The Secret Place (Dublin Murder Squad, #5)(186)

A couple of weeks into term the rain lets up a little, and on a restless afternoon the four of them can’t face another hour of the Court. They slip on their innocent faces and drift round the back, into the Field.

The weeds are higher and stronger than last year; rock-slides have taken down the heaps of rubble where people used to perch, turned them into useless knee-high jumbles. The wind scrapes chicken wire against concrete.

No one’s there, not even the emos. Julia kicks her way through the undergrowth and settles with her back against what’s left of a rubble-heap. The others follow her.

Julia pulls out her phone and starts texting someone; Becca arranges pebbles in neat swirls on a patch of bare earth. Selena gazes at the sky like it’s hypnotised her. A leftover spit of rain hits her on the cheekbone, but she doesn’t blink.

It’s chillier here than round the front, a wild countryside chill that reminds you there are mountains on the horizon, not that far away. Holly shoves her hands deep in her jacket pockets. She feels like she’s itchy, but she can’t tell where.

‘What was that song?’ she says suddenly. ‘It used to be on the radio all the time, last year? Some girl singer.’

‘What’s it go like?’ Becca asks.

Holly tries to sing it, but it’s been months since she heard it and the words have gone; all she can find is Remember oh remember back when . . . She tries to hum the melody instead. Without that light speeding beat and the thrum of guitar, it sounds like nothing. Julia shrugs.

‘Lana Del Rey?’ Becca says.

‘No.’ It’s so totally not Lana Del Rey that even the suggestion depresses Holly. ‘Lenie. You know the one I mean.’

Selena looks up, smiling vaguely. ‘Hmm?’

‘That song. In our room one time, you were humming it? And I came in from the shower and asked you what it was, but you didn’t know?’

Selena thinks about it for a while. Then she forgets it and starts thinking about something else.

‘God,’ Julia says, shifting her arse on the dirt. ‘Where is everyone? Didn’t this place use to be, like, interesting?’

‘It’s the weather,’ Holly says. Her itchy feeling has got worse. She finds a Crunchie wrapper in her pocket and twists it into a tight ball.

‘I like it like this,’ Becca says. ‘All it used to be was dumb guys looking for someone to pick on.’

‘Which at least wasn’t boring. We might as well have stayed inside.’

Holly realises what the itchy feeling is: she’s lonely. Realising makes it worse. ‘Then let’s go in,’ she says. Suddenly she wants the Court, wants to stuff herself full to the seams with synthetic music and pink sugar.

‘I don’t want to go in. What’s the point? We have to go back to school in like two minutes.’

Holly thinks of going inside anyway, but she can’t tell whether any of the others would come too, and the thought of dragging through the grey rain on her own swells the loneliness. Instead she launches the Crunchie wrapper into the air, spins it a couple of times and hovers it.

No one does anything. Holly floats the wrapper temptingly towards Julia, who bats it away like an annoying bug. ‘Stop.’

‘Hey. Lenie.’

Holly practically bounces it off Selena’s forehead. For a second Selena looks bewildered; then she gently plucks the wrapper out of the air and tucks it into her pocket. She says, ‘We don’t do that any more.’

The reasons hum in the air. ‘Hey,’ Holly says, too loud and ludicrous, into the wet grey silence. ‘That was mine.’

No one answers. It comes to Holly, for the first time, that someday she’ll believe – one hundred per cent believe, take for granted – that it was all their imagination.

Julia is texting again; Selena has slid back into her daydream. Holly loves the three of them with such a huge and ferocious and bruised love that she could howl.

Becca catches her eye and nods at the ground. When Holly looks down, Becca skips a pebble through the weeds and lands it on the toe of Holly’s Ugg. Holly has just time to feel a tiny bit better before Becca smiles at her, kindly, an adult giving a kid a sweetie.



It’s Transition Year, things would be weird anyway. The four of them do their work-experience weeks in different places with different hours; when teachers split the class into groups to do projects about internet advertising or volunteer work with kids with handicaps, they break up gangs of friends on purpose, because Transition Year is all about new experiences. That’s what Holly tells herself, on days when she hears Julia’s laugh rise out of a crowd across the classroom, on days when the four of them finally have a few minutes together in their room at lights-out and they barely say a word: it’s just Transition Year. It would have happened anyway. Next year everything will go back to normal.

This year when Becca says she’s not going to the Valentine’s dance, no one tries to change her mind. When Sister Cornelius catches Julia snogging Fran?ois Levy right on the dance floor, Holly and Selena don’t say a word. Holly isn’t positive that Selena, swaying off-beat with her arms around herself, even noticed.

Afterwards, when they get back to their room, Becca is curled on her bed with her back to them and her earbuds in. Her reading light catches the flash of an open eye, but she doesn’t say anything and so neither do they.