“It’s okay,” Danny crooned. “It’s okay. Here’s Mummy.” Her eyes surveyed Tara over the crown of Alfie’s head.

“He didn’t love you,” said Tara. “He only stayed because of Alfie.”

“That’s my darling boy,” said Danny, apparently unmoved, though her eyes glittered in her pale face.

“He hated you.”

“Please, Tara.” Andy tugged at her arm.

“Mum.” It was Dermot, disheveled, a stain down his shirt. “That’s enough. Everyone’s listening.”

Tara wheeled round on him.

“Am I embarrassing you? Am I? Liam wouldn’t have been embarrassed. He would have cheered me on.”

“You wish I’d died, not him,” said Dermot bitterly.

“That’s not true,” said Andy helplessly.

“Isn’t it? Mum?”

Suddenly he sounded like a small boy asking to be loved.

“What?”

“Is it true?”

“This is Liam’s funeral,” shouted Tara. “Liam’s. My boy. He’s dead. He’s murdered. And you’re standing here sniveling like a child, asking for my pity.”

“It’s true, then?”

“Go away. I can’t stand you looking at me like that.”

“No. You go,” said Danny in her low voice. She laid a hand on Dermot’s shoulder. “You go, Tara. Take her home, Andy.”

Andy nodded dumbly and put his arm round his wife. For a moment she stood rigid, then she wavered and crumpled against him, her face folding into lines of grief. Andy led her away. Jude could hear her sobbing in the hall.

“There,” said Danny. “That’s better. Are you all right, Dermot?”

“I don’t know?” Dermot looked dazed. “Am I?”

Then Danny saw Jude and smiled, though her face remained austere. “Sorry about that. But she was right, you know, Liam probably would have enjoyed that little scene. He loved public arguments. Here, can you take Alfie for a few minutes? There’s someone I need to talk to.”

She didn’t wait for Jude to answer but placed Alfie’s warm body into Jude’s arms and walked away, swallowed up in the throng of dancers.

Forty-Six

Jude wasn’t sure what to do. Surely Alfie needed to be put in his bed. He was obviously exhausted. She looked around and saw Doc approaching. His face was grim.

“What did you say to Erika?” he asked in a voice that was slightly slurred.

“Me?”

“She’s upset.”

“Well, it is a funeral.”

“What was she talking to you about?”

“Ask her that,” said Jude. “I think someone should put Alfie to bed right now.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, you know.”

“I’m not playing any kind of game.”

“Really?”

Without warning, Doc reached out a hand and placed it flat on her breast.

Jude stepped back sharply and heard a glass fall to the floor behind her and smash.

“I’m warning you. Go away, Doc.”

“I live here, remember? You go away.”