Chapters (78)
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Remarkable Praise for Nicci French
- Also by Nicci French
- About the Publisher
There was a hum of chatter and the creaking of footsteps on the wooden floor. Gradually the noise subsided, the doors were closed, and there was a sense of expectancy that you could almost feel, like at a music event. Jude heard the sound of hands clapping. She looked up from her phone and saw that it was Vin, who had stepped up onto the platform. He was dressed in amber crushed-velvet trousers and a black-and-white jacket. He looked like the master of ceremonies at a medieval banquet.
At moments like this, when someone was about to speak in public, Jude had often felt a sense of vicarious anxiety, of nervousness on the speaker’s behalf. She didn’t feel that now. Vin was so obviously at ease among friends.
“We’re here to . . .” And he stopped and smiled. “I was going to say that we’re here to say goodbye to Liam, but that’s not right. We’re not going to say goodbye to him because he’s always going to be with us. And we’re not here to mourn him. We’re here to celebrate him.” He took a few steps to the side of the coffin and tapped it softly. “It’s a party for you, mate. And I hope you’ll enjoy it.” He turned back to the crowd. “Some of us are going to play some music. A couple of things Liam liked. A couple of things that Liam may not have liked but that we like to play.” There was a tiny murmur of laughter. “Then we’ll have a few words. Then back to ours for anyone who wants to come.” He looked around. “All right, guys?”
Two women and three men stepped up onto the platform and nodded at the crowd. One of the women turned out to be Irina, though her hair was dyed a darker red and rippled across her shoulders like live snakes. She was wearing a green cape. The group was a motley mixture of different fashions: grunge, hip-hop, jazz, hippy. They picked up their various instruments—one of the men took a violin from a case—and after some tuning and muttering among themselves started to play. The music they played was as varied as their different styles. Nobody said what they were about to play before they played it or what they had played after they finished. It just looked like a group of friends having fun. There was a folky reel, something Dylanesque, something Cohenesque, a solo violin piece that might have been Bach. Someone else came from the audience carrying a trumpet and they played a piece that sounded to Jude like Miles Davis or John Coltrane.