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
Irina bent down and lifted Alfie to her flat chest and let her rippling hair spread over him. He nestled into her. His eyelids were heavy; even his hair looked tired.
“Danny can’t even be a good mother on the day of his daddy’s funeral,” said Irina bitterly.
Alfie butted his head under her chin.
“Daddy?” he said.
Irina’s eyes filled with tears.
“My poor little Alfie,” she murmured into the crown of his head. “We both loved him, didn’t we?”
“What do you mean?” asked Jude. “About Danny, I mean.”
“Look at her. She doesn’t know where he is. He could be anywhere, with anyone.”
“But you all look after him, right? It seems a great way to be with a kid, getting him used to lots of different people.”
“Like a house pet?”
“Of course not like a house pet.”
“What would you know?” said Irina. “You just look after old people and have affairs with other people’s partners.”
“That’s a lie, and it’s also mean and cruel!”
“Oh!” Irina’s eyebrows shot up and she smiled. “You’re angry.”
“Of course I’m angry. You’re upset, but you don’t have to be insulting and unpleasant—and a liar.”
“Quite right.” Irina nodded several times. “That’s the spirit.”
“I’m going now. I should never have come in the first place.”
“You shouldn’t leave yet; there’s going to be a toast and more music.”
“I think a spark just caught on the hem of your cape.”
“I don’t care.” Irina gave an exultant laugh. “Let it burn.”
“Maybe you should stamp on it.”
Irina sighed and put Alfie into Jude’s arms where he lay like a warm sack of flour, untied her cape and let it drop to the ground, and then jumped on it several times.
“There,” she said finally.
Tiredness burned behind Jude’s eyes and she felt the nauseating tickle of a migraine lying in wait. Her anger left her.
“What about Liam?” she asked. “Was he a good father?”
“Liam,” said Irina emphatically, “was completely amazing.”
“Really?”
“He did almost everything for Alfie.”
“But it’s good that fathers do that, right?”
“Huh—I don’t think she has any maternal instincts,” said Irina.
“Not all women have so-called maternal instincts, but that doesn’t mean they’re bad mothers. It just means—”
“Yeah, right,” said Irina sarcastically, and, stooping to pick up her cloak, she stalked back into the house, leaving Jude still holding Alfie.
“Toke?” asked Doc, holding out a joint across the little fire.
“It’s okay,” said Jude. “I’m about to go.”
Forty-Two
Danny and her sister were deep in conversation so Jude hefted Alfie, fast asleep, back inside.
“Can you take him?” she asked Tara. “I really need to go.”
“Of course.”