Floating toward her out of the murk came a memory: Jude had gone downstairs from putting Alfie to bed and was heading for the conservatory in search of her bag. Danny had come out of the conservatory and they had briefly talked. Then Jude had met Dermot, moving jerkily. She could see his face now, ghastly pale with spittle on his lips and his dark eyes glittering. He had a red oval of lipstick on his cheek. He had smashed his fist against the wall and said, “I will not stop. You little cunt,” or words like that, a howl of injury and rage. Then he had tipped the table, and as he stood beside the havoc, he had said, “There!”

Who was he saying that to?

Danny.

Danny who had just left the room. Danny with the red lipstick. Danny who was the partner of his brother.

And now Jude remembered how Dermot had reacted that morning, when she’d told him that Danny and Vin were lovers, and perhaps always had been. He’d told her it wasn’t true, she was lying.

Suddenly, horribly, the confusion cleared and everything became sharply clear. Things slid into place, like a collection of blades, chains, cogs. Click click click, all the nasty parts locking together.

The car turned left down the road where Dee lived.

Danny and Dermot, Jude thought. Of course.

The car stopped and the officer got out and held her door open for her. Jude struggled out and he pulled her bags after her and carried them to the entrance. The lights were on: Dee would be making her pie in the small, messy kitchen, her hands floury. Later, they would eat and drink and play board games. Her old, merry world continuing and Jude was about to be pulled back into it, as if nothing much had happened: merely a glitch.

She stood at the door but she didn’t press the bell. Her mind was racing now, trying to keep ahead of the thoughts streaming into this new structure. She felt on fire with fury and shame. She didn’t ring the bell, just pushed the bags out of sight and limped back onto the road.

Sixty-Five

She started to walk. If she’d been able to she would have run. She knew her foot was hurting and her hand throbbed, but she couldn’t feel it. Later.

Soon she was on the marshes, past the filter beds and along the river. There were little patches of frost in the shade which crunched underfoot, and tiny films of ice on puddles. It was very cold, but Jude didn’t feel cold.

Dermot had been having an affair with his brother’s partner. He had killed Liam, while Danny had given herself a perfect alibi. All this on the evening when Liam had his own sinister plan and arranged his own perfect alibi: his teenage sweetheart, her, the unwitting spanner in the works.