The Secret Place (Dublin Murder Squad, #5)(177)

‘Well, isn’t it just awesomesauce to have an expert on police procedure right here. I guess it never occurred to you that maybe your daddy doesn’t tell you everything?’

Julia is giving Holly her fiercest better-back-down glare, but Holly’s not backing anywhere. She’s been waiting weeks for this; it’s the only thing she can think of that might fix things. ‘He doesn’t need to tell me. I have brain cells—’

‘I want to go,’ Becca says. ‘We need it.’

‘Maybe you need to get arrested. I honest-to-God don’t.’

‘We do need it,’ Becca says, stubborn. ‘Listen to you. You’re being a bitch. If we have a night out there—’

‘Oh, please, don’t give me that crap. I’m being a bitch because this is a stupid idea. It’s not going to get any less stupid if we—’

Selena wakes up. ‘What is?’

‘Forget it,’ Julia tells her. ‘Never mind. Go think about pink fluff some more.’

‘Going out tonight,’ Becca says. ‘I want to go, so does Hol, Jules doesn’t.’

Selena’s eyes float over to Julia. ‘Why not?’ she asks.

‘Because even if the cops don’t have surveillance on the place, it’s still a dumb idea. Have you even noticed that the Junior Cert starts this week? Have you even heard them, every single day: “Oh you have to get sleep, if you don’t get sleep you can’t concentrate and you won’t be able to study—”’

Holly’s hands fly up and out. ‘Oh my God, since when do you care what Sister Ignatius thinks you should do?’

‘I don’t give a f*ck about Sister Ignatius. I care if I end up stuck in, like, needlework class next year because I fail my—’

‘Oh, yeah, right, because of one hour one night, you’re totally going to—’

‘I want to go,’ Selena says. She’s stopped walking.

The rest of them stop too. Holly catches Julia’s eye and widens hers, warning. This is the first time in weeks that Lenie has wanted anything.

Julia takes a breath like she’s got another argument ready, the heaviest of all. Then she looks at the three of them and puts it away again.

‘OK,’ she says. Her voice has dulled. ‘Whatever, I guess. Just, if it doesn’t . . .’

‘If what doesn’t what?’ Becca asks, after a moment.

Julia says, ‘Nothing. Let’s do it.’

‘Woohoo!’ Becca says, and jumps high to pull a flower off a branch. Selena starts walking and goes back to watching the leaves. Holly takes her elbow again.

They’re almost at the Court; the warm sugary smell of doughnuts reaches out to make their mouths water. Something seizes Holly, in the tender space between where her breasts are growing, and drags downwards. At first she thinks she’s hungry. It takes her a moment to understand that it’s loss.



Outside their window the moon is slim and running wild with streaks of cloud. Their movements as they dress are filled up with every other time, with the first can’t-believe-we’re-doing-this half-joke, with the magic of a bottle cap floating above a palm, of a flame turning them to gold masks. As they pull up their hoods and take their shoes in their hands, as they slow-motion like dancers down the stairs, they feel themselves slowly turn buoyant again, feel the world flower and shiver as it waits for them. A smile is tipping the corner of Lenie’s mouth; on the landing Becca turns her palms to the white-lit window like a thanksgiving prayer. Even Julia who thought she knew better is beating with it, the bubble of hope expanding inside her ribs till it hurts, What if, maybe, maybe we really could—

The key won’t turn.

They stare at each other, wiped blank.

‘Let me try,’ Holly whispers. Julia steps back. The rhythm in their ears is pounding faster.

It won’t turn.

‘They’ve changed the lock,’ Becca whispers.

‘What do we do?’

‘Get out of here.’

‘Let’s go.’

Holly can’t get the key out.

‘Come on come on come on—’

The terror leaps like wildfire among them. Selena has her mouth pushed into her forearm to keep herself quiet. The key rattles and grates; Julia shoves Holly out of the way – ‘Jesus, did you break it?’ – and grabs it in both hands. In the second when it looks like it’s really stuck, all four of them almost scream.

Then it shoots out, slamming Julia backwards into Becca. The thump and oof of breath and scrabble for balance sound loud enough to call out the school. They run, flailing clumsy in slipping sock-feet, teeth bared with fear. Into their room and the door closing too hard, clawing clothes off and pyjamas on, leaping for their beds like animals. By the time the prefect drags herself awake and comes shuffling down the corridor to stick her head in at each door, they have themselves and their breathing all neatly arranged. She doesn’t care if they’re faking or not, as long as they’re doing nothing that could get her in trouble; one glance around their smooth sleeping faces, and she yawns and closes the door again.

None of them say anything. They keep their eyes closed. They lie still and feel the world change shape around them and inside them, feel the boundaries set solid; feel the wild left outside, to prowl perimeters till it thins into something imagined, something forgotten.