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
It had been very different from what she had anticipated. In a way, it had been worse. Her mother hadn’t been cross. She hadn’t acted disappointed. Her only emotion had been sadness for her daughter. Jude had been prepared for an argument or for having to justify herself but she had just met unqualified sympathy and concern. The kindness had almost undone her. She’d found it hard to hold herself together and not collapse into helpless sobbing. That might have been a relief, but she felt like she couldn’t allow herself to do it. Not yet. She needed to hold herself together for what was coming.
All those years ago, she had never met Liam’s parents, although she had, briefly, met his brother, Dermot. They still lived in Marsham, in the same house. Jude had been inside that house, just once. It was eleven years ago and she remembered every detail. It had been an evening on a weekend and Liam’s parents had been away and Dermot had been away.
That had been the evening when they first slept together, the evening when she lost her virginity. She remembered his bedroom. Liam didn’t have posters of pop stars, the way other teenagers did. He had prints of paintings, impressionists, pop art. But what she really remembered was the fumbling, the undressing, the condom, the embarrassment and the awkwardness and the unbearably exciting feeling that this was it, it really was it. And then, much later, Liam driving her home and her wondering whether her parents could see it in her eyes, how she was changed.
When Jude met Tara and Andy Birch, she felt that they seemed younger than her parents, almost a different generation. Tara opened the door of the little terraced house and for a moment stood framed there, unsmiling, looking out at Jude. She was lean and tall, dressed in corduroy trousers, tatty trainers and a stained yellow jumper, the sleeves pushed above the elbow so that Jude could see a small abstract tattoo on her forearm. Perhaps Danny had done that, she thought. Her rich brown hair was bundled messily into a knot at the back of her head. She had thick brows, dark eyes that were Liam’s eyes, a full mouth slightly quirked by a scar, multiple piercings in her ears, lines radiating out from her eyes, a frowning groove in her forehead. She nodded Jude in without speaking, and then called Andy from his workshop in the backyard. He came in with a heavy tread, a solid man, muscle turning to bulk, with a shaved head and a close beard. He wore ancient jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt in washed-out blue. He rinsed his hands in the sink before shaking hands with Jude, a wringing grasp that made her wince.
“I’m so sorry,” she said to them both. “I don’t know what to say.”