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
“He always did win, though. Whatever he wanted, he got.” Dermot slid his gaze across to her and the car drifted toward the verge. “Like you, back in the day. He got you, didn’t he?”
“He didn’t get me.”
“And he got Danny. She was with this other bloke and Liam just decided he was going to have her and nothing was going to stop him.”
Jude closed her eyes. She didn’t want to look at him, or hear him. She didn’t want to be in this overheated car that smelled of cigarettes and sweat and misery, hurtling its way toward London.
“You can be a loser or a winner,” Dermot was saying in a voice that dragged at her. “He was a winner.”
Jude’s eyes snapped open.
“He was killed, for God’s sake,” she said. “That doesn’t sound much like winning anything.”
They reached a roundabout and took the exit onto the motorway. Dermot swung out in front of a giant yellow lorry and didn’t seem to notice the blaring horn. He was saying something about Tara. The lorry overtook them and Jude could see the furious red face of the driver shouting soundlessly out of the window and giving them the finger.
It was nearly dark. She closed her eyes again. Perhaps she fitfully dozed and the clamor of the motorway mixed with the clamor of her dreams. She lurched fully awake as the car juddered over the studs on the road’s edge and she saw the flash of the metal barrier.
She yelled out and Dermot wrenched the steering wheel back.
“Sorry,” he said, stretching his mouth into a smile. “My bad.”
“Your bad? You fucking fell asleep. You almost killed us.”
“It’s all okay now.”
“We need to stop for a bit.”
“I’m all right. Maybe there’s some chewing gum in the glove compartment.”
“You’re not safe to drive.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are not fine at all.”
After a few minutes, Jude saw a sign for petrol and services and Dermot turned off the road.
She got him a large coffee and also a plate of egg and chips, which he covered with dollops of tomato ketchup.
“Sorry,” he said, sinking the point of his knife into the egg and watching the yolk seep out. “I don’t know what’s come over me.”
He put a yolky chip into his mouth.
“You and your parents—you should talk to them properly.”
“It’s too late for that.”
“That’s not true,” Jude said feebly.
“He charmed everyone. Even after his death, it’s like he’s in charge. Pulling the strings.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, look at you.”
“Me?”
“You say I’ve gone a bit mad. What about you?”