The Secret Place (17 page)

Joanne thought. Something unpleasant pulling at her top lip.

Said, right on cue, ‘I wouldn’t feel comfortable saying anything bad about him.’

Under-the-lashes look at me.

I leaned forward. Grave, intent, eyebrows down while I focused on the noble young girl who held the secret that could save the world. Deepest voice: ‘Joanne. I know you’re not the kind of person who speaks ill of the dead. But there are times when the truth matters more than kindness. This is one of those times.’

I could almost hear my own soundtrack rising. I felt Conway, at my shoulder, wanting to laugh.

Joanne took a deep breath. Gearing herself up to be brave, sacrifice her personal conscience on the altar of justice. The fake spread out, the whole thing felt fake, Chris Harper felt like someone I’d made up.

‘Chris,’ she said. Sigh. A little sad, a little pitying. ‘Poor Chris. For such a lovely guy, he had seriously crap taste.’

I said, ‘Do you mean Selena Wynne?’

‘Well. I wasn’t going to name names, but since you already know
.
.
.’

I said, ‘Thing is, no one says they saw Chris and Selena doing anything couple-y. No kissing, no holding hands, not even going off on their own together. So what makes you think they were going out?’

Lashes fluttering. ‘I’d rather not say.’

‘Joanne, I understand that you’re trying to do the right thing, and I appreciate it. But I need you to tell me what you saw, or heard. All of it.’

Joanne liked watching me work hard. Liked knowing that what she had was worth all that. She pretended to think, running her tongue around her teeth, which did nothing for her looks. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Chris liked girls to like him. You know what I mean? Like, he was always trying to get every girl in the room to be all over him. And all of a sudden, like over
night
, he’s totally ignoring everyone except Selena Wynne. Who, I mean, I don’t want to be a B or anything but I’m just being honest because that’s who I am: she isn’t exactly anything special? She acts like she is, but I’m sorry, most people really aren’t into
.
.
. you know.’ Joanne gave me a meaningful little smirk and mimed
large
with both hands. ‘I mean, hello? I thought maybe it was one of those stupid movie things where it’s all a bet to embarrass someone, because if it wasn’t, I could’ve literally cringed to
death
for Chris.’

‘That doesn’t say they were going out, though. Maybe he was into her, but she wasn’t having any of it.’

‘Um, I don’t
think
so? She’d have been, like,
insanely
lucky to get him. And anyway, Chris wasn’t the type to waste his time if he wasn’t getting anywhere. If you know what I mean.’

‘Why would they keep it a secret?’

‘Probably he didn’t want people knowing he was with
that
. I wouldn’t blame him.’

I said, ‘Is that why you don’t get on with Selena’s lot? Because she and Chris got together?’

Wrong move. That flare in Joanne’s eyes again, cold enough and violent enough that I nearly leaned back. ‘Um, ex
cuse
me? I didn’t exactly care if Chris Harper was into hippos. I thought it was hilarious, but apart from that,
so
not my problem.’

I did a string of fast humble nods: got it, been put in my place, won’t be a bold boy again. ‘Right. That makes sense. Then why do you not get on with them?’

‘Because there isn’t a law that we have to
get on with
everybody. Because I’m actually choosy about who I hang out with, and hippos and weirdos? Yeah, um, no thanks?’

Just some little bitch, exact same as the little bitches in my school, in every school. Ten a penny, cheap at half the price, cheap anywhere in this world. No reason why this should be the one that made me sick. ‘Got it,’ I said, grinning away like a lunatic.

Conway said, ‘You got a boyfriend?’

Joanne took her time. A beat –
Did I hear something?
– then a slow sweep of her head to Conway.

Conway smiled. Not nicely.

‘Excuse me, that’s my private life?’

Conway said, ‘I thought you were all about helping the investigation.’

‘I am. I just don’t see how my
private
life is the investigation’s business. Do you want to explain that?’

‘Nah,’ said Conway. ‘I can’t be arsed. Specially when I can just go over to Colm’s and find out.’

I spread on a double helping of concerned. Said, ‘I can’t imagine Joanne would make us do that, Detective. Especially since she knows that any information she’s got could be very valuable to us.’

Joanne thought that over. Got her virtuous face back on. Graciously, to me: ‘I’m going out with Andrew Moore. His dad’s Bill Moore – probably you’ve heard of him.’ Property developer, one of the ones on the news for being bankrupt and a billionaire all at once. I looked properly impressed.

Joanne checked her watch. ‘Do you want to know anything else about my love life? Or are we
done
?’

‘Bye-bye,’ Conway said. To Houlihan: ‘Rebecca O’Mara.’

I walked Joanne to the door. Held it for her. Watched Houlihan scuttle after her down the corridor, Joanne not bothering to look.

Conway said, ‘And another one still in the running.’

Nothing in her voice. No way, again, to tell if that was
You better up your game.

I shut the door. Said, ‘There’s stuff she’s thinking about telling us, but she’s holding back. That fits our card girl.’

‘Yeah. Or else she’s just trying to make us think she’s holding something back. Make us think she knows for sure that Chris and Selena were together, or whatever, when actually she’s got nothing.’

‘We can call her back. Push harder.’

‘Nah. Not now.’ Conway watched me come back to my chair, sit down. Said, roughly, ‘You were good with her. Better than me.’

‘All that arse-licking practice. Came in useful in the end.’

Wry glance from Conway, but a brief one. She was filing Joanne away for later, moving on. ‘Rebecca’s the weak link in this bunch. Shy as fuck; went scarlet and practically tied herself in knots just being asked her name, never managed anything louder than a whisper. Get your kid gloves on.’

Bell again, rush of feet and voices. It was past lunchtime. I could’ve murdered a dirty great burger, or whatever this canteen was into, probably organic fillet steak and rocket salad. I wasn’t going to say it till Conway did. She wasn’t going to say it.

Conway said, ‘And go careful with this lot, till you get the feel. They’re not the same thing.’

Chapter 8

An evening in early November, the air just starting to flare with little savoury bursts of cold and turf-smoke. The four of them are in their cypress glade, snug in the lovely pocket of free time between classes and dinner. Chris Harper (over the wall and far away, not even a whisper of a thought in any of their minds) has six months, a week and four days left to live.

They are scattered on the grass, lying on their backs, feet dangling from crossed knees. They have hoodies and scarves and Uggs, but they’re holding out a last few days against winter coats. It’s day and night at once: one side of the sky is glowing with pink and orange, the other side is a frail full moon hanging in darkening blue. Wind moves through the cypress branches, a slow soothing hush. Last period was PE, volleyball; their muscles are slack and comfortably tired. They’re talking about homework.

Selena asks, ‘Did you guys do your love sonnets yet?’

Julia groans. She’s drawn a dotted line across her wrist in Biro and is writing under it in case of emergency cut here.

‘“And if you don’t feel that you have, em, adequate
experience
of, em,
romantic
love,”’ Holly says, in Mr Smythe’s reedy simper, ‘“then perhaps a child’s love for her mother, or, em, love for
God
would be, em, would be—”
’

Julia mimes sticking two fingers down her throat. ‘I’m going to dedicate mine to vodka.’

‘You’ll get sent to Sister Ignatius to get counselled,’ says Becca, not entirely sure whether Julia is serious.

‘Whee.’

‘I’m stuck on mine,’ Selena says.

‘Lists,’ says Holly. She pulls one foot to her face to examine a scuff-mark on her boot. ‘“The wind, the sea, the stars, the moon, the rain; The day, the night, the bread, the milk, the train.” Instant iambic pentameter.’

‘Instant iambic craptameter,’ Julia says. ‘Thanks for the most boring sonnet in history, here’s your F.’

Holly and Selena glance at each other sideways. Julia has been a bitch for weeks now; to everybody equally, so it can’t be something one of them did.

‘I don’t
want
to tell Smythe about anyone I love,’ Selena says, sliding past that. ‘Ew.’

‘Do it about a place or something,’ Holly says. She licks her finger and rubs it on the scuff-mark, which fades. ‘I did my gran’s flat. And I didn’t even say it was my gran’s, just a flat.’

‘I just made mine up,’ says Becca. ‘I did it about a girl who has this horse that comes under her window at night and she climbs out and rides him.’ She has her eyes unfocused so that the moon has turned into two, translucent and overlapping.

‘What’s that got to do with love?’ Holly says.

‘She loves the horse.’

‘Kinky,’ says Julia. Her phone beeps. She pulls it out of her pocket and holds it above her face, squinting against the sunset.

If it had been an hour earlier, when they were throwing off their uniforms in their room and singing Amy Winehouse, deciding whether to go across the road and watch the guys’ rugby match. If it were an hour later, when they would be in the canteen, sprawled forward over the table, catching last crumbs of dry cake with licked fingertips. None of them would ever have imagined what they had brushed up against; what other selves, other lives, other deaths were careening ferocious and unstoppable along their tracks, only a sliver of time away. The grounds are pocketed with clusters of girls, all blazing and amazed with inchoate love for one another and for their own growing closeness; none of the others will feel the might of that swerve as the tracks switch and their own power takes them barrelling into another landscape. When Holly thinks about it a long time afterwards, when things are starting to stay fixed and come into focus at last, she will think that probably there are ways you could say Marcus Wiley killed Chris Harper.

‘Maybe I’ll just do it about pretty flowers,’ Selena says. She stretches a lock of hair across her face – the last of the sun turns it to a web of gold light – and examines the trees through it. ‘Or ickle kittens. You think he’d care?’

‘I bet someone does theirs about One Direction,’ Holly says.

‘
Aah
,’ Julia says, sudden and too loud, disgusted and angry.

The others come up on their elbows. ‘What?’ Becca asks.

Julia shoves her phone back in her pocket, clasps her hands behind her head again and stares up at the sky. Nostrils flaring as she breathes, too fast. She’s red right down to the neck of her jumper. Julia never goes red.

The rest look at each other. Holly catches Selena’s eye and tilts her chin at Julia:
Did you see what
.
.
. ?
Selena shakes her head, just a millimetre.

‘What?’ Holly says.

‘Marcus Wiley is a douchewipe, is what. Any more questions?’

‘Duh, we knew
that
,’ Holly says. Julia ignores her.

Becca asks, ‘What’s a douchewipe?’

‘You don’t want to know,’ Holly tells her.

‘Jules,’ Selena says gently. She turns over onto her stomach to be side by side with Julia. Her hair is bright and messed, with bits of grass and cypress fans tangled here and there, and the back of her hoodie is ribbed with creases from lying on it. ‘What’d he say?’

Julia’s head moves away from Selena, but she says, ‘He didn’t
say
anything. He sent me a dick pic. Because he’s a fucking douchewipe. OK? Now can we talk about the sonnets some more?’

‘Oh my God,’ Holly says. Serena’s eyes are massive. ‘Seriously?’

‘No, I made it up. Yeah, seriously.’

The sunset light feels different, a slow grind like fingernails across every bit of bare skin.

‘But,’ Becca says, bewildered, ‘you don’t even really know him.’

Julia whips up her head and stares, teeth bared about to bite, but then Holly starts to laugh. After a second Selena joins in and at last even Julia, head falling back on the grass. ‘What?’ Becca wants to know, but they’re gone, their whole bodies are shaking with it and Selena is curled up to hold herself: ‘The way you said it!’ And ‘The
face
on you,’ Holly gasps, ‘“You’ve barely been properly
introduced
, dahling, why to
goodness
would he share his little friend with you?”’ and the fake English accent has Becca blushing and giggling too. Julia hoots up at the sky, ‘I don’t believe we’ve even taken tea and
.
.
. and
.
.
. and cucumber sandwiches together
.
.
.’ and Holly manages, ‘Dicks should
never
be served until
after
the cucumber sandwiches
.
.
.’