

‘Are you sure about that?' asked Mrs K, raising her eyebrows. Leaning forward she said, ‘Listen up. You were a child . You were fourteen ! Half the time adults don't do the right thing – what child could be expected to have the emotional resources to deal with a situation like that?'

‘But I should have—'

‘Enough! You were a kind and thoughtful girl, without a mum and dad, going through puberty. And like everybody else at that age, just trying to fit in and get by.'

Cassie let out a breath. ‘Funnily enough, I did stand up to Kylie in the end, but a couple of months after Sophia left. I caught her taking the piss out of my gran – she'd rolled her socks down to look like wrinkled stockings and was doing an "old lady" walk down the corridor.' Her face darkened at the memory. ‘I lost it. I put her up against the wall and beat the crap out of her. Apparently they had to call a teacher to pull me off.' She pulled a rueful smile.

‘Good for you!' said Mrs K, before adding, ‘Although you were lucky not to get expelled.'

‘Oh my gran got pretty good at playing the "poor little orphan" card with the head. Anyway, after that, I was suddenly one of the cool kids.' Remembering her crush, Natasha, the Katy Perry clone, making overtures to her. ‘But I got my own little gang.' Tribe more like – an assortment of geeks, baby goths, and misfit loners.

Mrs K put her hand on Cassie's again. ‘Listen to me, Cassie Raven. You're an adult now and it's time that you forgave your fourteen-year-old self. OK?' – looking at her expectantly.

‘You mean .?.?. actually say the words?'

‘Yes!' Giving her hand a little affirmative shake.

Closing her eyes, she pictured poor naked Sophia for about the thousandth time, heard the hiss of the shower and the malicious laughter ricocheting off the tiles, saw that thread of red in the water.

She shook her head slowly. ‘I can't.'

The only meaningful way to make amends to Bronte was to find out who had killed her. And if Flyte and the cops were going to fixate on Ethan, even more reason for her to do her own digging.

‘No need to do it right now, but think about it, mmm?' Mrs K gave Cassie's hand a final squeeze. ‘Now I'm guessing you didn't come here just to reminisce about the joys of school days.'

Cassie made an apologetic face. ‘Between you and me, it's possible that Bronte might have suffered an anaphylactic episode – before her killer tipped her over, I mean. There's nothing in her recent medical records, and I suspect that her family would have used a private doctor when she was living at home. So I was wondering if you were aware of her having any serious allergies?'

‘Not that I can recall.' Mrs K frowned. ‘She did have digestive problems – she would come to see me in the afternoon complaining of stomach ache and nausea. I put it down to anxiety. But if she was at risk of anaphylactic attack and carried an EpiPen I'd definitely remember.'

‘There might be something in her school medical records though? If she did have a food allergy her parents must have alerted the school when she started here.'

Cassie could have simply called Bronte's parents and asked them, but Flyte had warned her off any ‘freelance approaches' to George or Chrysanthi.

Mrs K was regarding her with a dry look. ‘You're asking me to divulge confidential medical information?'

‘Yes.' Seeing the doubt on Mrs K's face, she went on, ‘Going through official NHS channels would waste precious time.' She paused. ‘And time is the one thing Bronte doesn't have.'

Mrs K thought about it. Finally, she said ‘Well, you are a fellow NHS professional. And if you're asking, I know you must have a good reason.' She regarded Cassie, her head on one side. ‘You know, I'd forgotten how determined you could be.'