“What other? Whose family?” Gemma asked, wondering if she’d missed a reference to another drowning in the reports she’d read.

“Sorry.” Tony smiled. “It is a bit confusing, I’m sure. Connor’s wife Julia’s family, the Ashertons. Been here for donkey’s years. Connor was upstart Irish, second generation, I think, but all the same…”

“What happened to the Ashertons?” Gemma encouraged him, interested.

“I was just a couple of years out of school, back from trying it out in London.” His white teeth flashed as he smiled. “Decided the big city wasn’t nearly as glamorous as I’d thought. It was just about this time of year, as a matter of fact, and wet. Seemed like it had rained for months on end.” Tony paused and pulled a half-pint mug from the rack, lifting it toward Gemma. “Mind if I join you?”

She shook her head, smiling. “Of course not.” He was enjoying himself thoroughly now, and the longer she let him string out the story, the more detail she’d get.

He pulled a half-pint of Guinness from the tap and sipped it, then wiped the creamy foam from his upper lip before continuing. “What was his name, now? Julia’s little brother. It’s been twenty years, or close to it.” He ran his fingers lightly over his hair, as if the admission of time passing made him conscious of his age. “Matthew, that was it. Matthew Asherton. All of twelve years old and some sort of musical prodigy, walking home from school one day with his sister, and drowned. Just like that.”

The image of her own son clutched unbidden at Gemma’s heart-Toby half-grown, his blond hair darkened, his face and body maturing from little-boy chubbiness, snatched away. She swallowed and said, “How terrible. For all of them, but especially Julia. First her brother and now her husband. How did the little boy drown?”