For about the first quarter of the ceremony, she felt herself continually on the brink of tears, a raw ache in her gullet and a tissue twisted up in her hand. Then the vicar started telling everyone what the Bible had to say about things and she had tuned out for a bit. It was Adam’s father who delivered the first part of the eulogy, his soft voice almost drowned out by the drumming of rain on the chapel roof, the wind rattling the windows. When it came time to talk about Adam’s childhood, Richard’s voice failed him completely, and he stood there gulping and rubbing at his throat, trying to gather himself and remember where he’d got up to. When she looked across at Adam’s mother she saw her head was down and her shoulders were shaking.
Laura delivered the second part of the eulogy.
Halfway through it, Annie’s phone started ringing.
Jess
Sometimes in the middle of the night, Jess awoke and for a moment imagined she was back on the island. With a start she would sit up, feel in the wrong place for her bedside lamp, grope around under her pillow for her phone, start to panic, her heart thumping, a rising sensation in her throat. And then she would remember. And then her panic would start to subside. And then she would reach across to the correct side of the bed and turn her bedside light on and she would find herself in her own bed, in her own room, home.
It felt as if it had all been some kind of dream – or a lingering nightmare.
They had been extraordinarily understanding at The Grange when she’d asked for her old job back – or rather, dropped them a tentative line asking if they needed her to help with the handover or work out her notice period fully, letting them know she was unexpectedly available. As it turned out, they hadn’t even got around to advertising the position, and had sounded delighted to hear she had changed her mind about leaving, was sorry she had done so abruptly. Of course, it had been a little strange at first, being back. Naturally, with all those stories in the papers people were bound to ask her questions. It was only to be expected they would want to talk about it. The truth was, she didn’t really have anything to tell them that they hadn’t read about already. She had not seen Jackson Crane getting into the car that night. She had never met Keith Little. She had never been formally introduced to Ned Groom. She had only met Adam Groom properly twice. As for when Island Home would reopen, if it ever would, their guess was as good as hers.
All of Jess’s team on the Island had received an email from Annie Spark, acting CEO of the Home Group while its management and ownership were being ironed out, thanking them for their outstanding work, especially everything they had done to keep people calm, and explaining that while they would find a bonus in their next pay cheque, that pay cheque would also be their final one. With no members staying on the island for the foreseeable future, no housekeeping team would be needed – nor any chefs, bartenders, waiters or drivers. In fact, just a few security staff and some of the gardeners had been kept on. The email had both opened and ended with a reminder that all the legal documentation everyone who worked at Home had signed about talking to the press remained in force.
The team would certainly have had a lot to say. The start of that Sunday had been absolute carnage. Housekeeping had been hard at work on constant rotation, sweeping up broken champagne flutes, trying to get flattened canapés out of carpets. As each new shift started, the last handed over with stories of what it was like out there, of the things they had seen. One member, still in his mask but wearing nothing else, asleep in his jacuzzi. One member still wandering up and down the perimeter of the lake looking for a missing shoe, muttering to themself. A cabin door kicked off its hinges, by someone unable at five in the morning to find their key. Another cabin’s sprinkler system set off when a dropped cigarette set smouldering the tufted Moroccan rug.
Everywhere you looked in The Manor, guests had been slumbering, snoring, sprawled out, wrapped in their cloaks. At dawn a small group had decided to go for a swim in the lake – and then ran screaming back into the house, muddy and freezing. At six in the morning there had been a hog roast on the lawn, people squatting on their haunches to watch the sun come up. At eight, security had announced that one of the branded Land Rovers was missing. At nine the first members had sat down to breakfast at Poseidon. At nine thirty the screaming had started.