Chapter 6: Bryony's Kindness

Bryony rang me on Saturday morning, and I let it ring four times before I answered.

"Verity, thank goodness," she said. "I've been so worried. Can we meet? Just the two of us. I'd love to make sure you're looked after."

I was sitting on the edge of the narrow bed upstairs in Kentish Town, with the heater ticking.

I pressed the screen, and the little red record light came on.

"Where?" I said.

"There's a café in Soho. Do you know Greek Street? I'll send you the address. Twelve o'clock."

She was already there when I came in.

She had a table in the window and a pot of ginger tea poured for me, which was what I always drank, and I had never told her.

She stood and kissed my cheek.

Her coat was cream and her blonde hair was perfectly smooth, and she smelled of something expensive and quiet.

"You look exhausted," she said. "Sit. Please."

I sat with my phone face down on my knee, recording.

"How are you holding up?" she asked.

"I'm all right."

"I know you're not." She put her hand over mine. "I've been sick about it. I told him he behaved appallingly. Honestly, I did."

"Did you?"

"Of course." She gave my fingers a small squeeze. "He's devastated, Verity. He's just terrible at showing it. You know what he's like."

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