The Stranger

Chapter 27 - Cassandra

The drive to meet John was tense. My thoughts churned, anxious about what he had to reveal about Alex. I couldn't help but feel conflicted—Alex had been nothing but wonderful since I met him, yet it hadn't been long. Was John exaggerating? Or was I just seeing what I wanted to see?

I took the A3216 past Battersea Park, where vibrant greenery stretched alongside the road, momentarily lifting my mood. The sight brought back warm memories of childhood trips with Mum and Dad. Even Chelsea Bridge, speckled with graffiti, seemed oddly charming. I drove well below the speed limit, not ready to face whatever lay ahead but knowing I couldn't avoid it.

The café John had chosen was tucked away on Shepherd Street. Its grey exterior gave way to a minimalist white interior that radiated understated class. I spotted him at a corner table near the kitchen. Smartly dressed in a white shirt and grey trousers, he stood up when he saw me, his movements a little nervous.

"Hi, Cassie." He hugged me tentatively. "Thanks for coming."

"Hi," I replied, keeping my tone neutral.

"Can I get you a coffee?" he asked.

"Yes, please."

"Cappuccino, skim milk?"

"Yes," I said, a little taken aback. "Nice of you to remember."

"I remember a lot, Cassie." He smiled, but then quickly got up and went to order, leaving me sitting in awkward silence.

I glanced around the café, taking in the black-and-white photographs of animals and architecture lining the walls. When John returned, he wasted no time trying to make small talk.

"How was your drive?"

"Good. Listen, John," I began, "I don't want to stay here too long."

"I understand," he said softly. "I just... I haven't seen you in so long. I want to catch up. You were so important to me."

"You were important to me too," I admitted, though I made sure my tone left no room for misinterpretation. "But I don't want you to think—"

"I know," he interrupted. "I'm not here to complicate things. I'm just... worried about you."

His concern seemed genuine, reflected in the vulnerability of his expression. It disarmed me, if only slightly.

"Let me give you some context," he continued. "When I left London after... us, I checked into rehab in Edinburgh. It was the hardest thing I've ever done, but it saved me. I started painting again while I was getting clean, and for the first time in years, I felt like myself. Like the man I used to be when we were together."

I listened quietly, my emotions conflicted.

"You were my muse, Cassie. I never told you that back then."

I felt a bittersweet pang in my chest. "I'm proud of you, John. You're so talented."

"Thank you," he said earnestly. "After rehab, I went travelling. Backpacking, sleeping on the streets sometimes—Italy, Greece, Spain, Germany. And it was in Spain that—don't laugh—I fell in love with Flamenco dancing."

I blinked at him, puzzled. "Well, that is absolutely random and unexpected."

"I know," he laughed, holding up his hands. "It's ridiculous. But there was this dancer in Andalucia, and she was incredible. That's how I discovered her." He pulled out his phone and showed me a picture.

"Valeria Rossi," he said, pointing to the screen.

My stomach sank. I recognised Alex's ex-wife immediately. John had a Google search pulled up, complete with images of her at various events. My eyes landed on a photo of her and Alex at what looked like an awards show. The Spanish caption contained a word I recognised: Divorcio.

"Why are you showing me this?" I asked, my voice tight. "I already know Alex was married before."

"Do you know why they divorced?"

I didn't answer. Alex and I hadn't discussed it.

"He abused her, Cassie. Physically. He hurt her."

I stared at him, my throat dry. "How do you know this?"

He reached into a laptop bag by his chair and pulled out a manila folder.

"These are news reports. The ones I could find in English, anyway. You can look up the rest and translate them if you want."

Before I could respond, a waitress arrived with our coffees, her presence momentarily breaking the tension. John lowered his voice once she left.

"He's into some weird shit, Cassie. Don't let him drag you into it. Don't let him hurt you."

The folder sat on the table like a weight pressing down on my chest. I barely touched my coffee before we left.

"Please call me if you need anything," John said as we walked to my car. "I'd hate to see you get hurt, Kitty."

I didn't respond to the old nickname, just nodded. The manila folder sat in the passenger seat as I drove home, the weight of it matching the heavy thoughts swirling in my mind.