The Secret Place (Dublin Murder Squad, #5)(53)

Conway’s eyes moving across the faces, coming down on each one like a stamp.

‘You, who I’ve been talking to: this is your chance. Grab it. And until you have, you look after yourself.’

She tucked the photo back into her jacket pocket; tugged down her jacket, checked to make sure the line fell just right. ‘See you soon,’ she said.

And walked out of the door, not looking back. She didn’t give me any heads-up, but I was right behind her all the same.

Outside, Conway tilted her ear towards the door. Listened to the urgent fizz of two sets of talk behind it. Too low to hear.

Houlihan, hovering. Conway said, ‘In you go. Supervise.’

When the door closed behind Houlihan she said, ‘See what I meant about Holly’s gang? Something there.’

Watching me. I said, ‘Yeah. I see it.’

Brief nod, but I saw Conway’s neck relax: relief. ‘So. What is it?’

‘Not sure. Not yet. I’d have to spend more time with them.’

Sniff of a laugh, dry. ‘Bet you would.’ She headed off down the corridor, at that fast swinging pace. ‘Let’s eat.’





Chapter 10


In the middle of the Court, the fountain has been shut off and the huge Christmas tree is up, storeys high, alive with light twirling on glass and tinsel. On the speakers, a woman with a little-kid voice is chirping ‘I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus’. The air smells so good, cinnamon and pine and nutmeg, you want to bite into it, you can feel the soft crunch between your teeth.

It’s the first week of December. Chris Harper – coming out of the Jack Wills shop on the third floor in the middle of a gang of guys, bag of new Tshirts over his shoulder, arguing about Assassin’s Creed II, hair glossy as conkers under the manic white light – has five months and almost two weeks left to live.

Selena and Holly and Julia and Becca have been Christmas shopping. Now they’re sitting on the fountain-edge around the Christmas tree, drinking hot chocolate and going through their bags. ‘I still don’t have anything for my dad,’ Holly says, rummaging.

‘I thought he was getting the giant chocolate stiletto,’ says Julia, stirring her drink – the coffee shop called it a Santa’s Little Helper – with a candy cane.

‘Ha ha, hashtag: lookslikehumourbutnot. The shoe’s for my aunt Jackie. My dad’s impossible.’

‘Jesus,’ Julia says, examining her drink with horror. ‘This tastes like toothpaste-flavoured ass.’

‘I’ll swap,’ Becca says, holding out her cup. ‘I like mint.’

‘What is it?’

‘Gingerbread something mocha.’

‘No, thanks. At least I know what mine is.’

‘Mine’s delish,’ Holly says. ‘What would actually make him happy is for me to get a GPS chip implanted, so he can track me every second. I know everyone’s parents are paranoid, but I swear, he’s insane.’

‘It’s because of his job,’ Selena says. ‘He sees all the bad stuff that happens, so he imagines it happening to you.’

Holly rolls her eyes. ‘Hello, he works in an office, most of the time. The worst thing he sees is forms. He’s just mental. The other week when he came to pick me up, you know the first thing he said? I come out and he’s looking up at the front of the school, and he goes, “Those windows aren’t alarmed. I could break in there in under thirty seconds.” He wanted to go find McKenna and tell her the school wasn’t secure, and I don’t know, make her install fingerprint scanners on every window or something. I was like, “Just kill me now.”’

Selena hears it again: that single note of silver on crystal, so clean-edged it slices straight through the syrupy music and the cloud of noise. It falls into her hand: a gift, just for them.

‘I had to beg him to just take me home. I was like, “There’s a night watchman, the boarders’ wing has alarms on all night, I swear to God I am not going to get human trafficked, and anyway if you go hassling McKenna I’ll never talk to you again,” and finally he went OK, he’d leave it. I was like, “You keep asking why I always take the bus instead of letting you pick me up? This is why.”’

‘I’ve changed my mind,’ Julia says to Becca, making a face and wiping her mouth. ‘Swap. Yours can’t be worse than this.’

‘I should just get him a lighter,’ Holly says. ‘I’m sick of pretending I don’t know he smokes.’

Selena says, ‘I’ve been thinking about something.’

‘Ew,’ Becca says, to Julia. ‘You were right. It’s like little kids’ medicine.’

‘Minty ass. Bin it. We can share this one.’

Selena says, ‘I think we should start getting out at night.’

The others’ heads turn.

‘Out like what?’ Holly asks. ‘Like out of our room, like to the common room? Or out out?’

‘Out out.’

Julia says, eyebrows up, ‘Why?’

Selena thinks about that. She hears all the voices from when she was little, soothing, strengthening: Don’t be scared, not of monsters, not of witches, not of big dogs. And now, snapping loud from every direction: Be scared, you have to be scared, ordering like this is your one absolute duty. Be scared you’re fat, be scared your boobs are too big and be scared they’re too small. Be scared to walk on your own, specially anywhere quiet enough that you can hear yourself think. Be scared of wearing the wrong stuff, saying the wrong thing, having a stupid laugh, being uncool. Be scared of guys not fancying you; be scared of guys, they’re animals, rabid, can’t stop themselves. Be scared of girls, they’re all vicious, they’ll cut you down before you can cut them. Be scared of strangers. Be scared you won’t do well enough in your exams, be scared of getting in trouble. Be scared terrified petrified that everything you are is every kind of wrong. Good girl.