Jude stared at him, but she was no longer hearing what he was saying. She saw his tear-stained face, his reddened eyes, his unbrushed hair, his trembling fingers as he pushed chip after chip into his mouth until his cheeks bulged.

Was this what she was like? Was she looking at a version of herself?

Long ago, Liam had charmed her, won her over, left her with his reckless gesture of self-sacrifice, and then, years later, he had suddenly reappeared. With a single gesture, a tug on the thread, he had pulled her back into his life. She had blown up her own existence. In its place she had taken on the role of Liam’s executor, his son’s babysitter, an inappropriate friend to his parents, involved herself in a murder investigation, and finally, for a night she wished she could forget, she had found herself in the bed of his best friend.

She didn’t even have grief as an excuse. An excruciating shame burned through her.

Dermot dropped her off at Hanger Lane underground station. As she unbuckled her safety belt, he said in a blurt, “I hope you won’t be offended, but I really think you should give Danny that necklace.”

Jude looked down at the delicate wooden wishbone.

“It just feels odd,” continued Dermot. His face was blotchy with awkwardness. “If us three Birches have one and the fourth, Liam’s, goes to his teenage sweetheart rather than his partner.”

“You’re right.”

“It’s not as if he gave it to you.”

“I’ve already agreed with you, Dermot.”

“Good. Shall I give it to her when I see her?”

She looked at Dermot and suddenly felt resistant.

“I think maybe I should hand it over in person, or send it with a letter,” said Jude. “My last goodbye.”

Fifty-Eight

Jude’s mobile rang as she walked toward the flat. Her brother.

“Hello, Jude,” he said, rather formally. “Where are you?”

“In Tottenham. About two minutes from the flat. I’ve been with Mum and Dad.”

“I know. I was hoping I could see you.”

“Now?”

“Tomorrow morning. I’m in London for a meeting at ten, so I could be at yours for half past eight.”

“Is anything wrong?”

“There’s just something I need to talk to you about. Best in person.”

Jude sighed inwardly. Couldn’t it just be done over the phone? It was all too tiring.

“It’ll be good to see you.”

Michael was fifteen minutes early. Jude was still in a tatty bathrobe when he arrived, and he was in a suit and a tie, with polished shoes. You can always judge a man by his shoes, someone had once told her.

“I’ve just made coffee,” she said as she led him into the flat.

“Lovely.”

“Have you had breakfast?”

“I’ll only be a minute.”