No Such Thing As Immortality

by Sarah Tranter

  George crouched before her and squeezed her hand. ‘Anything, Cas. Anything.’ He racked his brain to think of any other time he’d seen his sister like this. But came up blank. She appeared vulnerable. And vulnerable and Cassie were chalk and cheese. He winced. At least in the adult Cassie. He remembered a little Cassie, blonde ringlets, hurt bubbling away in those dark blue eyes fixed so accusingly upon him; tears rolling down her cheeks and her bottom lip trembling. God, he’d been a shit! Fortunately, he’d come to his senses by the time she was five or six to his eight or nine, and he’d been able to spend the rest of his childhood making it up to her.

  But Cassie protected herself. Always had done. Even as a child. The sticks in her tiny grasp, being a case in point. In fact, he’d go as far as to say that the adult Cassie generally controlled situations, never letting them control her.

  He met Cassie’s eyes with a reassuring smile. There were so many expressions flitting across her face. He just hoped he could help.

  Slowly her visage settled into a much more familiar Cassie-like expression. He let out a sigh of relief … before it dawned on him exactly what that look meant.

  Bugger!

  Shaking his head, he attempted to clarify. ‘When I said anything, Sis, I didn’t necessarily mean …’

  ‘You said “anything” George. In fact you said it twice,’ Cassie reminded him, as they sat together in the back of the taxi.

  She turned away from his accusing look. She would not feel guilty. She stared unseeingly out of the window as she attempted to stop that question from echoing around her head: ‘Do you recognise anyone, Cassie?’

  The opportunity had presented itself. He wanted to help. She had to run with it.

  ‘But I forgot who I was talking to there for a minute. I should have known your idea of “anything” doesn’t remotely resemble a normal person’s. I beg extenuating circumstances and—’ George cursed as his mobile went off for the third time in the space of the five minutes he’d left the set.

  ‘Yes!’ he growled into the phone. ‘I’ve already told him it’s a family emergency and I’ll …’ After a pause, he continued coldly. ‘I do have a family, Michael and this is an emergency.’ He hung up and turned off the phone.

  ‘I’ve never liked that man and I know the feeling’s mutual,’ Cassie said. ‘Why don’t you get another manager? You’re in a position where you could choose anyone and—’

  ‘Don’t try and change the subject,’ George interrupted, shaking his head and sounding weary. ‘I do not wish to be past life whatever the bloody hell fool thing it is you’re talking about. I don’t understand why you’re asking it of me, and why my doing it will make you feel better!’

  ‘Do you recognise anyone, Cassie?’

  ‘I’ve told you why, haven’t I?’ Cassie knew full well she hadn’t. Responding to George’s raised eyebrows, she said, ‘I’ve done it twice and there’s nothing to …’ It was no good. Not if she was going to get him to do this. Quickening up her pace, so she could rush over words she wasn’t comfortable admitting, let alone saying aloud, she said, ‘I may have got a little spooked and—’

  ‘Spooked? You!’ He couldn’t have sounded more incredulous.

  ‘A little,’ she said, returning her attention to the window. She was talking to George. It was hard not to be honest with him, harder than not being honest with herself, in fact. And he’d probably see right through her.

  Her words tumbled out. ‘All right! I’m cacking myself at the thought of being regressed again, but I have to do it! It’s the only way I can prove that their whole rotten profession is a sham and stop the evil little people from playing games in people’s heads and scaring their victims witless. I fled George. Me! Bitch hack Cassie Silbury! I know there’s nothing in it. Absolutely know it! But—’

  She applied the verbal brakes. There was only so much she could say here before he questioned her sanity. And she’d been doing more than enough of that for herself.

  Recovering some composure, she continued more deliberately. ‘Seeing you regressed, taking it in your stride, being told you were … Casanova or some such, is all I need. Then I’ll be fine. Please George … help me out here.’

  ‘Casanova?’ George spluttered.

  Cassie grinned. She knew George so well and was evidently not completely off form. She needed him distracted. He knew her too and had been frowning all the way through her semi-confession. Given half a chance he’d get to the heart of things, get her to spill all the beans.

  But if everything went according to plan over the next few hours there would be no beans to spill. Then she would hang the evil little people out to dry for having done this to her. If it didn’t go according to plan? She … Anyway, she had some diverting to do.

  ‘You are linked to all your leading ladies.’

  ‘You of all people know not to believe everything you read in the press. I’m fed up with—’ George cut himself off with a curse. ‘Stop changing the subject! I want to know what the hell has happened to make you—’

  ‘You were with Harriet Brioche, Cleopatra to your Antony; Jenny Marks, Juliet to your Romeo—’

  ‘Cassie!’

  ‘Katie Smythe, Cathy to your Heathcliff. Please tell me you aren’t going to be seeing Porsche Sutter-Blythe? I know she’s your Elizabeth, but she’s a complete—!’

  ‘Cassie! Stop speculating on my love life and tell me exactly what’s going on here! I’ve never known you—’ George stopped and narrowed his eyes. ‘Why are you giggling?’

  ‘It’s just that you are still in costume. Did you know that? I don’t think you did. And would Mr Darcy’s trousers, or breeches or whatever they are called, really have been quite so tight?’ She couldn’t help the full-blown laugh, as George looked himself over and started tugging on his coat to restore his modesty.

  Blushing, he muttered, ‘I don’t know why wardrobe keep doing it. As for you, finding amusement in my being in public—’ He looked skywards. ‘Bloody hell! You’ve done it again.’

  Keeping George distracted may have been keeping Cassie’s own mind occupied and providing some amusement to boot, but it wasn’t enough to stop the butterflies in her stomach morphing into pterodactyls as the taxi turned onto Cromwellian Avenue. 198 … 196 … 194. Cassie looked frantically at the road before them. Where was all the damned traffic when you needed it?

  George flung his head back to rest on top of the seat and let out a frustrated sound. ‘You know the concept of past lives is ludicrous. So for you to be freaked out, means something else is—’

  Cassie shamelessly broke in. ‘You should get another manager. I don’t trust Michael. And as for Porsche Sutter-Blythe – people call me a bitch!’

  ‘Whatever they try and do to me,’ George now said, resignation weighing heavily in his voice, ‘it won’t work. I tried hypnosis to give up smoking and they couldn’t get me under. It’s a waste of time …’ He released a long-suffering sigh. ‘But if you really think it will help, then so be it.’

  She would not feel guilty. And he’d be fine, she’d make sure of it. ‘I really do appreciate this George. More than I can possibly say.’

  ‘I know. And that’s what worries me.’

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