“Don’t worry, I will. I’ll go and I’ll never come back, but first someone needs to take Alfie.”

“Good luck with that,” he said, and turned and walked off toward the kitchen.

Alfie shifted in her arms, whimpering slightly.

“Shit,” said Jude.

People were dancing, bodies were swaying in the dim, queasy light. Outside, the bonfire was blazing merrily and Jude could see figures in the garden throwing objects onto it with a kind of drunken euphoria. She thought she could make out Irina and, sure enough, when she pushed open the door to the garden, Irina was there. She had discarded her scorched green cape and was in a silvery sheath that made her look like a mermaid. She was clutching a guitar by its neck and, as Jude watched, lifted it up in readiness.

“Stop!”

Irina turned. “What?”

“Are you going to burn that?”

“What if I am?”

“Is it the one Liam left you?”

“What if it is?”

A man on the other side of the fire lobbed in a ladder-backed chair with wicker seating. The flames briefly flared and Jude saw faces gleaming in the firelight, eyes watching. There was one she thought she had seen before—male, middle-aged, snub nose, small eyes—but she couldn’t place it.

“He never loved me,” said Irina.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

Jude felt very tired and her head swam. People around her came in and out of focus and behind her the music got louder, more insistent.

“Never, never, never. My dark star.”

“Don’t burn the guitar. You’ll regret it in the morning.”

Irina gave a shrill laugh. “I regret everything in the morning. But then night comes round again.”

A second chair winged its way through the air and landed on the fire, sending up sparks and a hiss as the wicker caught.

In the sudden brightness she saw the man’s face again, heard him laugh. A jolt of recognition went through her.

“Isn’t that—?”

“It should have been me.”

“You mean—”

“He and Danny—puh.” She made a gesture, a hand slicing across her throat. “But he humiliated me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Nor do I,” Irina said. “Nor do I.”

“Can you take Alfie to bed please? I need to go home.”

As she said the words, Jude felt a sob lodge in her throat. She had no home anymore. No work, no love, no place to be safe in.

“Sure.”

Irina held her arms out, the guitar dangling from one. She was standing on the rim of the fire, sparks crackling behind her. She looked frantic.

Jude hesitated. She looked at the fire and the wild woman, then at the little boy in her arms.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll take him.”

“We’ve met,” she said to the man with a pug nose and rippled gray hair. He was wearing a flowery shirt, and his face was red in the firelight.