The Club(87)

Something that had driven her wild, in her grief, was the way that people only ever talked about Adam in passing, that the newspapers and the magazine pieces always had Keith (‘What Drove an Artist to Murder?’) or Jackson Crane as the focus, or Ned and the clubs. What about Adam? she always wanted to ask them. What about Adam, her husband, with his little quirks, his little kindnesses? His attentiveness, when someone else was speaking. His ease, in talking to people, in finding a way of connecting with them, whatever the situation. His ability to see the funny side of things. To make her laugh, even when she hadn’t wanted to.

Keep it together, she told herself, her hands tightening in her lap. She sniffed hard, a sharp ache in her throat.

Of all the people he had worked with at Home, of all the members he had spent so much time with, it was only Nikki, Freddie Hunter and Annie Spark who had reached out to her after Adam’s death, done anything to acknowledge her loss. Nikki with a big bunch of lilies and a thoughtful card and a very touching long message this morning to apologize for not being there. Freddie Hunter with a lovely mention in his opening monologue, his first night back on TV several weeks after the incident. Annie with a kind offer to do what she could to keep the press away from Laura, and this funeral.

Freddie and Annie were both here today, sitting on opposite sides of the chapel, near the back. Freddie had nodded at her and smiled as she came in. Annie had given her a little wave.

At no point in the elegy was the precise manner of Adam’s death commented on. That was understandable. Instead, the vicar used vague, generic words like unexpected and tragic and heartbreaking. He might also have said unexplained and incomprehensible. The whole thing had been impossible for anyone to unpick. It had winded Laura, perhaps forever. There were experiences she and Adam had shared that she was now the only person to remember (that night in Rome, that terrible restaurant, the waiter with the dripping nose; that summer morning they had swum in the ocean, off Cape Cod; the first time they had made love), private jokes to which only she knew the punchline. Now and then she still, after all these months, found herself making a mental note of something to tell Adam, found herself thinking of something she wanted to ask him, then realizing with a sudden jolt of the heart that she couldn’t. A couple of times she had come across a bookmark in a book or something in a drawer that he had been the last person to touch and use and it would feel as though her heart were breaking afresh all over again.

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.