The Secret Place (Dublin Murder Squad, #5)(147)

Holly is thinking the same thing, apparently. ‘So?’ she wants to know. ‘It’s not like you have to have Honours Biology because you want to do medicine or something. You don’t know what you want to be. Do you?’

‘I don’t have a clue. I don’t care. I just . . .’ Becca’s head is down, over her hands moving faster and faster. ‘I just can’t be in all different classes from you guys, next year. I’m not going to be stuck in, like, Ordinary Level everything when you’re all doing Honours and we never see each other and I have to sit next to Orla Stupid Burgess for the rest of my life. I’ll kill myself.’

Holly says, ‘If you fail Science, me and Lenie are too – no offence, Lenie, you know what I mean.’ Selena nods, carefully so her hair won’t tug. ‘We’ll all be sitting next to Orla Stupid Burgess together. It’s not like we’re all smarter than you.’

Becca shrugs, without looking up. ‘I practically failed it in the mocks.’

She got a C, but that’s not the point. She’s electric because there’s something in the air, scraping at her even though she can’t figure out what or where it is, and she needs to feel the four of them holding tight because she believes that’s what will make everything OK again. Julia knows what she wants to hear. It doesn’t matter what marks we get. We’ll pick our subjects together, we’ll pick ones we can all do. Who cares about college? That’s a million years away . . .

Selena is the one who says stuff like that. Then Julia tells her to quit being such a sap and anyone who fails English is on her own, because personally she’d rather snog Orla Burgess with tongues than do Ordinary Level English and be forced to listen to Miss Fitzpatrick sniffing up her nose-drip every ten seconds like clockwork.

Selena says nothing. She’s drifted away again, eyes on the sky, swaying with the rhythm of Becca’s fingers.

Julia says, ‘If you fail Science, we’ll all do Ordinary Level together. I’ll survive without my world-famous-neurosurgeon career.’

Becca glances up, startled, looking for the snide edge, but Julia smiles at her, a real full-on smile. One confused second and then Becca smiles back. Selena’s swaying eases as her hands gentle.

‘I don’t want to do Honours Bio anyway,’ Holly says. She stretches her legs out luxuriously and clasps her hands behind her head. ‘They make you dissect a sheep heart.’

‘Eww,’ all round, even Selena.

Julia tucks the pebble into her pocket and stands up. She bends her knees, swings her arms, and leaps; hovers above the bush for a second, arms outspread, head back and throat bared to the sky; and floats down to land, one-toed like a dancer, on the grass.



On Thursday Julia barfs at the beginning of Guidance, right when Sister Cornelius is winding up for a long bewildering rant involving nightclubs and self-respect and what Jesus would think of Ecstasy drugs. She figures she might as well get something out of all this.

Selena’s phone is still in the same place. Chris has been sending her predictable texts. She hasn’t answered them.

Julia texts him: 1 o’clock tonight. Usual place. DON’T text me back. Just come. Once the text has gone through, she deletes it out of Selena’s Sent box.

She’s planning to lie in bed and study, because the real world still exists, whether that prick Chris and that fool Selena like it or not, the Junior Cert is still going to need taking, and today that actually feels comforting. Instead she falls asleep, too instantly and intensely even to fight it.

She wakes up because the others are banging into the room and there are people shrieking in the corridor. ‘Oh my God,’ Holly says, slamming the door behind them. ‘You know what that’s about? Rhona heard that somebody’s cousin queued up somewhere for something and the one with the stupid hair out of One Direction touched her hand. Not, like, married her; just touched her. That’s it. I think my ear died. Hi.’

‘I had a relapse,’ Julia says, sitting up. ‘If you want me to prove it, come over here.’

‘Whatever,’ Holly says. ‘I didn’t ask.’ This time she doesn’t sound like she cares. Her eyes are on Selena, who is rummaging in the wardrobe, head down so that her hair hides her face. Selena’s hands move through the drawer in slow motion, like this is taking almost more concentration than she’s got.

Holly is no idiot. ‘Hey,’ Julia says, shaking her arm that’s gone to sleep. ‘If you guys are going down to the Court, can you get me earbuds? Because I’m going to die of boredom if I’m stuck here any more without music.’

‘Use mine,’ Becca says. Becca is no idiot either, but all this is zooming straight past her; it’s outside her horizon. Julia wants to shove her deep into bed and tuck the duvet tight over her head, stash her in a warm safe place till all of this is over.

Holly is still watching Selena. ‘I don’t want yours,’ Julia says – there’s nothing she can do about the leap of hurt on Becca’s face. ‘They hurt. My ears are the wrong shape. Hol? Will you sub me that ten squid after all?’

Holly wakes up. ‘Yeah, sure. What earbuds do you want?’

Her voice sounds fine, normal. Julia holds on to the thread of relief. ‘Those little red ones like I had before. Get me a Coke, too, OK? I’m sick of ginger ale.’