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
A man with a gray ponytail was asleep on the landing, curled up on himself and snoring slightly. Jude went down the stairs as quietly as she could manage. There were voices coming from the conservatory. She was trying to think where she’d left her bag. It wasn’t on the hooks in the hall where coats hung, which was where she thought she’d put it. She peered cautiously round the door of the front room, which was empty of people. There were glasses and bottles everywhere, and an upturned bowl of the hummus she had made. No bag.
She turned toward the conservatory; she didn’t want to see anyone but she needed her bag to get home. It had her wallet in it and the key to the flat. Danny came out, floating like a ghost toward her, her face quite calm. She didn’t seem surprised to see Jude.
“Alfie’s asleep on your bed,” said Jude, and suddenly felt a satisfying spurt of anger that burned away her awkwardness. “He was completely exhausted and I couldn’t find anyone to take care of him.”
“Good,” said Danny.
“Maybe you should check on him.”
“Maybe.”
“Are you all right?”
“I don’t know, Jude. I just don’t know.”
“Well, I need to go home, but I’m looking for my bag.”
Danny headed up the stairs and Jude took a quick look in the kitchen before going into the conservatory, where people were still dancing in the half-darkness, surrounded by empty bottles, smashed glasses, an overturned plant. There were figures in the garden, standing around the remains of the bonfire.
Dermot lurched toward her from the corner of the room. He looked awful, his face chalky and his eyes red-rimmed. There was a smudged circle of red lipstick on his cheek.
“Are you all right?”
“All right?” he said.
He lifted his fist and punched the wall violently, then staggered back at the pain, moving like a string puppet, jerky and articulated, toward the table that was pushed back on the wall. He was very drunk.
“You should go home,” said Jude. “Or lie down, sleep it off. You don’t look well. Are you staying here? Or shall I call an Uber for you?”
“No. No, no, no.” He sounded like an animal in pain.
“Please, Dermot, stop.”
“I won’t,” he said. There was spittle on his lips and his dark eyes shone. “My brother. I will not stop. You little cunt.”
“That’s enough.”
People had stopped dancing and were looking across at them.
For a moment, Dermot looked as if he might crumple. His face was like the face of a small, terrified boy. He put his hand on the end of a long trestle table and closed his eyes, taking ragged breaths.