He focused on her with difficulty.

“You’re the executor.”

It took a moment to put a name to the face, especially as it didn’t seem to belong to this place, this occasion. Then the name came to her. Anthony Leary.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to pay tribute. Why shouldn’t I be?”

“I thought you hated him. And he hated you.”

“I wouldn’t put it like that.” He laughed uneasily. “When Vin invited me, I thought, good, let’s put it behind us. Clean sheet.”

“Vin invited you?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

“Because it’s weird to come to the wake of a man you fell out with and refused to pay? Because you were Liam’s enemy not his friend, so how can you set foot in this house of people who are grieving for him?”

Leary smiled at her. His eyes gleamed and his small mouth was wet.

“They look to me like they’re having fun. You should try it.”

Jude started to say something angry, then put her head into Alfie’s soft curls to stop herself. She wasn’t Liam’s guardian. If Vin and Danny could bear to have this pug-faced creep in the house, then who was she to object?

She maneuvered herself and Alfie back through the conservatory, where Vin was standing on the table with his shirt undone, conducting the dancers. In the hall, she saw that some people were leaving, but the room leading off it was still tight with bodies.

“Right,” she said, and headed for the stairs, stepping across puddles of beer and upended bottles. There were several people sitting on the steps, including one young woman who was fast asleep, her mouth wide open, and Jude had to squeeze her way past them, the boy a dead weight in her arms.

“Please to pass,” said a voice above her.

Looking up, she saw Jan at the top of the stairs, wedged by large cases. He appeared to have put as many of his clothes as possible on his own body, and was wearing a quilted jacket beneath a thick coat, a wool hat on his head. He had a big rucksack on his back and his pink face was sweaty with heat and effort. The two figures seated a few steps down stood and pressed themselves against the wall. Jan hauled his cases down the stairs, banging them against the skirting boards.

“You couldn’t wait,” said Jude.

Jan arrived at the foot of the stairs with a thump and let go of the cases, kneading his hands together. He looked around.

“Not another day,” he said.

“Right. Bye then,” said Jude. “Good luck.”

“I do not believe in luck.”

And he was gone. Jude mounted the stairs again.