The Guest List
Page 28
Four lives destroyed by that one night. One guilty life in recompense for an innocent: it seems a more than fair trade.
I hope he sees the blade, catching in the torch beam. For a moment I want him – so golden, so untouchable – to feel a tiny fragment of what my little brother might have experienced that night as he lay on the beach, waiting for the sea to come in. The terror of it. I want this man to be more terrified than he has ever been in his life. I keep the torch trained on him, on his widening eyes.
And then, for my little brother, I stab him. In his heart.
I have raised hell.
EPILOGUE
Several hours later
OLIVIA
The Bridesmaid
The wind has stopped, finally. The Irish police have arrived. We’re all gathered in the marquee, because they want us in one place. They’ve explained to us what has happened, what they found. Who they found. We know that someone’s been arrested, but not who, yet.
It’s amazing how little noise a hundred and fifty people can make. People sit around at the tables, talking in whispers. Some of them are wearing foil blankets, for the cold and shock, and these are louder than the sound of voices, rustling as people move.
I haven’t said anything at all, not to anyone, not since he and I stood by the clifftop. I feel like all the words have been stolen from me.
All I’ve thought about for months is him. And now he’s dead, they say. I’m not pleased. At least, I don’t think I am. Mainly I’m still just shocked.
It wasn’t me. But it could have been. I remember how I felt the last time I saw him, cutting the cake with Jules. Seeing that knife … The thought was in my head. It was only for a couple of seconds. But I did think it, feel it, strong enough that a part of me wonders whether maybe I did do it, and somehow blanked it out. I can’t catch anyone’s eye, in case they see it in my face.
I jump in shock as I feel someone’s hand on my bare shoulder. I look up. It’s Jules, a foil blanket over her wedding dress. On her it looks like it’s a part of the outfit, like a warrior queen’s cape. Her mouth is set in such a thin line that her lips have disappeared and her eyes glitter. Her hand is on my shoulder, her fingers are gripping tight.
‘I know,’ she whispers. ‘About him – you.’
Oh God. So after all that soul-searching about whether to tell her, she somehow worked it out on her own, anyway. And she hates me. She must do. I can see it. I know there’s nothing I can do to change Jules’s mind once she’s made it up, nothing I can say.
Then there’s a shift and I think I glimpse something new in her expression.
‘If I’d known …’ I see her mouth the words more than hear them. ‘If I’d—’ she stops, swallows. She closes her eyes for a long moment and when she opens them again I see that they have filled with tears. And then she’s reaching for me and I’m standing up and she’s hugging me. And then I tense as I feel her body begin to shake. She’s crying, I realise, great loud, angry sobs. I can’t remember the last time Jules cried. I can’t remember the last time we hugged like this. Maybe never. There’s always been that distance between us. But for a moment it’s gone. And in the middle of everything else, all the shock and trauma of this whole night, it’s just the two of us. My sister and me.
The next day
HANNAH
The Plus-One
Charlie and I are on the boat back to the mainland. Most of the guests left earlier than us, the family are staying behind. I look back towards the island. The weather has cleared now and there’s sunlight on the water but the island is cast in the shadow of an overhanging cloud. It seems to crouch there like a great black beast, awaiting its next meal. I turn away from it.
I’ve barely been bothered by the movement of the boat this time. A little nausea is nothing compared to the deep sickness of the soul I felt when I made my discovery last night, that it was Will who as good as killed my sister.
I think of how I clung to Charlie on the ferry crossing to the island less than forty-eight hours ago, how we laughed together, despite my feeling so awful. The memory of it stings.
Charlie and I have hardly talked to one another. We have barely glanced at one another. Both of us, I think, have been lost in our own thoughts, remembering the last time we spoke before everything happened. And I don’t think I’d have the energy to speak right now, even if I wanted to. I feel physically and emotionally shattered … too weary to even begin to organise my thoughts, to work out how I feel. No one slept at all last night, obviously, but it’s more than that.
We’ll have to face everything once we’re home, of course. We’ll have to see, when we return to reality, whether we can mend what has been ruptured by this weekend. So much has been broken.
And yet one thing has emerged, complete, from that wreckage. A missing part of the puzzle has been found. I wouldn’t call it closure, because that wound will never fully heal. I am angry that I never got my chance to confront him. But I got my answer to the question I have been asking ever since Alice died. And in killing him, you could say that Will’s murderer avenged my sister too. I am only rather sorry I didn’t get the chance to plunge the knife in myself.
Keep Reading …
Another murder.
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In a remote hunting lodge, deep in the Scottish wilderness, old friends gather.
The beautiful one
The golden couple
The volatile one
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The quiet one
The city boy
The outsider
The victim
Not an accident – a murder among friends.
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Acknowledgements
To my editor, Kim Young, and to Charlotte Brabbin: this book has been such a collaborative effort that I definitely feel your names should be on the front of it too. Thank you for always pushing me to deliver the best book I can and for your unfailing faith in me and my writing from the beginning, across several books and across genres. It is such a rare and special thing.
To my agent extraordinaire, Cath Summerhayes: what a journey we’ve been on together so far! Thank you for being the hardest-working person I know (along with the names above!) and for championing me and my books at every opportunity. Thank you, too, for being such fun.
To Kate Elton and Charlie Redmayne: thank you for your ongoing support and for your belief in me and my writing.
To Luke Speed: fantastic film agent and the loveliest man. Thank you for your vision and wisdom.
To Jen Harlow: the loveliest, bubbliest, most passionate publicist an author could hope for. Thank you for all your hard work and ingenuity and for being such a great travel buddy!
To Abbie Salter: thank you for your marketing wizardry – I am continuously astonished by your creativity and innovation and can’t wait to watch the magic you continue to work for The Guest List.
To Izzy Coburn: I love that we get to work together! Two Slindon girls done good. Thank you for being so utterly brilliant.
To Patricia McVeigh: Thank you for cheerleading for my books so passionately in Ireland and here’s to more adventures on the Emerald Isle together!
To Claire Ward: I am in awe of your ability to distil the entire essence of the book into your cover design, with such stunning simplicity. You are a true visionary.
To Fionnuala Barrett: thank you for knowing exactly how all the voices in The Guest List would sound, better than I do myself! And thank you to you and your family for checking my Irish!
To the dream team at HarperCollins: Roger Cazalet, Grace Dent, Alice Gomer, Damon Greeney, Charlotte Cross, Laura Daley and Cliff Webb.
To Katie McGowan and Callum Mollison: thank you for finding my books homes around the world!
To Sheila Crowley: thank you so much for your support. You are amazing.
To Silé Edward
s and Anna Weguelin: thank you for all your hard work and corralling of this sometimes less-than-perfectly organised author!
To Waterstones and to Waterstones booksellers for your passion, hand-selling and creation of stunning displays in-store. Particular mention to Angie Crawford, Scottish Buying Manager and the most lovely person to tour Scotland with – I am so grateful for your generosity with your time and your ongoing support.
To all the indie bookshops who have hosted events and have hand-sold my book and who have such love of the written word and create such exciting, welcoming spaces in which to discover it.
To Ryan Tubridy, for finding the time to read The Guest List and for saying such kind things about it.
To all the readers who have read the book and told me they’ve enjoyed it – whether you’ve discovered it via Netgalley, received a proof in the post, or bought it in a bookshop. I love hearing from you – I can’t tell you how much joy your messages bring.
To my parents, for your pride and love. For looking after me so well when I have needed it. And for always encouraging me to do what I love best, right from the beginning.
To Kate and Max, Robbie and Charlotte: thank you for making life such fun and for all your encouragement.
To Liz, Pete, Dom, Jen, Anna, Eve, Seb and Dan: thank you for all your love and support, for spreading the word and sharing in the excitement and for the hand-drawn cards!
To the Irish and English cousins, Foleys and Allens, with particular mention (in no particular order) to Wendy, Big O, Will, Oliver, Lizzy, Freddy, George, Martin, Jackie, Jess, Mike, Charlie, Tinky, Howard, Jane, Inez, Isabel, Paul, Ina, Liam, Phillip, Jennifer, Charles, Aileen and Eavan.
Last, but definitely not least … to Al: always my first reader. Thank you for everything you do – your constant support and encouragement, your willingness to spend an entire six-hour car journey thrashing out a new book idea, for rescuing me from the despairing depths of a plot hole, for spending your whole weekend reading through my first draft. This book would not have been finished without you.
About the Author
Lucy Foley is the No.1 Sunday Times and the Irish Times bestselling author of The Hunting Party. The idea for her latest book was sparked by a trip to Connemara, where half of Lucy’s family hail from, on the west coast of Ireland. Struck by the rugged beauty of the islands off its shores – the perfect setting for a wedding, yet dangerously cut-off – Lucy began to plot a new murder mystery. An island with no escape, friends and family reuniting, emotions running high. And so The Guest List came to life.
Previously a fiction editor in the publishing industry, Lucy now writes full time. Her novels have been translated into nineteen languages and her journalism has appeared in publications such as Sunday Times Style, Grazia, ES Magazine, Vogue US, Elle, Tatler and Marie Claire.
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Also by Lucy Foley
The Book of Lost and Found
The Invitation
Last Letter from Istanbul
The Hunting Party
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