The Secret Place (Dublin Murder Squad, #5)(189)

‘Shouldn’t be a problem. Her stuff’s good. I meant to ask you: is she doing OK these days?’

Holly looks up, but he’s peeling a carrot and glancing out of the window to see if Mum’s on her way. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Just wondering. The last few times you’ve had her round, she seemed a little . . . spacy, is that the word I’m looking for?’

‘She’s like that. You just have to get to know her.’

‘I’ve known her a good while now. She didn’t use to be this spacy. Anything been on her mind?’

Holly shrugs. ‘Just normal stuff. School. Whatever.’

Dad waits, but Holly knows he’s not done. She dumps the bits of leek into the casserole dish. ‘What’ll I do now?’

‘Here.’ He throws her an onion. ‘I know you and your mates know Selena inside out, but sometimes those are the last people to cop that something’s wrong. A lot of problems can show up around your age – depression, whatever we’re supposed to call manic depression these days, schizophrenia. I’m not saying Selena’s got any of those’ – his hand going up, as Holly’s mouth opens – ‘but if something’s up with her, even something minor, now’s the time to get it sorted.’

The balls of Holly’s feet are digging into the floor tiles. ‘Selena’s not schizophrenic. She daydreams. Just because she’s not some stupid cliché teenager who goes around screaming about Jedward all the time doesn’t mean she’s abnormal.’

Dad’s eyes are very blue and very level. It’s the levelness that has Holly’s heart banging in her throat. He thinks this is serious.

He says, ‘You know me better than that, sweetheart. I’m not saying she has to be Little Miss Perky Cheerleader. I’m just saying she seems a lot less on the ball than she did this time last year. And if she’s got a problem and it doesn’t get treated fast, it could do a pretty serious number on her life. Yous are going to be heading out into the big wide world before you know it. You don’t want to be running around out there with an untreated mental illness. That’s how lives end up banjaxed.’

Holly feels a new kind of real all around her, pressing in. It squeezes her chest, makes it hard to breathe.

She says, ‘Selena’s fine. All she needs is for people to leave her alone and quit annoying her. OK? Can you please do that?’

After a moment Dad says, ‘Fair enough. Like I said, you know her better than I do, and I know yous lot take good care of each other. Just keep an eye on her. That’s all I’m saying.’

A key rattling in the front door, impatient, and then a rush of cool rain-flavoured air. ‘Frank? Holly?’

‘Hi,’ Holly and Dad call.

The door slams and Mum blows into the kitchen. ‘My God,’ she says, flopping back against the wall. Her fair hair is coming out of its bun and she looks different, flushed and loosened, not like cool good-posture Mum at all. ‘That was strange.’

‘Are you locked?’ Dad asks, grinning at her. ‘And me at home looking after your child, slaving over a hot cooker—’

‘I am not. Well, maybe just a touch tipsy, but it’s not that. It’s— My God, Frank. Do you realise I hadn’t seen Deirdre in almost thirty years? How on earth did that happen?’

Dad says, ‘So it went well in the end, yeah?’

Mum laughs, breathless and giddy. Her coat hangs open; underneath she’s wearing her slim navy dress flashed with white, the gold necklace Dad gave her at Christmas. She’s still collapsed against the wall, bag dumped on the floor at her feet. Holly gets that pulse of wariness again. Mum always kisses her the instant one of them gets through the door.

‘It was wonderful. I was absolutely terrified – honestly, at the door of the bar I almost turned around and went home. If it hadn’t worked, if we’d just sat there making small talk like acquaintances . . . I wouldn’t have been able to bear it. Dee and I and this other girl Miriam, back in school we were like you and your friends, Holly. We were inseparable.’

One of her ankles is bent outwards above the high-heeled navy leather shoe, leaning her lopsided like a teenager. Holly says – Thirty years, never, we’d never – ‘So how come you haven’t seen her?’

‘Deirdre’s parents emigrated to America, when we left school. She went to college there. It wasn’t like now, there wasn’t any e-mail; phone calls cost the earth, and letters took weeks. We did try – she’s still got all my letters, can you imagine? She brought them along, all these things I’d forgotten all about, boys and nights out and fights with our parents and . . . I know I’ve got hers somewhere – in Mum and Dad’s attic, maybe, I’ll have to look – I can’t have thrown them away. But it was college and we were busy, and the next thing we knew we were completely out of touch . . .’

Mum’s long lovely face is transparent, things blowing across it bright and swift as falling leaves. She doesn’t look like Holly’s mum, like anyone’s mum. For the first time ever, Holly looks at her and thinks: Olivia.

‘But today – God, it was as if we’d seen each other a month ago. We laughed so hard, I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard. We used to laugh like that all the time. The things we remembered – we had this silly alternative verse for the school song, ridiculous stuff, dirty jokes, and we sang it together, right there in the bar. We remembered all the words. I hadn’t thought of that song in thirty years, I’d swear it wasn’t even in my mind any more, but one look at Dee and the whole thing came back.’