“Morning,” said Doc’s voice. “Hello, Jude. I didn’t know we had a guest.”

Jude saw the look on his face as he glanced from her to Vin, a smile creeping over his face. She remembered the way he had laid his hand flat against her breast last night. Nausea rose in her and she swallowed it back. Her skin prickled.

“I’m just going,” she said.

“Surely you can have some breakfast,” said Doc. “Mop up the alcohol. I need to, anyway.”

He sat at the table, ruffled Alfie’s hair, then messily poured granola into a bowl, before adding several spoonfuls of yogurt.

“No, thank you,” said Jude. She felt like she was trying to impersonate a normal human being and failing.

“Coffee?” asked Danny sympathetically. “You probably didn’t get much sleep.”

“I don’t want coffee. Or anything.”

“Aren’t you coming to the interment then?”

She’d forgotten about that.

“I can’t.”

“Shame.”

“I just need my bag.”

She turned to go and almost bumped into Irina, who floated into the kitchen in a long black dress and with bare feet, her red hair in a single muscular plait.

“Jude? Jude! Well, where did you sleep last night, I wonder?”

Jude mumbled something, but Irina put up her hand.

“Don’t tell me. Let me guess. It’s not very hard, though. Actually, I thought I heard noises. But I told myself someone was just being sick in the bathroom.”

Jude had to stop herself from putting her hands over her ears. Her face felt rubbery from the effort of trying to look coolly indifferent.

“I’m just going.”

Irina didn’t budge from the doorway.

“Vin,” she said exuberantly, as the smell of burning toast filled the room. “Oh, Vinny, my man!” Her tone was a mixture of gloating and belligerence.

“You’re embarrassing Jude,” said Vin. “She’s not used to our ways.”

He took a huge mouthful of toast and marmalade and crunched it noisily. Jude couldn’t bear it any longer. She didn’t care about her bag, her wallet, her keys; she just needed to get out of here. She pushed past Irina and Erika.

“It’s in my bedroom,” called Danny. “Your bag.”

Jude ran up the stairs and into Danny’s room. Sure enough, there was her bag on the bed. It was gaping open and the wallet was also unzipped. Danny hadn’t bothered to hide that she’d been going through Jude’s things.

Jude grabbed the bag, checked her keys were still in there and ran back down the stairs, almost tripping in her anxiety to be gone. She wrenched open the front door and found herself gazing into the face of Leila Fox.

The detective’s expression was incredulous.

“Are you here for the interment?”

But as she spoke, she was taking in Jude’s stained and wrinkled funeral suit, her unbrushed hair, her chalky, morning-after face.